Chapter 1. Where it all began

7 years old is my oldest memory of anxiety. It was just another car ride like most other Sundays; I was in the back of my grandparents’ red sedan on my way home from a visit.

This heavy weight began crushing my chest as the tears poured down my beat red cheeks. I remember feeling like I couldn’t breathe as if something was crushing me. At 7 years old, I didn’t understand what was happening to me, and I was terrified. I hid the tears for the remainder of the drive completely undetected. The rest of the night, these feelings continued to brew inside of me.

I cried myself to sleep that night.

With each passing Sunday, these feelings became stronger and stronger until I could no longer hide them anymore.

I sat my grandma down, and I poured my heart out. Everything ounce of sadness and fear poured out onto the table of the old farmhouse. Warm tears filled my beating bloodshot eyes. The look of sadness and concern in my grandma’s comforting smile would not be understood for another 12 years. I didn’t know why I was feeling this way, but what I could peice together was that leaving my grandparents made me feel sad and scared. As I expressed these intense feelings of sadness and fear into words, I felt the weight slowly lift from my chest. I was still unaware of what these feelings meant and why they were happening, but I found a form of peace when I put my feelings into words. Little did anyone know at the time these feelings were feelings of separation anxiety and would quickly depict how I was going to survive each day battling anxiety

These intense feelings followed me home every Sunday for years to come. Even to this day, 19 years later, when I find myself driving the same roads, it still brings those farmilir uneasy feelings.  As an adult, I have grown to appreciate the support system I have built, which allows me a safe space to put those intense feelings into words.