While listening to a past episode of Mayim Bialik’s Breakdown, Glennon Doyle summed up quite succinctly what it is like for me to live with anxiety: living for the done.

Never looking forward to a thing outside of my routine (and even dreading some things within my routine) and always looking forward to the moment when I can be on the other side of said thing;

No matter how exciting – even a Bon Jovi concert;

No matter how far in advance plans are made – the closer the time comes for the event, the more I dread it and long for a way to escape;

Even if I am certain I will enjoy the actual experience;

I can’t wait to be on the other side;

Living for the done.

During this podcast, they also discussed moments when they feel calm, when anxiety seems to completely disappear.

For me, one such moment is right after the done – no matter how big or small. There is that brief moment when I pause, breathe, and think about what has just transpired:

• Jon Bon Jovi smiled at me.
• I enjoyed dinner with my friends.
• My therapist normalized that secret shame.
• I feel mentally and physically relaxed after that workout.

I live for the done because it is in those moments when I feel 100% at peace. Those moments are brief, but gloriously gratifying.

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This past week, I had my monthly session with my therapist. As always, I grew more anxious as our time together drew closer. I wanted to cancel, afraid that I would be wasting her time, but certain that to cancel would be a mistake.

This month, I was eager to share a HUGE win – a few HUGE wins – things that would seem quite trivial to most people, but something that showed tremendous growth.

• I tend to have an all or nothing mindset.

If plan A fails, I tend to completely shut down. I have to take time to regroup and start over, a time-consuming process that often leaves me stuck in a vicious cycle.

• I take setbacks personally.

Every failure is a reflection upon me. If something succeeds, it was pure luck or the result of someone else’s efforts. If something failed, it screams to the world that I am an incompetent, good-for-nothing loser.

• I correlate one person’s success with my failure.

When someone seems to succeed in making their goals and dreams come true, I am jealous of their fortune and secretly pout about my deficiency.

Recently, however, I have experienced situations which demonstrated my emotional growth:

• When my plan A failed, rather than shut down, I paused, took a breath, and came up with a plan B. When plan B failed, I paused, took a deep breath, and came up with a plan C. AND . . . it all worked out.
• After a laundry list of failures and no’s, I felt calm and assured that even though things did not work out the way I hoped, it was and would be okay. I had come to realize that these failures were not a reflection upon me. I realized that there were external forces at work that had nothing to do with me as a person. Even though these external conditions were hampering my plans, it did not make me less than.
• I was able to truly and purely enjoy another’s success because I realized one had nothing to do with the other. Somebody else’s success isn’t my failure.

It felt extremely satisfying to share this with my therapist. She could appreciate what big deals these were. These have been life-long challenges that only took 47 years to overcome.

I have been in therapy on and off since I was fourteen. I have been with this particular therapist for about seven years – some of my most traumatic years. She has seen enough to be able to appreciate these wins with me.

In fact, our sessions over the past few months have been about uplifting wins – in which I feel proud of myself, how far I have come and overcome.

This month, she was so pleased that she asked where I saw our relationship going in the next year. We had never had that discussion before. I felt like she was about to break up with me and the panic returned. In my mind, my “good-ness” feels like a house of cards. It can only stand as long as every piece remains in place, and no one bumps the table.

I switched gears to a topic that still bothers me – my inability to set foot in a church without having all kinds of horrible thoughts about the people surrounding me, the nausea, and my overwhelming urge to flee – and this coming from a chaplain and pastor who loves Jesus.

“That’s a normal trauma response,” she said.

“SEE! SEE!” I thought to myself. “You can’t break up with me. I’m still broken!”

Instead, I paused, took a deep breath, and said, “I see our relationship as a necessary part of my self-care. It’s like going to the doctor. I don’t just wait until I’m sick to go, but routine checkups are important to keep me healthy.”

“That’s a healthy response,” she said.

It was only later that I thought about myself like an addict. An alcoholic cannot simply stop drinking and think they are cured. It is a life-long struggle. That person must continue to work on sobriety in order to remain sober.

I must continue to work on my mental health to remain healthy.

It is also like prayer – or any relationship for that matter. We do not pray once – or have one conversation – and think that relationship can flourish and grow. It requires consistent and persistent care.

I need to maintain my therapeutic relationship even in the good times so that I am equipped to tackle the bad.

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When I first started seeing my current therapist, we met once a week. Then, we reduced it to every other week. Then, we only met once a month – unless I had a need like when Bailey died.

Now, we will meet every 4-6 weeks with the option to meet sooner if needed.

I shared how, since graduation, I have been reading more about trauma care with the intent to become a better chaplain, but how a lot of it has helped me as well.

For instance, I am currently reading a book called Think Like a Monk. Many of the things mentioned are things she taught me. Some are things she taught me that did not work then but seem to be working now – like meditation.

I also told her about the Breakdown podcast.

I know myself well enough to know that I may be going through a period of well-being, but I know that I am not magically cured for life. What I am doing with medication, self-help, talk therapy is all part of my program to maintain good mental health.

Just the thought of ending this relationship terrifies me. Anything could happen tomorrow, and I could be right back in that dark pit that I was in during the pandemic years. I am scared of going there again and the only way I know how to stay out of that pit is by continuing to do what I’m doing now – which includes seeing my therapist regularly.

I am glad she thinks so, too.

Even though I live for the done, I know I will never be done. This is my journey.

I am just thankful and grateful for people like her who care enough about my mental health to stay on this journey with me.