(Dis)Connected

I’d like to start by saying that over the last ten years that I've had a cell phone, I've become addicted to it.

It’s not just scrolling through my Instagram and Facebook feeds either. I’m constantly texting and looking up random videos on YouTube.

This past January, my class studied technology and how it influences our day-to-day lives. Comments ranged from “I can’t even think about going without my cell phone for 10 minutes” to “I think being connected all of the time is bad, but I don’t know how to stop.” I think I ended up learning more than my students did after this class.

It’s kind of similar to taking a film class and learning how to set up shots. After that, you’re ruined for movies.

Well, after my students and I analyzed our digital lives for 16 weeks straight, I started realizing how big of an issue this is for not only their lives but mine as well.

I went to the doctor’s office a few months ago and saw two women sitting next to each other staring at their phones. The only time they broke their focus was to show the other one something funny that was happening on their screen.

I felt angry after seeing their interaction, but it was mainly because I knew that this is a totally acceptable way to hang out.

Our phones have become our best friends.

After finishing the course in May, I started reflecting on a trip I took last summer to Paris and Spain. While I had an amazing time visiting these countries, I also spent so many hours on my phone, sharing my trip with friends, family, and even strangers online.

It would have been fine if I had used Facebook or Instagram as just a place to store my photos, but I didn’t. I posted because I felt like I needed to let other people know what I was doing with my days. Even more, I felt this compulsion after posting a photo to log back in every few minutes to see who had “liked” or commented on my activity.

Does that sound familiar to anyone?

And looking back at my trip, sure, I got a lot of really great photos, but I also spent way too long trying to make everyone I am connected to online a part of my real world experience.

Then, I asked myself why.

Why do I give a care that someone posted yet another selfie? Why does it matter what my friends ate for dinner? Why do I need to see yet another post telling me that you LUV your boyfriend and how he’s your #MCE (man crush everyday) ?

The most important question that I asked myself, though, was why I felt the need to post a lot of the same stuff.

Sure, it’s awesome to be able to connect with friends and family who are not living close by, but as a good friend of mine put it, social media is not a way to stay connected as much as it’s a way to compete. Our Facebook and Instagram accounts have become a digital resume where we show only our good sides and filter out the less attractive parts. And even though I know all of this, I still buy into all of the bullshit fantasies that people sell online.

I’d been lying to myself in saying that social media and texting allowed me to stay connected because honestly, I’d never felt more disconnected.

This feeling is what prompted me to leave my phone at home for 6 days while I visited Hawaii with my family recently. I knew that if I brought it with me, there’d be times when boredom would lead me to  scroll through my social media feeds.

I wanted to remember what it felt like to be bored.

The entire drive to the airport, I kept feeling the panic rise in my chest like heat in an upstairs apartment before realizing that I hadn’t forgotten anything important; I had just left my phone on airplane mode in my underwear drawer.

Before going on this trip, I had spent a few days in the mountains at a yoga retreat where we didn’t have cell service. This lack of “connection” to my life back home led to a deeper connection to the people I was with and the activities I was doing.

I left feeling clear-headed and invigorated because I had actually been present at an event rather than Instagramming it for the “memories” I could have later on.

And the feeling of connection that I had in the mountains was once again achieved in Hawaii.

My boyfriend and I had long talks on our drives around the island. We sat at a coffee shop and watched birds walk down the street. I fell asleep with ease every night at 9:30pm and woke up from some of the best sleep every morning by 6:30am.

The anxiety that I usually carry with me like a backpack also seemed to float away, and in its place was a calm feeling.

On the flight home, I started wondering if I would be able to feel this same calm when I returned to my normal life. It’s easy to remain present in a place like Hawaii. It’s acceptable to say to people you know, I’m not going to respond to your texts or Facebook posts for six days because I’ll be on vacation, but I worried about how I could go off of the grid when I came back to Modesto.

Well, I’d like to tell you that when I got home, I didn’t immediately check my phone, but then I’d be lying.

But I will say that I didn’t feel the need to text everyone I know or post much about the trip. After scrolling through Facebook for a minute or so, I put my phone back on airplane mode and forgot about it for the rest of the night.

I’ve decided not to delete my social media accounts. I learned that I don’t mind being connected to people, but I do want to lessen the connection I have online and strengthen the ones I can have in person.

Since coming home last week, I have “hid” my phone almost everyday when I noticed that I wasn’t being productive. I’ve also removed the Facebook app, that way, I can only check it when I’m near a computer.

I’m learning that while I enjoy being online, I need to be more present in my real life. These may seem like small changes, but they are big enough for me to notice a difference.

Somewhere in Hilo, HI listening to the ocean. 

Make Time

Last weekend, I participated in an intensive yoga and writing retreat in the Sierra Nevada Foothills.

Prior to its start, I felt blocked and unwilling to accept my place in life. I had been trying for the last 5 months to write something, but I felt stuck because to write meant to face some pretty heavy stuff that happened to me recently.

In addition to feeling blocked with my writing practice, I also felt like running had lost its appeal. Lately it seemed like every time I laced up my shoes, it was to become better instead of what it used to be, which was a way to practice mindfulness and escape from an overwhelming desire to constantly be the best.

In short, running and I were on the outs.

I arrived at the retreat excited to have a weekend with no cell phone reception and a mission to empty my head of all the crap I had been hearing as well as telling myself this year.

We spent the weekend, well, doing a lot of yoga and writing. It never once got boring, though. Each yoga session asked us to go deeper, and I found myself remembering a quote from Cheryl Strayed’s Tiny Beautiful Things where she writes, “Let yourself be gutted. Let it open you. Start here.” 

So that’s what I tried to do. I let yoga gut me and open me. 

At the end of each practice when we had settled into Savasana (my favorite pose), I found myself setting intentions to stay present and engaged, which I've found extremely difficult because of my anxiety. I know it might sound crazy, but I actually felt myself peeling off layers of stress, anger, and sadness as I lay there on my mat. I hadn’t realized how heavy those feelings were until they were gone.

The writing, however, was met with resistance from my inner critics. Each time I picked up my pen to do a freewrite or an exercise, I heard the voice inside telling me that I wasn’t good enough.

Late last year, I wrote an essay about my experiences running my first marathon and how finishing that event created a stark contrast to my estranged father who never finished anything he’d set out to do. It was well-received by people, which was great for me, but it also made me fear that I’d never write anything like it again.

While we were in our final workshop of the weekend, however, I learned that everyone at the retreat has the same inner critic that tells them that their writing is shit and that no one will want to read it, but they keep going. 

To end the weekend, we sat down and made commitments to ourselves to make time for writing. I wrote that I wanted to wake up every morning at 6am and write my morning pages. This last week, I stuck to my commitments everyday by getting up no later than 7am (I like the snooze button, what can I say). I must admit, last Sunday night, I thought to myself, there’s no way I’m going to get up at 6am. It’s summer, and I’m tired. But somehow, I did it.

I’ll never forget the people I met last weekend and the honest, inspiring conversations that evolved from our love of writing.

I drove up thinking that I would have a nice break from my otherwise busy life, but what I left with was a deeper commitment to finding inner peace and a recommitment to my writing.

I could really get used to doing yoga with this view

I am a tree!

My mighty fine boulder

My dear friend, Callie. Thank you for your presence in my life.

Another tree!

Water! It was so nice to see water and hear thunder. 

What It's Like to be Anxious (Like Me)

The first time I remember having anxiety was age six. One day, I got it in my head that my teacher wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom if I needed to go, which would then result in my having an “accident” in front of the class. There was no reason to make this assumption. It’s just something I started thinking about one day, and before I knew it, the panic had spread. I remember asking my mom “what if Mrs. Rockhalt doesn’t let me use the bathroom and I pee in my chair?”

Six years old is also when I learned the two-worded question “what if?”

From there, worrying became as compulsive as my need to blink.

When I was seven, I learned about AIDS, so naturally, any time I got sick, I thought I had contracted the virus. As a result, I didn’t want to visit the doctor’s office for fear of being told that I was dying.

At the age of nine, I went on my first trip to Disneyland and drove my mom nuts with questions like, “what if I don’t like Splash Mountain?” “What if I get sick?” “Does this ride go fast?”

What if? What if? What if?

By 6^th grade, I convinced myself that I would get sick at school and not be able to get in touch with my mom and go home if needed to. I worried so much that I actually made myself sick. I spent a good half of that year in the nurses office as a result.

Now, at 27, I think I am much better than I used to be back then, but I am not free of anxiety.

I worry about being liked by everyone from the random barista at Starbucks to close family members. I worry about losing my grandparents on a random Wednesday. I worry about never finding happiness. I worry about literally going insane from how many hours I spend in my head. I worry about dying. I worry about not living. I worry about the pain in my breast that the doctor says is nothing. I worry about being a shitty, neglectful girlfriend because I’m too busy worrying about the relationship I am in to enjoy being in it. I worry about not finding a job that I love. I worry about settling.

For me, having chronic anxiety means an invisible suffering.

On the outside, I look like I have my shit together, and I do for the most part, but inside, my mind is constantly moving between 10-15 different scenarios.

I may tell myself something like these thoughts are not true, just ignore them and then 10 seconds later I’ll worry about having to tell myself the aforementioned statement and think, well, if I am having to tell myself they aren’t true, then they must be true. Trying to convince yourself of something means that whatever you’re thinking must be what’s truly in your heart.

This goes on for about 25-30% of my day, everyday.

Here’s a better example: last year, my boyfriend went on a fishing trip to Alaska, leaving me at my apartment alone for eight days. Being the introvert that I am, his short absence felt like a vacation for me. I got home from work and immediately took off my pants, ate chips and guacamole for dinner, and wore the same T-shirt to bed every night.

It was magical. 

Then, around the sixth day of him being gone, my mom text me to ask if I missed him. I stared at the text for two minutes, then looked at myself laying in the center of my bed at 2pm watching “The Bletchley Circle” on Netflix, and realized I didn’t miss him.

 I text my mom back and said, “Yep, I do” (even though it was a lie) and immediately started to panic.

Well if you don’t miss him then maybe you don’t want to be with him. He’s been gone for almost a week and you’ve barely talked to him, yet you don’t miss him at all? Maybe you want to be single. You’ve had so much fun sitting in your apartment like this all week, maybe you want to make it more permanent, I started saying to myself.

It took me a full week to calm myself down. During this time, I had to tell myself that not missing him while he was gone wasn’t an indication of my overall feelings toward him.

Having anxiety is different depending on the person. Some are so debilitated by their anxiety that they can’t even leave the house. Some need medication to help silence their loud thoughts. Others talk about not being able to have a consistent sleep cycle.

Luckily, I have never felt like I couldn’t leave my house or sleep because of my anxiety. I have tried medication, but it made me feel like a zombie.

For me, anxiety means constantly second-guessing my decisions and myself. I can put my worried mind to bed, but if I am not constantly hovering over it like some helicopter parent, then ten minutes later the doubt creeps in.

Anxiety means never fully appreciating the moments I am in because I am too busy chasing after the ones that have yet to come.

I remember this one time my boyfriend and I were listening to old songs from my iTunes and we started dancing around our apartment and singing at the top of our lungs. We even got the cat involved in our shenanigans. I was singing and smiling one moment, and then in the next, it was as though I had left my body and was watching myself, thinking, this won’t last forever.

In that moment, anxiety was like a cold, hard slap to the face.

I have anxiety about two major things in my life: abandonment and endings.  

After being alive for 27 years and living with anxiety for 21 of those years, I am fully aware of where my anxiety comes from. I know that the reason for my anxiety about abandonment comes from my father leaving when I was little. It’s a tangible piece of evidence for my anxious mind. It says, “This has already happened once. It can/will happen again.”

But I’d also like to say that I think my anxiety has grown to the size it is today because of messages from society. As living, breathing bodies, we are told exactly how we should think, feel, and act everyday. These messages come from television shows, magazines, religion, and most recently, lists created online.

You know the lists I’m talking about. The ones that say “15 Ways to Know You’re in a Happy Relationship” or “15 Ways to Think About Life”. There’s a “top 15” list for everything these days.

Reading through those lists can make even a well-adjusted person feel like they’re messing up. And while sometimes I find the lists to be good, most of the time, they just reinforce this idea that if you aren’t living life according to someone else’s “top 15”, then you’re doing something wrong.

And if you’re like me, then you don’t reach out to other people in your life to find out that they are also not living up to someone else’s “top 15”. If you’re like me, you assume the problem is yours to suffer alone, and that isolation that you create where you tell yourself you are alone in this, there is something wrong with you is where the anxiety plants its deep roots inside of you.

The other day I was dealing with one of my anxious thoughts and decided to talk to my girlfriend about it. I told her that I felt alone and different when it came to this particular experience and she wrote back and said, “I feel that way a lot of times too.”

That simple reply from her felt like my body had been wrapped in a warm blanket after months of standing out in the cold. I have always thought that because of our differences, there could be no possible way she felt the same way I did.

I’d like to say that I am a lot better than I was even just three years ago. I have been able to recognize my anxiety for what it is, which is a big step.

Therapy has been the most helpful for me. During one of my sessions, I said to my therapist, “I mean, if I keep having the same thoughts, doesn’t that mean they are true?”

He laughed and said, “That’s part of the trick your mind plays on you. You can’t believe everything you think, even if the thoughts are recurring.”

You can’t believe everything you think, even if the thoughts are recurring. This is now my mantra on the days where I lay in bed chasing my worried thoughts.

I have also started to come clean about my thoughts to those closest to me without fear of judgment.  I used to think I was burdening people with my problems, especially my boyfriend because of how often I worry about our relationship, but I am starting to see that by talking about it, I am seeking to change my behaviors, which benefits him, too.

Whenever I do talk about my anxiety, I just ask that people listen and don’t tell me “just stop having anxiety” or “worrying is SO bad for you.”

I know worrying is bad for me, and if I knew how to stop doing it, I would stop. Telling me that my thoughts are dumb or bad only helps to exacerbate the problem by making me feel more alone.

Last night I finished a vision board that shows all of my hopes for myself in the future. 

Here's my board

I told my boyfriend, “in the future, I want to be these things.”

He told me, “you have to start being them now. Putting them off for the future just gives your anxiety permission to continue taking up space in your life.”

At first I thought, easier said than done. But now I think he might be right.

I may always have to work harder than people who don’t have anxiety to redirect my thoughts, but I think it’s a far better alternative than allowing my thoughts to control my happiness.

So I’d like to start practicing gratitude for the things I have in my life and the things I want. I’m hoping that combined with communication, acceptance, and ignoring other people’s “top 15” lists, it will make a difference.