Copyright Kerri Sackville 2012. All rights reserved.

. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

The Little Book

Confessions from a Worried Life

of Anxiety

Author of When My Husband Does the Dishes . . .

Kerri Sackville

Copyright Kerri Sackville 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Kerri Sackville narrowly missed out on Hollywood superstardom when she came runner-up to Nicole Kidman for the lead role in BMX Bandits. She went on to university, and over the next decade worked variously as a social worker, headhunter, admin assistant and for one brief, bizarre period a weight loss consultant. After the birth of her second child, Kerri began doing the only thing she has ever been really good at. Writing. Kerri Sackville is now an author, columnist and social media addict. Her blog, Life and Other Crises (at kerrisackville.com), details the daily dramas of her life as a forty-something wife, mum, friend, chaos wrangler and owner of an improbably white house. Kerri has written extensively for mainstream media and online publications, including The Sydney Morning Herald, The Age, The Telegraph, Sunday Life magazine, the Child group of magazines, Notebook, Mamamia.com and Australian Women Online. She currently writes regular columns for Practical Parenting Magazine, The Australian Jewish News and the website Daily Life. Kerri lives in Sydney with her architect husband, their three children and an accident-prone rabbit. When she is not writing, looking after the kids or cleaning the house, she enjoys tweeting, drinking caffeine with friends and lying extremely still on the couch.

Copyright Kerri Sackville 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

The Little Book

of Anxiety
Confessions from a Worried Life

Kerri Sackville

Copyright Kerri Sackville 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

An Ebury Press book Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060 www.randomhouse.com.au First published by Ebury Press in 2012 Copyright Kerri Sackville 2012 The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Extract p. 191 reproduced with permission from Robert Brault. Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.com.au/offices National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry Sackville, Kerri. The little book of anxiety / Kerri Sackville. ISBN 978 1 74275 536 6 (pbk.) Sackville, Kerri Humor. Anxiety. Panic attacks. Phobias. Self-care, Health. 152.46 Cover illustration adapted from original by Justine Beckett, Getty Images Cover design by Christabella Designs Internal design by Midland Typesetters, Australia Typeset in Sabon 11/17 pt by Midland Typesetters, Australia Author photograph p. i by Natnee Buppapirak Printed in Australia by Griffin Press, an accredited ISO AS/NZS 14001:2004 Environmental Management System printer Random House Australia uses papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products and made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

Copyright Kerri Sackville 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

A Born Worrier
Anxiety in children is originally nothing other than an expression of the fact they are feeling the loss of the person they love.
Sigmund Freud, neurologist and psychologist

All I have to do is close my eyes and I am there again, four years old and utterly bereft. I am lying alone under my quilt, sobbing fat tears of distress and missing my mum. I adored my mother. As a little girl I loved nothing more than to watch her as she got ready for a big night. I would perch on her bath in my nightie, breathing in the sweet, sharp smell of her perfume, fascinated as she applied her eye shadow and mascara, wondering at the silkiness of her dress. She was beautiful. My mother was my safe place. She was everything to me. She was my cuddles, my reassurance, my warmth, my love, my everythingwill-be-okay.

Copyright Kerri Sackville 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

KERRI SACKVILLE

My mother patted me to sleep. She soothed my worries. She enfolded me and made me calm. But that night, she wasnt there. I was alone, and frightened, and rapidly becoming panic-stricken. My mum was gone. She had promised me shed be back but that was ages ago and I didnt know how long I could hold out, huddled in my big-girl bed with my baby doll under one arm and my stuffed Doggie under the other. I stared at my white bedroom door, willing it to open. I visualised my mum walking through, heading over to my bed with her blonde curls and high heels and her sweet mummy smell. But she wasnt coming. I sobbed harder. My mum was never coming. I needed my mum and she wasnt there! She wasnt there! The thing is, though . . . well . . . that wasnt actually strictly true. My mum was there. She hadnt left me at all. She was right outside my door, laughing, greeting guests and carrying plates of canaps. My parents were holding a dinner party, and my mum was simply doing her job, being the perfect hostess. Whats more, before the party had begun she had tucked me into bed, kissed me goodnight and told me that she loved me. I had no reason to be afraid or forlorn. But I was. I couldnt fall asleep, and I wanted my mum, but at that moment my mum was out of reach. Instead of belonging to me she belonged to my father, and their guests, and the bustle of the party. She was out in the hallway, but she may as well have been on the other side of the world as far as I was concerned, because she certainly wasnt where I needed her to be. Mummy! I cried, my face red and swollen. Tears dripped down my cheeks and onto Doggies head. Mummeeeee! I could hear womens tinkling laughter, my fathers voice offering

Copyright Kerri Sackville 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

THE LITTLE BOOK OF ANXIETY

drinks, the sound of the doorbell ringing as more guests arrived. Footsteps up and down the hall, music on the record player, glasses being clinked together. The sounds of the party were a wall between my mother and me. I hated those adults invading our home. I longed for my mum and I was becoming more and more hysterical. When would she be back? Would she ever come back to me? Mummeeeee! I sobbed. Mummeeeeeee! I wanted to go out looking for her, but there were strangers in my house and I was too embarrassed to appear in front of them in my long, purple flannel nightie. So I just lay there in my bed and continued to sob. And sobbed. And sobbed some more. And called out repeatedly, Mummeeeeeee! Mummeeeeeeeeee!!!!! Eventually, my mother heard my howls. There were hurried steps, and then my doorknob turned and light bled into my room. Darling! said my mother, my beautiful, safe mummy. Sweetheart, whats the matter? Relief flooded through me, releasing my tension, and I sobbed even harder. I . . . missed . . . you! I cried through gulping breaths. I . . . thought . . . you . . . werent . . . coming back! I didnt go anywhere! she said, and stroked my forehead. I was in the other room with my friends. I would never go anywhere without telling you! I nodded. I suddenly felt very sleepy. Will you go to sleep now? she asked. Ill come and check on you a bit later. She kissed me twice and tucked the covers around me. See you in the morning, darling. As I felt myself drifting off to sleep, I told myself I wouldnt worry anymore. My mum and dad loved me. There was nothing to be afraid of. And yet somehow, there always was.

Copyright Kerri Sackville 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

KERRI SACKVILLE

I was a hideously anxious child, and that made life very difficult for all around me. The biggest problem was that I really had nothing to be anxious about, at least not at the age of four or five. I had parents who loved me, and a cute younger sister. Its not like I had to go out to work in the coalmines, or perform in child beauty pageants, or practise violin for three hours a day. But I was anxious, and that anxiety needed an outlet. And so I worried endlessly about the worst possible thing that could ever befall a small child. I worried about being deserted. Night after night, I would lie awake in my bed, alert, vigilant and listening for evidence of abandonment. In particular, I would listen for the sound of cars. My bedroom was at the front of our house, adjoining the street, and my window looked right into our carport. As an unfortunate consequence of this accident of geography, I could hear every car that drove past our house. And every time I did, I would panic that it was my parents, sneaking out, driving away and deserting me. Car doors slamming made my heart skip a beat. Car engines starting almost made me faint. Time and time again I would bound out of bed, run to the window, lift the heavy green drapes and check frantically to see if my parents car was still in the drive. Sometimes the sight of their red Volvo was enough to reassure me. I could trust that they were still at home, and still looking after me; or at least, trust enough to slip back under the covers and go to sleep. Sometimes, however, even seeing their car wasnt enough to calm my fears. After all, who knew what devious lengths my parents would take to get away from me? What if they had escaped by taxi? What if they had packed their bags and fled by foot? How would I

Copyright Kerri Sackville 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

THE LITTLE BOOK OF ANXIETY

survive? I would be left all alone with my younger sister, with no one to love us or look after us. Or perhaps my parents would leave with my sister in tow and I would be absolutely all alone. I would die by myself, in the scary dark house, because my mummy and daddy ran away forever . . . By this stage I would have worked myself up into a state of complete agitation. I couldnt sleep I couldnt even close my eyes until I had crept out of my room and tiptoed down the hall, to see if I could spot my mother somewhere in the house. I would glimpse her in the kitchen tidying up, or on the couch watching TV, or chatting to a friend on the phone. Once I saw her and knew that she was still there with me, I could quell my anxieties and tiptoe back to bed. And then I would fall immediately into sleep. After all, the panic was utterly exhausting. I dont know why I thought my parents were going to abandon me. They had never left my sister and me without saying goodbye, let alone left us in the house completely unsupervised. My parents adored us. Neither of them did anything scary, or hit us, or had wild parties, or brought strangers home to stay. They didnt drink, or smoke pot, or engage in other criminal activities, or leave us sitting for hours in a car park while they went to play the pokies. I had absolutely no reason to worry they were going to leave my sister and me in the middle of the night. I guess I didnt need a reason. I didnt tell my parents about my abandonment issues when I was a child. I didnt confess my fears to them until I was well into my twenties. My mother, not surprisingly, was devastated at the news. But why were you worried wed desert you? she cried. We never snuck out of the house! We never, ever left you without saying goodbye! And it was true.

Copyright Kerri Sackville 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

KERRI SACKVILLE

And you always had lovely babysitters! she added. Okay, so that part wasnt completely true. Did she not remember Steffie, the ancient, bald woman in grey who made my sister and me sit in the dark so that we didnt waste electricity? Not exactly lovely. However, Steffie wasnt really relevant. Nothing my mother could offer was relevant. There was no reason for my anxiety. Anxiety isnt rational. And neither was I.

Despite my anxieties, I have many wonderful memories of my childhood. I was very close to my family, particularly my mum and my sister. I went to a nice school and had lots of play dates. I did after-school activities like ballet and tennis, had plenty of toys and loved the Super Friends cartoons on Saturday mornings. I remember snuggling in bed with my dad reading books, going on family trips to a friends farm, sitting on the couch with our cat, Sam, and deconstructing every single episode of Young Talent Time with my sister. But wherever I went, and whatever I did, I wore my anxiety like a backpack. I carried it with me to school, to friends houses, at home, even to bed. Sometimes the pack was heavy, sometimes it was lighter, but it was always with me, day in, day out. Id been carrying that backpack throughout my life. Not only did I not know how to take it off, I wasnt even aware that I could. I worried incessantly throughout my childhood, about matters large and small. I worried terribly that I was going to get kidnapped while I was walking to school, which was literally one block down the road in a nice suburban neighbourhood, full of families, gentle elderly people and soft, fluffy kittens. I would walk nervously, wary of every man (and some women) who passed, and flinching at the cars that drove

10

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THE LITTLE BOOK OF ANXIETY

by fearing that an arm would shoot out and grab me and drag me into the car. Needless to say I always walked very quickly. I worried constantly that my parents were going to get divorced. Now, my parents never said that they were going to get divorced. As far as I am aware, they never came close to getting divorced. But they did have arguments, and those arguments terrified me. I would see them in conflict and know for a fact that this meant that they were going to split up, which in turn meant that my world would completely collapse. So I would run between them, crying hysterically and screaming in panic, Dont get divorced! Dont get divorced! My parents would then need to turn from each other to attend to me, sobbing and dishevelled on the floor, which meant that the argument was postponed for another time. So I guess it worked. I worried a great deal about my friendships. I spent a lot of time fretting that my friend Nat would stop liking me, or that Ella would be angry at me, or that Louise one of the cool girls would come between me and Michelle. And to a certain extent my worries were justified. Friendships can be tenuous when youre a kid, and girls in particular can be really mean. In the microcosm of school, minor conflicts can become major issues. There are frequent episodes of not speaking to each other, and there are other girls waiting to pounce from the wings and take your best friend away from you at the first hint of a fight. Some kids roll with the punches better than others, but I would take these interpersonal dramas extremely badly. Julia doesnt like me anymore! I sobbed to my mum after a falling-out with a close friend. And you know what? She actually didnt. Wed been close for years, but now Julia was twelve, and about to become a teenager, whilst I was a year younger and still very much a little girl. She was wearing a bra, she was interested in boys (really interested, as opposed to being content to admire them

11

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KERRI SACKVILLE

from afar), and she occasionally wore lipstick. I was as flat as a board, didnt even have my ears pierced, and wouldnt have known what to do with a boy if hed approached me with chocolate bars and a ticket to a Young Talent Time concert. It was natural for Julia and me to grow apart. She moved on to Sarah another blossoming pre-teen and I stayed behind with my less mature friends. Still, the rejection was devastating, and it took me a full term to recover. Whats worse, a pervasive insecurity remained in my other relationships, an insecurity that lingered throughout my schooldays and beyond. I also worried a great deal about going on holidays. While I enjoyed going to visit my grandparents interstate, or staying in their holiday house up north, I became highly anxious when travelling anywhere else. I was a child who needed routine and constancy, so any change in my environment would inevitably cause me a lot of stress. This was ironic, because my parents adored travelling and took my sister and me on frequent interstate trips and overseas holidays. Every time, I was an absolute nightmare. I would start to become unsettled in the car or plane, and would be completely out of sorts by the time we arrived at our destination. There was nothing specifically wrong; I just wanted to be home. Home was safe and familiar and easy. Being away was scary and foreign and unpredictable. I hated not knowing where we would go during the day, where we would eat our dinner or where the toilet would be if I needed to wee. I would grizzle and complain and be unhappy and fretful, which must have been delightful for my long-suffering family. I also wouldnt sleep for the first few nights in any new bed, which meant that my parents and sister didnt get a lot of sleep, either. The general wisdom is that kids are flexible and adapt readily to their lifestyles. In my case, this wisdom proved to be a myth. I never did get used to travelling, and continued to be anxious

12

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THE LITTLE BOOK OF ANXIETY

and unsettled every time I was away from home. Still, my parents persisted in taking us on holidays, and by the time I was twelve, though I had had some wonderful experiences, I had been grumpy and tired all over the world. My last and most profound childhood anxiety was to worry about infinity. Actually, I didnt so much worry about infinity as harbour an overwhelming terror of the concept. Infinity haunted me, and I would ruminate on it in bed, night after night after night, until Id worked myself up into an overpowering frenzy of fear. I dont do my Infinity Freak-Out anymore, as Ive learned to control that particular destructive behaviour. I suspect, however, that if I put my mind to it, I could still use it to induce quite a decent panic attack. The Infinity Freak-Out is powerful and horrifying, and I had it down to a fine art.

Instructions for an Infinity Freak-Out

1. Lie in bed with the lights off and the door closed. Drown out the faint sounds of the TV or your family with your own thoughts. 2. Think about death. Think about dying. Think about YOU dying. Realise that you are going to die one day, that there is no way you can halt this inevitable march to your own doom. You could die any minute. You could die now. Immerse yourself in the thought. Feel death hovering over you, ready to snatch you up at any second. 3. Once you can feel death nearby, start thinking about what happens after death. Some part of you, the youness inside you, the you-ness you can feel your soul,

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KERRI SACKVILLE

your spirit will continue on in some form. It has to. I mean, where else will it go? 4. Once you have thoroughly convinced yourself of this point, reflect on how long this you-ness (soul, spirit) will live on. Forever. It will live on FOREVER. Forever and ever and ever and ever and EVER. Never ending. Infinity. Keep meditating on this, for ten, twenty, thirty minutes, until the panic sets in and you start to shake and you have to call your mother in to help calm you down. Assuming, of course, that she is there on the couch and hasnt escaped from the house . . .

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