“I don’t know if you’re capable of actually letting yourself be really happy.”

I was stunned. He didn’t say it to put me down. He said it as if he really saw me, he really wondered if I could allow myself to be content, grateful, to just allow things to unfold, and to love without expecting the worst.

Deep down, I knew. I look for the bad things. I prepare for the worst.

- Anonymous Contributor

I didn’t respond. I didn’t say anything, I just looked at the ground. Deep down, I knew. I do look for the bad things. I do prepare for the worst. When things are going well, I’m suspicious. I wait for everyone to walk away, to say I’m too much. I self-sabotage. I push people away or push their buttons to see just how committed and loyal they are. Can I count on them? Will they leave?

I had done it again, I had pushed another person I loved too far. I tested them too much.

Most of the men I have dated were drawn to me initially because I am so intriguing. People would probably say I am an extrovert, I seem so go-with-the-flow and spontaneous. Neither is actually true. They are masks. I need alone time, lots of it. I just didn’t like spending time with myself for many years. I am also a planner. I can be spontaneous within the plan, but I need a plan. Most relationships ended because my partners got to a point past the intrigue and realized I am too much, too complicated, too broken, too afraid.

I had been abandoned by my biological father at a young age. I would live the next 20 years of my life defining myself as the “abandoned one,” not worthy of love and pushing people to see just how loyal they were to me and if they would leave. I would question who I am and why I wasn’t good enough. Later, I would survive an abusive relationship and would try to find myself after becoming a shell of a human being. I would be bitter, angry. I would take care of my damn self. I wouldn’t rely on anyone. I would make the vow, “never again.” That was my way to control. If I was the one calling the shots, I wouldn’t get hurt.

Lately, therapy has taught me that my anxiety stems from these painful moments in my life, but also that my anxiety can be a byproduct of a gift I have. I am able to see the whole picture, the whole movie. And in instances where I can’t see the whole picture, I need to gather the details before making a move or a decision. I obsess about it. What could go wrong? Who are all of the characters? What is the plot and how can I control it? I do this in EVERYTHING; in business, life, relationships, future planning, finances. It’s unique because I always see the forest through the trees. I’m learning most people can’t do that. They address the tree in front of them. I am almost too observant.

I can use this gift to create beautiful elaborate plans, in business and in life. This is also what spirals my brain into a spaghetti-like mess, with every noodle touching the other and when you move one, the whole plate shifts. Completing a task is never just completing a task, that task is a domino in a long line of perfectly set up dominos. One wrong move and the very worst thing could happen. They all fall.

I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. My parents would say that I was “high-strung.” I used to think it was a bad thing. I now realize everything can be both good and bad, or as my therapist has helped me realize - everything is on a scale of healthy to unhealthy. I’m working on taking “good” and “bad” out of my vocabulary. I take on a lot, because I can see the whole. I hold the weight of the lives of those closest to me, because I can see the movie play out before it does. I feel like I am responsible. I can also be a truth teller in times when the truth is needed. See..both healthy and unhealthy, and timing is often everything.

With a brain swirling around and around like spaghetti on a fork, slipping and sliding, I get overwhelmed, often. Throughout my life, the dominos have fallen, the things I’ve built have crashed and burned, and the things I was trying so hard to control backfired. These circumstances have triggered this feeling of overwhelm to the point of complete burnout, utter panic, sitting in the floor of the shower with the water beating on my head as I count and try to breathe. I feel like I am drowning, like I am gasping for air. The walls are closing in, and I am anchored to the bottom of a deep, dark, pool.

Cue: Meds!

I have been on and off anxiety medication for the last ten years. Every time I feel good enough to try to get off of them, life happens, and in a BIG WAY. The thing I tried to prevent or control, was not controllable. The person I loved did what they wanted anyway, broke my heart anyway, left anyway. There were things out of my control (I’ve learned that most things are…), and it all fell apart anyway. I’ve trained myself to battle on, keep moving, plug the holes in the sinking ship, force the damn spaghetti on the fork, glue the domino in place. I’ve climbed the mountain with no energy left, only to find more energy...somehow. And I have been doing that for years. Just as I thought I was on the top of the mountain and all that I had created below was perfectly in place - a bomb drops.

That bomb put me in bed for 3 months eating nothing but Twizzlers, showering maybe once a week, with tears and bags under my eyes. I had to hibernate. I’m not saying it was healthy, I’m just saying I couldn’t do anything else. My burnout had burnout. My heart couldn’t work any harder to pump blood through the rest of my body.

That bomb destroyed everything...and it saved my life.

I’m not trying to write a happy ending here for the hell of it. It really did take everything being destroyed for the last time, for me to realize what really matters. There was nothing left. I had to rebuild, and now I could rebuild with better, stronger foundations. Now I could prioritize myself, my well-being. I could build around that. Life is not always “peachy.” I am still on daily anxiety meds to keep my head above water. I still have the tendency control everything, from the organized bins in the laundry room to the reactions of others. But now, I am aware. I can stop myself and say, “Girl, you survived the bomb. What’s the worst that can happen?”

You say "control freak" like it's a bad thing

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