I often grapple with feelings of guilt. Each day, when my spouse returns home from work and enters the kitchen where I’m managing our four children, he faces a roll of the dice. Will he be welcomed by the overwhelmed, anxious version of me, or the cheerful, organized side? It’s a constant uncertainty for both of us—and it takes a toll.
My anxiety has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. As a child, I would wake at dawn, praying for my father’s safety as he left for work. I’ve always been the cautious type—always worried, always careful. I couldn’t bring myself to bend the rules; they were there to protect us, right? My quest for perfection stemmed from a desire to avoid any sort of negative outcomes. In my teenage years, I refrained from smoking, drinking, or breaking curfew. To me, rules were not meant to be broken.
As high school came to an end, I did test the waters a bit more. I would forge notes and skip classes, spending our lunchtime at my boyfriend’s house. Yet, I never ventured too far from my comfort zone—I feared that one wrong step would lead to dire consequences.
While in college, I juggled two or three jobs to cover my tuition. Socializing post-work was never an option for me. I dedicated five years to earning three degrees, with little time for frivolous activities. I thought my diligence was simply the mark of a driven person. However, in my thirties, I received a diagnosis of generalized anxiety disorder. I sought therapy, began medication, embraced healthier living, and even practiced meditation.
Despite my efforts to manage my anxiety effectively, life took a traumatic turn when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. This experience sent my anxiety spiraling to new heights.
The person who endures the brunt of my anxiety is my husband, Mark. Our 16-year marriage has seen its fair share of challenges, including four adoptions and my recovery from surgery. He has been my unwavering support, attending every post-operative appointment and assisting with my recovery.
I often feel immense guilt for how my anxiety affects him. He has done so much for me, yet I find myself irritable, controlling, and at times, unreasonable. An outsider might label me a nag or a perfectionist. The reality is, these traits are symptoms of my anxiety. This disorder is relentless; it distorts my perception, convincing me that happiness is risky and that I must always be on guard.
When I reflect on this, I realize how misguided these thoughts can be. Yet, my anxious mind often wins, overshadowing my rational self. I do not shy away from addressing my anxiety. I’ve learned to communicate openly with Mark about my feelings and triggers. He never dismisses my concerns, understanding that anxiety is not something I can simply push aside.
Mark embodies patience and unwavering support. I trust him with my struggles. While I wish for an instant cure to my anxiety, I acknowledge that it is part of who I am. I remind myself that it’s okay to struggle and that no one is perfect. I strive to combat my anxiety every day, knowing that it will likely always be a part of my life.
As a family, we are working together to manage my anxiety. They have stood by me through the most challenging times, understanding the triggers that send me into overdrive, whether it’s a medical appointment or a significant date. I genuinely appreciate Mark for his loyalty and support. While anxiety was not part of the life I envisioned, we are learning to navigate it as a team.
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Summary
This article reflects on the author’s ongoing battle with anxiety, the impact it has on her marriage, and the support she receives from her husband. It delves into her personal history with anxiety and the challenges posed by a breast cancer diagnosis. Ultimately, it highlights the importance of open communication and understanding in relationships, especially in the face of chronic anxiety.
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