Living with anxiety: Destination Self-Preservation

Self-preservation.

I seem to whisper this phrase to myself often lately. I’m reminding myself it’s okay to do. Maybe I’m justifying my selfish behavior. Nonetheless, it’s necessary for staying away from the pitfall of panic.

I constantly feel like I’m dipping a toe in the water, only to pull it out and say, “No, too hot. Need to wait a bit.” or “No, too cold, need to add a bit of warmer water to make this bearable.”

I suffer from anxiety and depression. The anxiety showed up after college, when I began teaching full-time and attempting to live up the lofty expectations of others and myself. Their dialogue became my inner dialogue.

Do you not want to be a Master teacher? Are you engaging them as much as you can? Do you feel that you could improve? Your team depends on you. The students and their parents depend on you. 

I remember having a panic attack in the elevator at school on the way to a staff meeting. A friend took my pulse and said it was high, “but not enough to have a heart attack or anything.” Whew! haha. Doctors brushed me off. Told me to “carry around a brown paper bag to breathe into when I felt a panic attack coming.”

When you don’t know what questions to ask, you suffer in silence. They assumed I just wanted medicine. I just wanted help. 

It’s my fault. I chose this career. I have to deal with my insecurities. I just need to be more confident. It will get better. 

After my daughter was born, 3 years after I began teaching, I barely finished the phrase “I feel overwhelmed” and I had a prescription in my hand for an anxiety and depression medicine.

I had never suffered from depression, only anxiety, but I assumed it didn’t matter when I began my medicine. It did.

I had my first bout of depression after my second child was born in 2012. Since then, it’s been an undulating wave of more and more frequent bouts of depression. At first, it was every few months. It was obvious that I couldn’t skip a dose or I’d feel a bit blue. Once, I tried to quit cold turkey (simply out of laziness because I forgot to refill my Rx). I told a coworker and friend, if I ever talk about quitting, smack me. This past 6 months has been a constant influx of depression.

After 2 babies and 8 years of teaching, it was no better. I quit teaching mid-year, about 6 months ago. I was so excited for school to begin, but then I spent the first month of the school year depressed. I loved teaching more than I ever had before and felt completely confident in my abilities and choices, but felt more depressed that I ever had. I knew the change of starting school, new schedules, chaos, had triggered it. I knew it was a wave and it would eventually subside. It did. But, I came out on the other side with clarity.

I can’t spend the next 23 years of my life (until retirement), depressed. This career will never get better. I will begin the school year with high hopes of changing lives and strong beliefs about how children should be educated, then the reality of beurocracy will smash those dreams into oblivion. Every year. 23 times over. 

I had two choices.
1) Lower my standards for what I expected my students to do.
2) Let go of teaching.

In most cases, quitting a job shows lack of commitment. Running away from a problem instead of solving it. In my case, I knew it was the right thing. 

A dear friend and coworker said, “Jenn, you know if you were doing the wrong thing, I would tell you. You’re not. I will miss you, but this is what you need to do.” I constantly whispered to myself…

Self-preservation.

My official reason was to stay home with my children. My unofficial reason, and what I told my administrative team, was that I was putting everything I had into this job that I love so deeply, but had nothing left for my family when I got home.

It’s been 6 months of struggle since I quit, but I still know it was the right decision. I’ve had guilt over taking my children out of an awesome daycare because I  needed to quit my job. Guilt over leaving my students mid-year. Guilt over putting pressure on my husband to provide for us. I remind myself they all deserved better from me. Better than the depressed mom, wife, and teacher who was venturing into apathy. A robot going through the motions with no concern. When I stopped caring… that’s what scared me.

As I type, my children are playing downstairs with some toys. I played with them this morning until I got overwhelmed with the noise.

self-preservation.

In those moments of anxiety, I picture the monster I’d become if I let me frustration get to me. Or if I gave into the expectation of a mother playing with her children all day, with no technology. Going to the park or library each day. I just can’t. It’s too much.

I’ve learned above all else, over the last 6 months staying home with my kids, that if I don’t pay attention to my mind and body, I will not be able to nurture them. I am often not mentally or physically able to live up to the American ideals of what a stay-at-home-mother should be. But I am confident that…

Through self-play, they learn imagination.Through sibling time, they learn cooperation.
Through my lack of intervention in every squabble, they learn problem-solving.
Through my lack of hovering, they learn to appreciate independence.
When I don’t rush them, they learn patience and perserverance.
When I preserve my energy, the time we spend together is quality.
When I have time to reflect, I make better choices as a mom.

I’ve learned to turn my guilt into trust in God’s plan. I’ve learned that anxiety is real, but can be manipulated into good by making choices of self-preservation. I”ve learned that social norms and others’ expectations are not always right. I’ve learned to treat depression as a chemical deamon that can be faught off with healthy choices and, for now, medicine. I’ve learned that my weaknesses are strengths in God’s eyes. There is a purpose for it all.

There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven–
A time to give birth and a time to die; A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted.
A time to kill and a time to heal; A time to tear down and a time to build up.
A time to weep and a time to laugh; A time to mourn and a time to dance.
A time to throw stones and a time to gather stones; A time to embrace and a time to shun embracing.
A time to search and a time to give up as lost; A time to keep and a time to throw away.
A time to tear apart and a time to sew together; A time to be silent and a time to speak.
A time to love and a time to hate; A time for war and a time for peace.
What profit is there to the worker from that in which he toils?  I have seen the task which God has given the sons of men with which to occupy themselves.
-Ecclesiastes 3:1-10

Some see these verses as permission to judge, kill, or hate. It’s not. The world is full of sin, and our free-will is a part of that sin. Sometimes we choose sin. Sometimes we don’t. These verses sum up our humanity. That there will be times of death, destruction, pain, hatred, sickness, and sadness. But on the other side of that is beauty. Heaven. Healing. Love. Communities rebuilding a city. Families coming together. Friends offering a kind word. Strangers choosing peace.

God doesn’t make bad things happen, but he sees the big picture and has a plan for our lives beyond anything we can imagine. 

Our daily lives are full of choices. Don’t let the pressure of the world’s expectations keep you from being your best self. Don’t believe in the hype of perfection. It’s a rouse. Sometimes we have to make choices that seem selfish, but will make us better in the end. Sometimes we have to choose self-preservation.