Dear Reader,
For as long as I can remember, my life and my internal emotions have been characterized, almost defined, by sudden spikes in nervousness. Not the kind that qualifies you for medication (I’ve checked), and never enough to initiate an actual panic attack. But a sort of slow-burn, head-to-toe feeling of general unease, prompted by things like having to introduce myself in class and sending emails. To put it simply, I’m like if Beaker (the Muppet) was a human girl.
This state of being is not a new one, and it’s certainly not unique to me. My mom would probably tell you that the reason so many people are often anxious is because we weren’t designed to be constantly interacting socially, or to be bombarded with so much stimuli. I’m not sure, only because I have to imagine that early Homo sapiens had to introduce themselves to each other in a circle too, even if they didn’t have to also include their major and one fun fact about themselves.
If you’re anything like me, life is only getting more stressful and more complicated the older you get (not only do I have to introduce myself to people, but I also have to work and send emails and tell people what to do, simultaneously). Luckily, you have me, who has at least eight years of freaking out under her belt. Over the years, I’ve developed a way to mediate that nervous feeling. I’ve simplified the whole process for you, listicle style.
1. Figure out what’s setting you off
We start with the anxiety attack. Sometimes, it’s easy to tell what’s happened — a rejection, some bad news, a social interaction I haven’t prepared for. It’s a quick spiral into existential dread, followed by a resolution when whatever it is gets resolved — I make a presentation and do not spontaneously combust, die or get arrested, for example.
Other times, I have no idea what’s happened. I have a vivid memory of sitting in my car the summer after my freshman year, parked outside of a Raising Cane’s (of all places), and struggling to catch my breath. That state of affairs (the not breathing part, not the Raising Cane’s part) lasted for three full days (a personal record!).
I made it stop by going into an urgent care and asking them if I was having a medical emergency, prompting a nurse to have to tell me that there was no sign of anything wrong, and that I was probably just being a little bit dramatic (she didn’t say that, I inferred it). I then proceeded to breathe normally, which was shocking to everyone in the room. A medical miracle!
It turned out that my anxiety about my own anxiety symptoms had created a sort of feedback loop, a characteristically ridiculous, Beaker-core situation. For me, finding out what’s wrong — what’s making me feel a certain way — is crucial. And sometimes that can be the most difficult part of the process, especially because it involves admitting that I can be irrational and often more than a little dramatic.
2. Prepare accordingly
When you know the trigger, it’s easier to work backwards and find a solution, however silly, to the problem. Rather than descending into a full-blown existential crisis, you can at least brace yourself for what you know is coming.
As an example, I used to avoid ever leaving or entering a classroom in the middle of a lecture, even in college, because no matter how quietly you open a door, at least half of the people in the room are going to whip their heads around to look at you. It makes me feel like the perpetrator of a terrible crime, or like the imminent victim of a surprise party.
What helped me in this case were the facts: People are programmed to look up or around when they hear a new noise in their environment, or when something new happens, not because they’re looking for a culprit, but just as a developed response to something that might be dangerous.
People aren’t looking at you because they think you’re a disturbance because you needed to pee halfway through the lecture, they’re just making sure you’re not an escaped tiger from the zoo, or a wooly mammoth or something. Or at least that’s what I tell myself over and over as I climb over people’s backpacks on my way to my swivel chair.
3. When all else fails, adapt
I have a crippling addiction to putting embarrassing things on my to-do list, like “talk to roommate” and “do a fun crossword.” It’s a combination of my overwhelming inability to deviate from a set of tasks I’ve set for myself and the understanding that time away from work and relaxation are crucial for remaining upright and alive.
I get anxious if I don’t complete my to-do list, but I also have to live like a regular human. So, I adapted, to incorporate the things that get missed in a normal checklist into my own. If I have to put “read book FOR FUN” on my checklist in order to feel a sense of accomplishment while also not burning out, then that’s what I have to do. I’m accepting the way I feel, and what I need to do, without fighting it.
4. It does get better, even if you never get used to it
My dad always says, “The anxiety means you’re alive.” We’re anxious about stuff we care about, and while it’s not always pleasant, from an outside perspective it’s at least endearing that I still care about what my classmates think of me. It’s nice that my life, and how people think of me, and how to do it “right,” matters. Being nervous means I’ve still got skin in the game, that I’m still learning and growing. My life is still unfolding. It’s a nice way to think about it, even though having to text someone new still makes me feel nauseous.
5. If all else fails, run straight towards it.
A lot of people have asked me why, as someone who dislikes talking to others unless absolutely necessary for my mental health, I chose to major in the “Talking To People” career. It’s a difficult question to answer, because I’m not sure myself. I think it’s a habit ingrained in me from the times when just talking to someone new was the bravest thing I did all day. Sometimes that’s still the bravest thing I do all day.
I’ve learned that although sometimes anxiety is telling us to emphatically not do something, sometimes, for me, it’s just telling me that I’m doing something new, and exciting. Something that I’m not sure of, and that I don’t know how to do yet. As I got older, I started using my anxiety as a weathervane, not as a deterrent. It points me towards new horizons, not danger. And if I run towards those new horizons fast enough, they stop being sources of anxiety, and instead become sources of comfort.
Anxiety and I are old companions. Kind of like your favorite friend from middle school, who you used to spend all of your time with, but have grown apart from. I live my life without substantial and worrying increases in heart rate for the most part. But every so often, sometimes without even noticing, it creeps back into my life, and it’s like it’s never left. I’ve mostly accepted that, like so many old friends, anxiety and I will never really be done with each other. So instead of avoiding it, I lean in. I put it on my to-do list, and then I move on.
If you have a pressing problem you need advice on, or a response to this, email opinion@dailynorthwestern.com with “Best Guess” in the subject line.
Mika Ellison is a Medill senior. She can be contacted at mikaellison2025@u.northwestern.edu. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to opinion@dailynorthwestern.com. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.
