I think it’s fair to say that there are expectations. Expectations for manners, behaviors, attitudes, driving, well.. living. One thing that I can say is that my anxiety has driven me to worry about everything.

Last Thursday, I was so angry when I got home from work. One of my sewing coworkers was on vacation for the last two days. And so most of the work had to be done by me on Wednesday and not so much on Thursday. By the time I got home, I wanted to cry my eyes out. I tried explaining my emotions to Eric. I wanted to wring his neck at first (though I would never do it) when he asked if I wanted to go to the water. (Lake Michigan, down the road from our home)

I explained that I needed to do my crying at home. Then we could likely go. By the time we got to the lake, I understood something.

Every day and in every situation, I’m worried. I’m worried about getting my work done. I’m worried someone is saying bad things about me. I’m worried that Eric may need my help. I’m worried about the house. I’m worried about my health. I’m worried about getting food. I’m worried about what I’m supposed to recommend for food. I’m worried about having enough money. I’m worried about not having enough money. I’m worried about other people on the road. I’m worried about people being angry at me. And most definitely, I’m worried about just getting through another day. Having this much anxiety is … bonkers.

Last weekend, my husband and I went to his parents house. It was nice. The only thing that was different this time was – the dogs didn’t come with. When I came into the house, my father-in-law met me at the door with this…. energy. He was greeting me in a similar fashion as the dogs would. (No jumping up and down or licking… I can assure you) My father-in-law came in to give me a hug. And for a few moments, I backed up. Not because he’s repellant or anything. I’m not used to affection. At least – not from most of the people that I engage with on a day-to-day basis. Eric is probably the one person that gives me the most affection. Since he’s my husband, that makes sense.

From time time I was a little girl, I’m sure affection was aplenty. My mother would spoil me. Suddenly, by 14 years old, my hormones are raging and my mom is unwell. There is no affection. No hugs, no I love you’s. It was lonely. So for years, I operated under the sense of desperation. It’s easy to see that when someone is desperately lonely, that lonely person will take anything they can get. And for how I was reacted to – to some extent, I just stopped asking for what I felt like I needed. I felt like sex was taboo – even for being a married woman for over 20 years. Sex still felt … dirty. Then again, I hadn’t emotionally processed the various rapes that I had endured. Junior – my ex boyfriend from ages 17-18 (3 month time period). Junior told me towards the end of our relationship (as I would escape in March of 1995) that he was going to have sex with me whether I wanted it or not. That was the worst. Being dehumanized and sexually assaulted. No where to go.

I finally came to a point in my life where I can enjoy making love to my husband. The problem for me is, while we’re making love, I feel so conflicted. I don’t deserve to feel so good. To be treated so kindly. To be loved so much. So there is some modicum of guilt that I feel. Especially since Eric’s body has been slowly betraying him since the day he was likely born.

I still question why Eric loves me. I still question why anyone would love me. I worry my house is just a temporary thing. My car. Everything in my world is temporary. If I enjoy something, it’s going to go away. I’m afraid of my in laws. Not because they’re even remotely scary (though, it did take a long time for me to understand my mother in law’s heavy HEAVY sarcasm). I never felt like I was good enough for Eric. If we didn’t have money for something, I felt like a loser. I knew that with my limited work experience and limited education, I couldn’t attain anything better. The fact that I have a job still is great. I appreciate that so much. Sometimes I don’t appreciate certain individuals there. And … well, when I actually came down to the broad strokes as to why… I do not get the attention that many people do. I just sit back and hope not to be spoken to or what not. I’m afraid if I attract attention, it’ll be the wrong kind. Or I’ll be evaluated unfairly and I’ll have to defend myself. I work so god damned hard. I miss having a social life, within reach. My friends aren’t exactly close. I’m still doing the farm thing for my friend April. I love being able to see the animals and help them by feeding and filling their water.

Animals – in this capacity don’t scare me. Animals don’t tend to judge me. Maybe if I was an asshole or I smelled bad, then maybe. I get positive attention from animals (generally). From people, I have no idea what people think about me. I certainly know what I’ve thought of myself. Past and present. And despite the fact that I can recognize some aspects of a healthier sense of self…. I’m still terrified. That every situation I will find myself in will be like when I was involved in any relationship that went sour. People will die. People will see me as undeserving and unworthy. And likely, I shouldn’t care. My mom cared about what other people thought. She was insecure about her weight. We always spent time with the extended family. My anxiety and insecurity led me long before I understood what was going on. I didn’t understand that the thoughts created by depression and anxiety didn’t make sense. If I were to ask a random person what they thought of me – there may be a variety of answers like: I don’t have any thoughts about you, I don’t know you. You seem nice. Maybe even an… I like your hair. I can’t imagine that anyone would have a reason to tell me straight to my face that I suck and I shouldn’t have what I do. Yet, somehow, that’s where my brain goes.

When I was talking to my therapist about work and my feelings about it…. and certain people… I started to cry. Things are so much deeper than I care to admit. I had never admitted to myself or anyone else before that I was jealous about the attention they received from people. To me, the message is… I don’t matter. People don’t want to interact with me. They know something about me.

So, paving ahead. At the beach, I looked around my surroundings. I held a small branch from a fir tree in my hand and pet it. Telling the tree that it was beautiful. That I was proud of it for growing and that I would never harm it. Trees, after all, are living things. Trees feel pain, just differently. Trees support their surroundings. Trees communicate threats to other trees and supporting “community”. They just do it differently. A life is a life. Trees will never look at me with indifference either. Trees provide every single person on this planet with oxygen. It isn’t conditional based off what religion you follow. Your sexual identity. How small or large you are. They are not judgmental. Unless there is a danger they observe. I am not one of them.

Here I am, living my life. Worrying about everything. Instead, I can go outside. I can take my dogs for a walk. I can observe my surroundings and try not to care about what the people around me are thinking about me. I want to look around the beauty of sun, trees, clouds, flowers, and other miscellaneous plants. And I want to take it all in.

And I am working at it.

Working at caring about what matters.

Working at caring about me.

And working at understanding my own set of complicated emotions and what they REALLY mean.

Life is hard. It is simply not as hard as it used to be. And I am grateful that I am still here to enjoy. My needs and wants are simple. I don’t want expensive things. I have always wanted and still want time. Time and energy to spend with the outdoors. And the people who love and accept me. They will have me. In one form or another.

I am trying to practice gratitude.