When the inner lamp gets too bright: a personal story of midlife anxiety
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This week I realised that the inner lamp of my anxiety had been slowly turned up until it was shining so brightly I couldn’t turn it off. I’d get home from work and feel too exhausted to eat properly or go for a walk. I’d go to bed with a pounding heart. I’d sleep (I’m lucky with sleep), but I’d wake up to a sense of exhaustion and a tiny bit of doom.
All of this surprised me because I thought I was over the worst of everything. I thought that now I’m settled in my new house, with a steady job, with some routines, I would be fine. I’d gotten through all the firsts after my friend’s death, I’d made it through a year.
And then it was a simple post on Instagram that brought everything to a head.
The post said,
“After the initial mourning period, a different kind of grief arrives. It’s the realisation that the version of yourself that you were with the loved one is also lost.”
I could sob as I write this.
I LOVED being Barney’s “mum.” I loved the silly names I called him and the feeling of company when I was in bed reading. I loved making his meals and taking him to the beach. I have fish now, so I still get to look after something, and they have silly names — but not the ones I had for him. They can’t snuggle into bed. And I still go to the beach, but it’s not the same.
And I think about the little community Barney and I had with my friend. We had all our own rituals, half-finished conversations we’d pick up a week later or the next day. We’d cook each other meals and just know that the other one was there.
When I think of my anxiety now, and my exhaustion, it’s also related to the care and attention I gave to my little community. Barney had diabetes and was blind; my friend had cancer; I cared for them both every day. They cared for me too. But my nervous system has been chipped away for years, and I’m still trying to make myself whole. And maybe I’ll never be quite whole because my life has changed forever.
All of this is to say: we pour so much of ourselves into the world with our caring hearts. And right now, as everything feels upside down, that can make anxiety feel worse and exhaustion feel deeper.
Here are a few things I’m doing for myself as I sit in this season of depletion:
I’ve moved to decaf. I got back into full strength while my friend was dying in hospital, but my gentle body is better on decaf.
I’m coming home every day and spending about 10 minutes in savasana. It’s amazing how grounding it is to actually get on the floor.
I’ve booked appointments with both my counsellor and GP to get support.
I’m offering myself a lot of compassion and grace.
I hope you’re not experiencing anxiety like this, but I imagine a lot of people reading this do from time to time. If you’re in that space too, I just want to say that I understand how it feels, and I’m sending you love.