I wrote at the end of last year, that I'd been struggling. So many challenges had meant that life had become small. Work, study, and socialising at places I knew well. I just wasn't in the headspace for newness. I needed comfort. Hormone fluctuations due to perimonopause had hit me with surges of anxiety and depression. After six months of daily tears I saw my GP. She prescribed some estrogen and progesterone. This has helped a lot. But I still don't feel like myself. There was too much going on with Peter's Dad (see previous post) so I deferred my study for six months. It's now June and I've applied to take the rest of the year off. I honestly don't have it in me right now to continue on the treadmill of work/life/study.
Late last year our work team was evaluated by an external group. They determined that workload stress was having an impact on us. They offered a couple of free counseling sessions. I took up the offer and it seems that being a sobbing mess can get you an additional four sessions! The organisational psychologist was amazing. She spoke of workplace 'moral injury' impacting my mental health. But we also spoke of other things I'd been thinking about, such as my childhood and self perceptions issues. At the sixth session she gently summed up her thoughts and it hit me hard. I just sat and cried for about 20 minutes after turning off our zoom session. She'd suggested I might like to follow up with someone to talk about things.
It's taken me six months but I'm finally finding time to see a psychologist. Self reflection is something I love. I feel I've been looking for threads from throughout my life, which might help explain my anxiety. I've realised that there were so many small things which are linked to my anxiety which I'd never realised. Shyness. Nail biting. Comfort eating. Feelings of inadequacy. And no matter what I do in life, what I achieve, it feels like these feelings and behaviours are imprinted in my DNA. My building blocks are made from fear.
I spent my teens and 20s with crippling shyness. My internal monologue was comparrison with others and a constant feeling 'less than'. I was terrified of being exposed, of being humiliated in front of others. The feeling of judgement loomed, but the biggest critic was always myself.
In my 30s and 40s I was able to intellectualise a lot of these feelings. Quell them. Feel the fear and do stuff anyway. I've done things (like public speaking) which I never could have imagined as a teenager. I can do small talk and make people laugh and smile. I have made more wonderful friends as I've gotten older than I did when I was younger. I manage a team in the busiest library at a major university. I'm focussed on creating an empathic and supportive, professional culture. I'm 3/4 of the way through my Masters and have done incredibly well. Yet, at every turn the imposter syndrome kicks me in the arse. After any public speaking gig I need to be reassured repeatedly that it went ok and I didn't make a dick of myself. I found with each assignment I was terrified of failure. And these fears reached to my core, triggering tears of relief when I saw my marks. But I also fixated on any criticism.
When Peter and I began our relationship he pointed out how often I said 'sorry'. This word was a constant in my life. I just apologised for everything! He slowly helped me stop this, bolstering my confidence, and cheering me on. But I've found this behaviour creep back recently. I also need constant reassusrance that I am loved. It's like the hormone surge washed away any progress I'd made. Back at square one, while also cosplaying a functioning adult.
Weirdly it feels like the universe is also trying to help. I'm currently reading Graham Coxon's autobiography (from Blur). In it he discusses his own anxiety and his feelings of worthlessness. He masked these feelings with alcohol and drugs, and through rehab and eventually therapy understands that his low self esteem is due to an emotionally distant father.
Similarly an account I follow on Instagram (the holistic psychologist) posted something about the impact of dysfunctional Fathers. I teared up as I swiped through the tiles. In reality I know this is where the complicated part of my blue print began...childhood. It seems that no matter how much I've tried to get past these feelings, I can't without addressing the cause. At 54, I'm finding it exhausting. I'm tired of the anxiety, fear and feelings of worthlessness. I want to let it go. I can't carry these feelings any more.
I've had one session with the psychologist, so I guess I'll see how this goes. I might just need some more tissues.
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