Whose life are you living?

We humans do this weird thing.

When my adorable dog Willoughby wants something, he wants it. He doesn’t check, first, whether we want him to want it. He doesn’t wait to see if we’re okay with him wanting it. He doesn’t try to align his deepest desires with what he supposes that we may want him to want. He doesn’t try to guess what our vision of the perfect-Willoughby would want. He doesn’t worry that if he wants the thing, we won’t love him anymore. He just . . . wants it. This doesn’t mean he gets everything he wants, but he certainly doesn’t pretend to be not-Willoughby all the time. He just is Willoughby and Willoughby wants what he wants–especially if its edible.

We humans aren’t always quite that clever. Or maybe we’re too clever.

We humans do this weird thing where we suppress our actual desires.

Again, it’s probably best that we don’t actually take everything we want. After all, devouring two-and-a-half pounds of the kitchen garbage didn’t end up making Willoughby quite as happy as he thought it would.

But there’s a difference between self-control and self-supprression.

A bunch, if not most . . . if not all . . . of us do it–in some way or another, at one time or another. Some of us self-suppress consciously, some of us subconsciously.

It sounds something like this:

But what will this friend think?

Does that friend need me to be different?

Is it normal enough to feel this way?

Will this disappoint my family?

Will that friend feel let down?

Ask yourself . . .

. . . The things you say “yes” to in your day-to-day life . . . are they you things? Or are they that-friend things? Are they my-family things? Normal or expected things?

. . . If you felt 100% free from what your people have come to expect from you, would you still be doing or saying or choosing or pursuing the things you are?

. . . Do you sometimes catch yourself making a decision based on a hope to impress an important person in your life? Or not disappoint them? Even when deep in your gut you know you’re not being honest about what you want?

. . . Do you feel yourself pulled into dishonest yeses, because your person or your people need a version of you that’s not really you?

For some of us, I think this tendency is rooted in an unconscious belief that we are less important than others.

For some of us, I think it’s actually (or also) rooted in this quiet suspicion that we will lose people if we don’t live for them. That we will only be loved if we align our wants and decisions and priorities with what people in our lives would love to see us choose.

So 15-year-old kids turn into 40-year-olds in a career they wanted because their parents wanted them to want it only to discover they don’t actually want it.

And busy busy people cram even more things into their schedules only to realize that they still spend zero minutes each week on the things that actually spark passion inside them.

And you and I agree to be in positions where people are counting on us for something that we’re not admitting is bleeding us dry, and we can’t imagine backing out because that is not what those people want or need from us.

And the days turn into weeks, turn into months, turn into years.

And all the while, if Willoughby doesn’t want a bath, he doesn’t want a bath, and if he does want a bite of our steak, he does want a bite of our steak, and there is zero pressure in his mind to pretend he feels differently.

He just gets to be Willoughby.

What if you just let yourself be you?

Would life be different?

So how can you get more honest with yourself today? Whose life have you been living? What voices can you let go of today? What deep desire can you connect with today? How can you be truly you today?

Good luck friend!

Real People

Mr Rogers - loving whole people and ourselves

Every person is a real person. Meaning they’ve got the inspiring, smiley parts and the sad, scary parts.

The person you’re really close to, the person you’ve never met, and even the person you really look up to as a sort of superhuman.

And even yourself.

It’s good to just think about this every once in a while.

Can we accept the real person in each other, the easy parts and the hard parts?

And can we accept even our whole, genuine selves?

“When we love a person, we accept him or her exactly as is: the lovely with the unlovely, the strong with the fearful, the true mixed in with the facade, and of course, the only way we can do it is by accepting ourselves that way.” – Fred “Mr.” Rogers

I have anxiety and that’s okay

I have anxiety.

Some days I am in the zone, killing it.

I am a manager and I’m good at it.

I am great at sales and customer service.

I am great at leading projects.

I am the president of a Toastmasters club and I think I’m a good leader.

I am a really good friend to lots of people.

I have gotten straight A’s in basically every bit of education I’ve ever had.

I write a blog that lots of people read and find helpful.

I am a badass public speaker and can give a great presentation.

I make really beautiful piano music.

I have run half marathons.

People come to me for advice.

I survived and escaped a very toxic environment I grew up in and chosen to live life a different way.

I am really, really smart.

I am funny (don’t ask my friends).

I love to help people and at least sometimes I am good at it.

Some days I bury my head in the couch pillows and hyperventilate.

Some days I spend the entire day near-panicking about what would be the best way to spend the day.

Some days I randomly start crying.

Some days I feel this non-stop heavy sadness.

Some days I worry myself sick that I might get sick and die soon.

Some days I am pretty sure my whole life might be a lie, that the people who said they love me, who are supposed to love me, really don’t.

Some days I feel like crying when someone lovingly teases me because I honestly don’t get that it’s teasing.

Some days I worry that lots of people are actually unhappy with me and are out to get me. That if I’m not a good enough leader, I’ll suddenly be surprised by getting booted out the door. That if I don’t make friends or family happy, they’ll tell everyone I’m a bad person.

Some days I worry that I’m actually some really hopelessly awful person.

Some days I’m afraid that I’m just “one of those people” who will never quite be good enough, always find a way to fail.

Some days I feel like I’m floating away and I can’t reach out and grab the world I know, it’s too far gone, and I’m just stuck floating out here where nothing feels right, nothing makes sense, I can’t find anything.

Some days I lay in bed terrified and feel the room spin, and feel like the ceiling is fading away, and I stop seeing what’s around me.

Some days I can feel the *thump* *thump* *thump* of my heart beating really hard and fast and all I can feel is that my heart can’t keep up with the intense panicky drowning “Oh no” feeling.

Some days everything feels yucky and sad and scary and I finally sit down on the floor and cry and cry.

Some days I see people who always make me happy, and I realize that they probably don’t really like me, that they probably are just nice about it.

Some days I try to smile and be in a good mood and be super friendly, but I truly can’t, so I just want to get alone.

Some days everyone and everything is unsafe.

If I had to describe anxiety, as I’ve personally experienced it, in one sentence, it would go something like this: Watching in terror as everything you need, everything you thought you had, floats just out of your reach, and in its place, all-the-danger surrounds you.

Some mental illness is so serious that someone can hardly function. Some mental illness leaves people functioning well some days, struggling on others. And some mental illness injects a little bit of struggle and sadness into a mostly thriving life.

Minds are weird things. And whether someone has a diagnosed mental illness or just happens to deal with the weird stuff that happens in the mind of a human–whether someone feels good 90% of the time or 10% of the time, or maybe 0% of the time–whether someone has a severe anxiety disorder with regular anxiety attacks, or someone “just” gets pretty anxious pretty often–it is okay that you struggle. And it is okay to SAY that you struggle.

Some mental illness just happens, because you just happened to be born with a brain that functions a certain way.

Some mental illness happens because of a thing that happens to your body, like a disease, or like a traumatic injury.

Some mental illness happens because of sudden trauma, experiencing something like watching someone die, being assaulted, being molested or raped, or watching while some tragedy unfolds.

Some mental illness happens because of a life full of trauma, like emotional or physical abuse from your parents, or like growing up with a belief system that makes the world a dangerous place, or like getting bullied a bunch as a kid for being different.

Some mental illness gets better. Some gets worse. Some just sits there.

I don’t know why I struggle with anxiety as much as I do. I’ve had a professional tell me I have anxiety, but I’m not really sure if it counted as an official diagnosis of a disorder, or if it just was a statement that it’s something I deal with that doesn’t quite warrant a label. Actually, maybe it shouldn’t need to warrant a label. Maybe you don’t have to be this-far-broken to be able to talk about being broken.

I had two concussions in the last few years, and the second one sent my anxiety through the roof and it hasn’t quite come all the way back to where it was–or where I imagined it was–back when life felt more “normal.”

I started seeing a therapist after my second concussion, and very quickly he helped me realize that it was probably a good thing for my mental and emotional health that I had my anxiety and my feelings shaken up a bit so I couldn’t keep stuffing them.

I learned that I’ve naturally always had a very codependent personality in all areas of my life. I felt like my feelings weren’t important, which helped to bury my anxiety. Sort of. Until I realized that no matter how much I tried to make everyone happy, I would never stop being anxious about it.

I wish I could say that I have anxiety because of the 18 or 19 years I lived in a home that I think was full of very damaging abuse.

But I’m not sure, because I always heard from my mom that I was always a super anxious kid. (I wish she had gotten me some help about it.)

I cried pretty constantly through most of my childhood. I worried constantly about getting sick and dying. I lay awake many nights worrying that I’d end up in hell for eternity, picturing what it would feel like. I sucked my thumb long past the rest of my siblings, because it was soothing and safe. I asked my younger brother to hold my hand when he slept in the bunk above me so that I wouldn’t feel alone. And like I said, I cried. A lot.

Knowing what I’ve learned as an adult about the mind, I can identify significant anxiety attacks I had as a kid. And I remember one year I spent over half the year crying and panicking alone in my room most of every single day.

So I don’t know. Was I born with anxiety? Probably. Did an unhealthy childhood make it so much worse? Definitely. Has it actually gotten worse since my concussions? I’m not sure, but it’s definitely gotten clearer and tougher to deal with.

I’m a pretty normal person, I think. If you know me well, you probably know me as generally positive and fun. I look like I’ve got my stuff together.

You probably haven’t seen me panic and collapse onto the floor crying.

A lot of mental illness, people can handle well. You can try not to take it out on everyone around you, you can keep it together while you’re in public and not make a scene, you can differentiate between situations where it’s safe and appropriate to open up about your feelings or where you need to be professional, respectful, or just get stuff done.

So you probably won’t see me panic and collapse onto the floor crying.

You probably won’t see almost anybody do that.

Which means when it happens to you, you might think you’re the only one. You might think you’re not normal, you’re not okay, you’re a failure, that nobody would like the real you.

Saying all of this is not comfortable or fun at all. I don’t want attention for it. I don’t want to be treated like I’ve got it especially bad, because, all in all, I don’t. I’m not making a statement about me.

I wanted to share all of this just because this shitty life stuff needs to be okay. Okay to experience and okay to talk about.

If you have intense anxiety or mild anxiety, you are not alone and you’re not weird and you’re not stuck hiding. Lots of people will love you and help you, just like you want to love and help them.

If you struggle with other mental illnesses, like depression, you are not alone. You’re not weird. You can be real about it.

I don’t want to minimize the seriousness and impact of some extreme mental illnesses. For example, some people have such severe mental illness that they can’t function well enough or consistently enough to take care of themselves, and they need real help–from family, from society, from community. Some people have such severe depression that they literally can’t find the strength to get out of bed in the morning, such severe OCD that no matter how hard they try, they can’t stop washing their hands even when their skin is falling off. I don’t want to downplay how much caring support and attention we should be giving those who genuinely can’t make it through without physical, financial, tangible help.

But I honestly think that struggling with mental health is a pretty universal thing. Mild or severe.

And sometimes we just need to know that it is okay, and we need the people around us to know that it is okay. Sometimes the mind and feelings just get weird.

I challenge you to treat your mental health just like your physical health. That means when you need to see a mental health doctor, see a mental health doctor. You go for a physical once a year. Why do we save mental health help for when we’re at the end of our rope? Let’s make mental health care normal.

Don’t be afraid to be real about yourself. Don’t be afraid to ask for friendship. Don’t be afraid that your struggles–little or big–with mental health make you less.

A surprisingly huge number of us are right there with you.

We’re all in this together.

#makeitok

P.S. It’s okay to say “me, too.” It’s also okay to NOT say “me, too.” You can be as open or as private as you need. Just know you’re not alone, and you can at least talk to someone.

P.P.S. I wrote this a couple months ago and didn’t post it about 10 times before I finally decided to. I want to help others know they’re not alone, help others have a safe space to be exactly who they are deep down–that’s my passion. It doesn’t mean that it’s “better” to be public about your mental health. So again, there’s no pressure and no need to be vocal. You be you. Just know that who you are is okay.

“Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.” – Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

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you’re not alone

Be epic.

Sometimes I try to live really safe. To keep a lid on the version of me I’d really like to be. Afraid of what people will think.

I worry a lot that if I let the world see my “awesome,” they won’t think it’s awesome, and somehow that will ruin my life.

Connecting is dangerous. Loving is dangerous. Dancing is dangerous. Shining is dangerous. All the things are dangerous.

So I choose a lot of times not to be bold. Not to be boldly me. Boldly epic.

But here’s the thing . . . you only live once.

So f*** it. Be epic.