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Caroline Hart
Professor Ferrara
ENGL 1001
6 March 2023
Anxiety: The Hidden Struggle

What is anxiety? Anxiety can be unease regarding a prior experience or uncertainty about

a possible outcome of something happening. I used to think anxiety was something you

controlled and that to prevent it you willed your mind to think of something else. Wrong. That’s

not always the case. Anxiety can be different for everyone, and you can’t always tell if someone

is having an anxiety attack. The little girl who would run out of dance class, begging and crying

for her mom to not leave her, was someone with anxiety. The teenage girl who experienced chest

pains after EMT class was someone with anxiety. As that girl, I realized I did not want to be

ruled by anxiety.

I thought it was a regular sunny summer day in 2011, my family packed into the car and

headed to the neighborhood lake. We slowly pulled up alongside the house with the whiteboard.

It was your ordinary whiteboard, posted on a telephone pole, and written on it were exciting

announcements visible to those who would pass by. Often displayed were birthday posts or

results of a swim meet. My neighbor June approached our car as my mom put down her window.

“It was so sudden. She had an aneurysm.” These were the words I caught June telling my mom.

The “she” June referred to was my best friend Caroline’s mom, but I could not understand what

that one-word aneurysm meant. This had not been our usual ride to the lake. No, it turned out to

be the ride to find out how my childhood friend’s mom passed away. As explained to me by my

parents, the aneurysm is what killed Caroline’s mom. It was the first experience in which I

understood what the notion of death was. The first time that someone who was a constant in my
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typical routine of life would no longer be present in the physical world. As a seven-year-old, the

only thought I had of this was if my friend's mom could leave the earth so suddenly, couldn’t my

mom? I became very afraid of death and the concept of my mom no longer being with me. I felt

like if she was always with me and I was able to see her, then there would be no possibility of

her ever leaving.

Patiently seated on the porch, a few short months after the news, I watch each car passing

by until mommy pulls into the driveway. Like every Friday after work and school, she takes me

to my dance class at a studio a few blocks away on a busy street with parking that was a

nightmare. The ride allowed me time to listen to one song on the radio giving me a chance to

dangle my feet around in the backseat while mentally reviewing my dance routine. Mom always

managed to get us there with enough time for me to change from sneakers into my hip-hop shoes

and eat a snack. She parks in the side parking lot, and together we walk hand in hand into the

building. The windows are whited out and posted on them are silhouettes of different dance

positions. I go to the front desk and buy a pack of Welch’s Gummies. I would only get the

Berries ’N Cherries flavor as it was my favorite. The flavors followed by cold water left my

mouth feeling refreshed. Making my way into the studio, I was greeted by loud music and an

unwelcoming stench of sweat. My heavy, all-black hip-hop shoes weigh my feet down while I

make my way across the gray concrete floor and to my friends stretching in front of the mirrors.

Our teacher announces that the class will be starting soon. Before the official start, I ran back to

mommy giving her a big hug, engulfing myself in my favorite smell of her Wild Bluebell

perfume. I recite the words my mom most likely has memorized; “Don’t leave mommy. You sit

in this chair so I can see you. You can’t leave.” The same words that I would repeat before every

class because I did not trust that she would stay. If she were to leave I would worry that
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something would happen. The last thing I ever wanted, and my biggest fear, was her leaving me.

She had to go sometimes to pick up my older brother, Jack from baseball practice. When she

attempted to leave I became hard to handle. I would pull on her arm, take her phone away from

her, cry, and follow her back to the car. Anything for her to stay with me. During class, I check

on mommy through the observation window and see she is the only one there. I feel relief wash

over me and am able to focus on dancing. What I had not realized was that my actions were

noticed by those around me. If my dad dropped me off, he had the tendency of leaving. When

this happened, my friends would come up to me and ask “Why do you always run out of dance

crying?” Mom’s friends would tell her that she should just leave and that they would never have

stayed. But mommy tried her hardest to always be there.

The September after my friend's mom passed away, I was a second grader in a Sunday

school program. I had gotten out of the car at drop-off and headed to my class where we began

our first lesson. We sat in a circle singing and I started to think about how my mom was most

likely on her way home. While I sat there without her. I cried to myself until my teacher, Mary,

noticed me and told me she had a surprise for us. Mary was a friend of mom’s and told me that

she and my mom baked cupcakes together that we would have today in class. I was very excited

that I would get to have mom’s cupcakes! It was as if mommy knew I would be sad without her,

but left the cupcakes made by her for me to look forward to. After this class, I told mom how

much better I felt knowing she made the cupcakes. From that point on mom would attend Mass

while I was in class. This way she would not be far away from me. That made me so happy

because sometimes we even went to Mass during class and I would see mommy.

As I got older, around the age of 15, my friend Katie would tell me stories about her

anxiety attacks. I could not understand why she let what I thought were “irrational fears”
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overpower her. I thought she had not tried hard enough to prevent these attacks… that was until I

realized that what I had experienced as a young child was also anxiety. I was in no position to be

judgmental as I understood first-hand how debilitating anxiety could be.

Unbeknownst to me, my separation anxiety was fading through the years. I slowly

learned to be okay when venturing into the world without my mom at my side. A huge milestone

for overcoming my anxiety was attending the fifth-grade field trip without the constant “what

if’s” that had clouded my mind. The trip was to Blairstown Campground in New Jersey, the first

and farthest that I had ever been from my mom. I was nervous. To make it through the duration

of the trip I surrounded myself with my friends. I bunked with them, ate with them, and

participated in group activities with them. Our days were filled with hiking, rock climbing,

kayaking, and singing around the campfire. The trip left little time for me to be left alone with

my thoughts about where or what my mom was doing; except for at night. However, what really

pushed me through was the ability to contact my mom. I was allowed to text her before going to

bed. I checked in on her and she checked in on me.

For the remainder of my middle school and most of my high school career, I did not have

separation anxiety. I stuck with the method that seemed to work for me while on the trip to

Blairstown. I kept busy by playing multiple sports, surrounding myself with friends, and most

importantly always texting my mom when I felt I needed to talk to her.

By 2020, almost a decade later, I could finally say that my separation anxiety no longer

ruled me. However, my anxiety was adapting into an illness anxiety disorder. In tenth grade, I

enrolled in a three-week Emergency Medical Technician course. I learned all about the protocols

of first responders, but I became anxious that I could possibly be the one in need of medical

attention. We performed hypothetical scenarios while riding in the back of an ambulance and
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performing CPR on a specialized medical dummy. The entire time I felt pressure in my chest and

difficulty breathing. I was too nervous to tell my parents thinking that I was having a heart

attack. To add to my worries my grandmother had suffered from a stroke and my uncle died of a

heart attack, so I was fearful that I would genetically inherit this.

I made the difficult decision to speak with my school's therapist, Dr. Jeff. I was skeptical

if this was the right decision. I never believed in receiving help from others. How can a therapist

help me better than I could help myself? This is a question I used to wonder about before I gave

it a try. Seated in his office on the comfy couch, the sequin emoji pillow lay in my lap, and

fidgeting with a stress ball, I felt safe. The white noises he played in the room calmed me as we

conversed like friends. Dr. Jeff listened to me and I listened to him. He advised me to practice

breathing exercises “Trace one hand with your other pointer finger. Breathe in when going up

and release your breath when going down.” This exercise was the most effective and subtle way

for me to mentally reset when worrying. Yet, the best thing Dr. Jeff made me realize is that I've

survived the chest pains. I was not having multiple heart attacks. I was sitting here with him in

his office after experiencing these chest pains. So why worry about something when I’ve lived

through it multiple times and continue to come out okay?

Anxiety can not always be prevented by avoiding whatever it is you are worried about.

Anxiety is a hidden struggle that I did not realize I had been battling against. It is a struggle I

never liked to admit I endure. To me that meant defeat. Having anxiety meant there was

something wrong with me and that I needed help in order to function normally. I was wrong.

Much like I was wrong that you could force anxiety to go away. Anxiety may never go away. It

is all about who wins the battle. I wanted to win the battle against anxiety. I refuse to let Anxiety

rule me as it once did.