Kylie’s View
By Kylie
When I was ten, my mom took two friends and me to Sky Zone, a massive indoor trampoline park. Walking in, our excitement rivaled the level I’d imagined one would feel at Disney World. Instead, we were hit with a wall of noise as kids ran around laughing, yelling, doing flips, and competing to see who could jump the highest. We got tickets, found a place for my mom to set up camp, and finally heard the words we’d been anticipating for the entire hour-long car ride it took to get there: “Alright, you guys can go play.”
My friends immediately took off as I followed wearily. They found open trampolines in a row and started jumping and shouting like kids were supposed to. I did a few apprehensive jumps but wouldn’t scream. I was overwhelmed and felt trapped in this vast playground. While they jumped around, I stayed at that one trampoline, worried I’d be in the way, feeling as though all of the other kids’ eyes were on me, judging me for clearly being so stiff, so quiet.
I found the restrooms, and upon getting inside, I sunk to the floor. I started sobbing uncontrollably and couldn’t breathe. Then, I got restless and started shaking my hands and scratching my arms and legs, pacing as I tried to keep quiet.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I was experiencing my first anxiety attack.
I’ve always dealt with some level of social anxiety. I had spent my entire life with people commenting on my shyness, asking why I was so quiet. And I hated myself for it - for not being an outgoing kid, who could go to birthday parties and make friends without a second thought, who didn’t recite the word “here” mentally over and over during attendance, who could have fun at a trampoline park without feeling suffocated.
After that day, the attacks came more frequently. The worst part was how guilty they made me feel - that day; I felt guilty for not enjoying myself on this excursion my mom had taken us on. I blamed myself for not being appreciative as if I had control over it. As if I chose to have a breakdown in the Sky Zone bathroom.
I didn’t accept my “quiet” personality until my sophomore year of high school - about five years later. I still deal with social anxiety - although it manifests itself within the more general concern, I no longer hate myself for it. I met friends who opened up about having the same issues and found out that even some of my oldest friends had been dealing with them silently; finally, it got through to me that it wasn’t something I could've been controlling all along. And I was no longer the odd one out, as I had been growing up in a primarily outgoing family.
I stopped trying to separate myself from my anxiety and instead accepted it as an inherent part. I realized, finally, that my anxiety wasn’t necessarily something that held me back, and I wouldn't be a better person without it because I was who I was, not in spite of it, but because of it. Learning to manage it made me into a generally more self-aware person; I learned hobbies that brought me fulfillment, became a more empathetic person, and learned to appreciate the things I had in my life.
Two days ago, I called my bank. Myself.
At one point in my life, I’d be ashamed to say I’m proud of myself for that, but I am. Just a few months ago, that would’ve been an impossible feat for me. And of course, I wouldn’t say my anxiety is something I’ve “overcome” - I still have never driven through a drive-through because the idea of ordering brings so much anxiety. There are days when I catastrophize everything, convincing myself that I’m going to fail a class when I get one bad grade or that all my friends secretly despise me when I’m left on delivered for an hour. Honestly, I don’t think anxiety is something you “overcome.” But the thing that can be overcome, and that I’d like to think I have, is the stigma around celebrating such small victories. For many, celebrating a phone call may seem silly. But this isn’t the case at all - it’s a process, and each small victory leads to a slightly larger one. So I am empowered by each phone call I make, each order I place at a restaurant, each person I introduce myself to or greet at the entrance of a grocery store. I’m empowered by the little things that show progress. Everyone should be.
