an anxious knowing
The part of me that was taught that I don’t know anything is the same part that cannot trust my “knowing.” What this means is that my “gut,” my innate sense of wisdom, my conscious direction, or whatever you would like to call it, never even had a chance. I don’t know what my “gut” is telling me to do. Most of the time, it wants a chocolate chip cookie. But choosing the “right thing” for me… what does that even taste like?
This doesn’t mean that I have no moral guidance and spend my time without regard for others. Quite the opposite. I’m not saying I’m perfect, but I do my best to make other people feel comfortable in the world. I’ll always want other people to feel good, but I think this is also my problem. On a macro level, this logistically seems like a good perspective to have. Collectivism, Community, and Interconnection can be supportive ideals. In a micro-sense, I am nothing but other-focused.
What did they think about what I just said?
Are they looking at me in a funny way?
I bet they think I look stupid.
I bet they think I sound stupid.
I hope I sound smart.
I hope I sound interesting.
I hope they like me…
These aren’t conscious thoughts. They’re feelings. Sometimes, I have an inner monologue that reminds me of my daily tasks. My anxiety is not a monologue. It grips my chest with a stronghold and reminds me not to breathe. Inhaling would bring all the fear and self-destruction into my body. Exhaling would send my ridiculousness out into the world. Better to hold it in, so no one else can sense it.
My other problem is that I started to realize that other people could sense it.
It’s not that other people know that I’m anxiously spiraling during every conversation. It’s that I saw that my energy was closed off. I’m not always able to receive what is in front of me. I create barriers to connection and relationships by automatically feeling afraid. As I learned more about myself over the past several years, why I do this, and how I do this, I noticed so much of what I was missing with other people. Joy.
I’m not healed. I enter so many conversations still with these feelings. They pop up halfway through, and even three days after an interaction. All that I know at this moment is that that isn’t my “gut” telling me what is right and wrong for me. My “knowing” hasn’t even had the opportunity to show its face. My anxiety is providing the same guidance for me that I received growing up. It’s keeping me smaller so that I can make the people around me feel comfortable.
I know this worked for a while, and I’m only grateful to my mind for keeping me alive. And now, I’m practicing letting this go. “Thank you, anxiety. This has been a great trick before, but I got this,” is what I literally say to myself. I swear, the fact that I need to be grateful for these feelings is still absolutely bonkers to me, but it works. I promise.
Once I’ve given myself the opportunity to “guide” myself the way I’ve always done, I no longer feel the need to do it. Then, the grip on my chest goes away. Then, my breath flows in and out of my body with a little bit more ease. Then, I can feel the presence of the person in front of me, and actually smile because I feel happy to be around them. This will last about 0.05 seconds before I need to repeat this process again, and again, and again, and again until the conversation is over.
If I’ve ever had a “gut” feeling, it’s that I’ll take a conscious effort toward joy and connection over stifling anxiety any day of the week.