Anyone who doesn’t know me well will see a nice, friendly, professional but a little ditzy, funny and kind lady standing before them.

And for the most part, that’s who I am. But there is another side of me that only the very nearest and dearest have seen. And that is the anxious side of me. And that’s what I want to talk about today.

When I say anxious, I don’t mean slight nail-biting and a few ‘oh dear, oh dears’ here and there. I’m talking about crippling anxiety that does not allow you to function and makes you so physically ill that you begin to question who you are.

This is something that happens to me. Not often, but when it does, it hits big time.

I have scheduled to start working again this week and my daughter had to start attending a childcare facility. We were meant to start a gradual running in process, but then our COVID numbers increased dramatically and all facilities had to close. When they opened again, it was literally 10 days before when I have to start work, so we had to accelerate her running in process.

It was not good.

For the first few days, it was great, she loved it. But then when she realized this wasn’t a one-time gig, she got very upset. And it’s heartbreaking and it made me feel awful even though I know I am doing the right thing. But it’s really, really stressful. She needs some time away from me and she needs to meet other kids. When I leave her she grabs me and goes ‘mummy, come!’ and she grabs on to my ponytail, which is now excessively long due to hairdressers being closed, to try prevent me from leaving.

It’s awful.

And the whole business of me going back to work. I’m happy and excited. I want to talk to adults and go back to doing what I do best, which is being a nurse. I thrive in the clinical setting and it makes me feel useful and productive. But at the same time I’m scared. There’s going to be a huge change in routine.

Then it starts: the anxiety.

YOU CAN’T COPE.

YOU ARE A SHIT WIFE.

YOU ARE AN EVEN SHITTIER MUM.

YOUR DAUGHTER WILL DIE AT CHILDCARE.

YOUR HUSBAND WILL FEEL SLIGHTED.

YOU WILL GIVE YOUR ELDERLY PARENTS COVID.

YOUR FRIENDS WILL HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU.

Having a kid has made me irrationally scared of dying. When I am feeling anxious, this fear begins to cripple my life.

My car doesn’t start: THIS CAR WILL BE THE THING TO KILL YOU AND YOUR DAUGHTER.

I have a pinched nerve in my rib: THIS IS PANCREATIC CANCER AND YOU WILL BE DEAD IN FOUR MONTHS.

I don’t manage to do daily exercise: YOU WILL BECOME MORBIDLY OBESE AND GET A HEART ATTACK AND DIE.

All this anxiety ended up giving me diarrhea and a headache that lasted 4 days. This sent me into overdrive.

4 day headache: YOU HAVE A BRAIN TUMOR WHICH WILL ULTIMATELY KILL YOU.

Enough. Enough enough enough enough.

I went to see a GP, mainly about the headaches. Once in her office I had the panic attack that I had been holding in for 15 days. She was great. She has a tribe of young kiddies of her own so she gets it. After examining me thoroughly, she said:

‘Marie, you do realize that this is a a phenomenal amount of stress? Would it be ok if I prescribed you some short term anti anxiety medication?’

I thought about it. This is no way to live.

The anxiety: THIS IS PROOF THAT YOU ARE TRULY NUTTER BUTTER!

Oh, anxiety.

Fuck off.

And I said yes. It is ok.

A day has passed and I am already feeling so much better. The headache is basically gone. And I feel a sudden peace. And I got an overwhelming amount of support from my husband and sister and friends.

And I can assure you that none of those people think I’m nutter butter. They think I am brave. And proactive.

Well, maybe a little nutter butter. But in a way that just makes me interesting.