As I awoke to another morning in the Sunshine State, I was greeted by a burning sensation radiating through my chest.
I knew the feeling enough by now to name it: anxiety. I’d barely opened my eyes, and it was already tightening its grip on me. The flame was small but mighty, waiting for more oxygen to fuel it. Once I realized I was lying in my bed in Kissimmee, Florida, the commitments of the day crashed over me all at once: Call unemployment. Apply to jobs. Socialize like everything’s fine.
The flame doubled in size. My chest rose and fell rapidly as I tried to tame the panic. If that wasn’t enough, it felt as if a coarse rope were squeezing the tender muscles around my rib cage, making my breaths short and labored.
Most mornings went like this. I had tried all the natural remedies to relieve my anxiety: walking outside, working up a sweat with physical activity, practicing breathing techniques. I even started therapy and medication, but doctors warned they would take time to become effective. So, I endured this routine nearly every morning, the physical pain of it enough to make me cry out.
Like many people I knew, I was no longer working due to the COVID-19 outbreak. My company had temporarily laid me off with no return date in sight. To make matters worse, my lease was ending, and my roommate and friends wanted me to stay in Florida and make it work. I wanted Florida to work too. After all, I had relocated there from New Jersey to move up the ranks at the very company that laid me off.
I tried to distract myself with trips to the local theme parks. But spinning around on Space Mountain and filling my stomach with Butterbeer were just plugs. Anxiety, without fail, struck with full force the following morning.
As I stared at the lease renewal in my inbox, I felt completely overwhelmed. The idea of willingly signing up for another year of this agony in Florida, let alone paying a lot of money for it, nauseated me.
Knowing my body couldn’t take much more, I said goodbye to my friends, packed up whatever fit into my sedan, and drove back to my home state.
Up north, my family had been eagerly awaiting my arrival. Although my adventurous pursuit of a long-lasting career at my dream company had failed, they just wanted me to be healthy and happy, and they would be patient as I figured out my career path.
At first, the northern cold was a relief to the fire burning in my chest. I said hello to heavy sweaters and scarves and goodbye to my sports bras and tank tops. The snow was gorgeous to stare at, and I actually looked forward to the brisk work of shoveling.
But I knew anxiety had to be looming around the corner, ready to pounce. Surely, I’d settle into a routine and make commitments, and that was when anxiety would sweep over me like a merciless wildfire.
Only, it didn’t.
Months went by, but the fire in my chest remained a tiny flame. Complex matters did arise that made me anxious, but the fire never grew. The rope’s tension around my rib cage was slack, and I breathed steadily. Meanwhile, I earned income by performing writing and editing services for private clients. On the weekends, I’d connect with the Catholic young adult groups I’d joined. There was less time to be anxious with clients to satisfy and friends to see.
Most importantly, I wasn’t stuck.
In Florida, I felt powerless, a victim of my life-altering circumstances, and I let anxiety cruise right in and consume me. That was because I was forcing a future I could not control. The lost income, the ending lease, the unanswered job applications — it was all a natural ending I struggled to accept.
In New Jersey, the pandemic was still very alive and affecting my ability to work a steady, salaried job, but I chose to control my reactions. I formed connections and grew my skill set. I invested in a stronger relationship with God, which I had neglected in Florida. The flame in my chest extinguished.
My clinical anxiety, however, didn’t just vanish, and sometimes, it sneaks its way into my mornings. But it’s all part of the journey. On dark mornings, I retreat to the familiar: a cozy sweater, a solid breakfast, and an hour in Adoration. Those remind me I am in control, at least of my reaction.
