giving anxiety an identity

In my work with my therapist and my personal self-care practice I most often refer to my anxious self as my “inner child.” The reasoning stems from my experiences growing up and the moments when I felt scared and powerless, which ultimately shaped the way anxiety would manifest within me as an adult.  In an Instagram post earlier in the year I elaborated on my fearful younger self and the compassion I’ve developed for her.

 
 

Looking at anxiety in this way, as something to comfort and nurture into calmness and confident action, has been one of the most significant cornerstones of my journey. Because anxiety no longer becomes a bully or an enemy I need to beat; my life no longer feels like a battle, but a journey down an awkwardly bumpy and sometimes innocently treacherous road. Anxiety is no longer the villain tormenting me into submission, but a scared childhood me hiding in her closet and longing for someone to tell her she’s alright, she’s enough. I’ve been charged with keeping her safe and growing her confidence; in many ways, I am the mother of this inner child, and it’s my responsibility to encourage her out of hiding and into the world.

I remember once reading an article about making friends with anxiety and it seemed like the farthest-fetched idea I’d ever heard. Yet now, a few years and experiences and insights down the road, it makes all the sense in the world to me. Anxiety isn’t the thing hammering us into seclusion – that’s the reaction to the anxiety. Instead, anxiety is the shoulder a little bird sits on when it compassionately tells us to drop the storyline.

Adopting this perspective has been one of my greatest challenges, yet the result has been one of my greatest sources of strength. To become compassionate toward your anxious self is to become compassionate toward your imperfect self, and that’s the basis of a truly workable relationship between mind, body, and soul.