The first thing we heard upon crossing the threshold of The
University of Sussex was the sound of a protest centred around Sussex House. I smiled to myself at the irony of it all as I held his hand
tighter. We had come to take part in a study on childhood fear and anxiety and
here I was confronted by something that would have brought me out in a cold
sweat twenty years ago when I lived on this campus.
It has now been proven that Anxiety Disorders are genetic,
inherited from those relatives that quite literally drove you round the bend.
The awkward ones, those who lacked confidence or panicked at the slightest change
in routine, the one you tried your damndest not to take after. That grandmother that took a cocktail of pills
to keep her together because she suffered with her ‘nerves’. I swore I would never take after my grandmother
and I fought the fight for 39 years, stomach churning, mind racing and blaming
itself , the anxiety eating into my self confidence, a parasite that stopped me
gaining weight and achieving my full potential. I never sought out a doctor because
that would be to fail, to admit that I was like her. But then came my boy.
The thing about being a parent is that you are forced to
face yourself head on. I didn’t want him
to be like me, but he was. If I couldn’t face up to and like the difficult
parts of me how could I love him, help him through those daily struggles that
had become part of my routine. I sought
help and vowed to help him too. Because like me he’s a strong little thing and
despite the anxieties he gives life a good go. And so together we boarded a train, shared a packet of
monster munch and strode forth onto campus to face our fears.
We spent the day answering questions on fear, I put my hand
in a box that could potentially give me an electric shock and entered a room to
meet a snake that turned out to be simply a shed skin. My boy had a ball but
more importantly learned that it is ok to talk about the way he feels, to
acknowledge anxiety.
It’s hard to write posts like this because despite modern
advances in the understanding of mental health, the fear of being labelled a ‘nutter’
adds to the condition of anxiety. What people do not realise is that most
sufferers of the condition do not huddle into a ball at the first sign of
trouble but battle on day to day internalising their fears whilst maintaining a
swanlike veneer. We are not unreliable, flaky or delicate, just hard on ourselves.
Although a genetic condition, patterns can be broken and if my boy does develop an
anxiety disorder I hope that he can challenge it in the way that I have.
Confidence may be genetic too apparently, which is why those
with anxiety often box below their weight. Since confronting anxiety I have
learned a new way to fight and my confidence has soared. The best lesson I can teach my boy is that we
are all in this mad soup together, that as complex emotional beings we all
suffer in our own little way. That worry
and fear bear no fruit.
In my family we have acknowledged that we are like each
other and we are standing together. Let’s hope that me and my boy's little
adventure on campus add to the understanding of our particular malaise for
generations to come. Meanwhile he
has already spent his Amazon voucher presented to him for his part in the
study. Any clues on how to break the pattern on money burning a hole in your
pocket gratefully received.
Great piece - as always with you, thoughtful, intelligent and gracefully written.
ReplyDeleteIt is shocking how much pressure society still exerts to be normal and strong and how easy it is to slip through the holes if you're not - or at least to be gripping the edges of the holes for all you're worth.
You have just written exactly how I feel. Amazing.
ReplyDelete