Journal of relationship anxiety

I read a comment recently that said that it's easier to stay in your anxious state rather than feel the pain of looking at yourself (or words to those effect).

This has been the most helpful thing I have read so far, in addition to the kind support that people on this forum, and others, have provided for me. I've turned up at appointments wanting to talk about WHY I'm having these thoughts, and what does this mean, and why am I feeling this way, and those helping me have always turned the conversation around to how do I feel, what's going on elsewhere, and telling me that I need to turn my focus elsewhere.

I've been so frustrated by these words, because I've been so fixated on what I'm thinking and feeling at every moment of the day, and what it all means. When I read that comment - that it's easier to stay anxious than experience the pain of looking at yourself - it finally clicked. All these people trying to help me, trying to turn my attention elsewhere - they were waiting until I was ready to look at myself.

And it is painful, looking at yourself. It's painful to be vulnerable, and to fight through all the thoughts and feelings and anxieties and get to the heart of the problem, which lies with me . It's so painful that at times it's easier to experience the hurt of anxiety, and turn the view away from myself again. But if I have to get through this, I have to look at myself.

I've always been anxious, when I think about it. I couldnt go upstairs myself as a child, but I couldn't explain to my parents why I couldn't do it. It made me anxious, to the point that I couldn't physically make myself walk up the stairs.

My parents would always get chips on a Monday night - I used to sit in the back of the car and have images of the fat wrapping around their heart, and what that would do for them. It used to terrify me, and I would beg them not to stop for chips.

When I was 11, I decided that my body was everything that was wrong in my life. The more anxious I felt about something - not just being fat, anything - the less I would eat. This went on for ten years before I got help.

The list is endless, but looking back over my life, there has always been something to keep me anxious.

If you're reading this (and well done for getting this far) and you're thinking 'but I've never felt anxious about anything before, so this can't be anxiety' - don't. Every topic that has made me anxious up until now, I haven't identified as anxiety. I thought it was real - even the most ridiculous things, like when I was three and thought that rubbish had feelings - I thought it was all true. Anxious thoughts always feel true, and they can come at any time, and in any form.

I looked at myself, and what made me 'me'. At first I came up with nothing - I felt I didn't know who I was, at least nothing beyond the superficial of how I looked, and what my IQ was, and what toppings I liked on my pizza.

Then I watched a video (which is on YouTube somewhere) involving a therapist who was talking about her childhood. She talked about her father, and how he never showed her affection - he showed the pets affection, but not her. She longed for affection for so long, that when she was an adult and someone gave her a hug, it was painful. She had wanted affection for so long, that it had become a frightening thing for her.

So I looked at myself again, and I wondered what I had longed for, if anything. I realised this:

'I want to be known and loved just as I am'

The next part is probably going to come across as 'poor me' and a bit parent-bashing, so let me begin by saying that yes, I am hurt by my parents - but it's not their fault. In fact, some of it is my fault. No one is perfect, and everyone gets hurt - it's just life. But I can't look at myself without looking at where my fears come from.

When I was growing up, I wanted to be what my parents needed me to be. I worried that they didn't feel loved enough, I worried that I wasn't enough for them, and I worried that they would rather have another child. At the same time, they wanted me to be what they needed me to be too - they would tell me that it was selfish to cry, that people needed me to be bright and happy, that my views were wrong if they didn't match theirs. So I hid away the parts of me that they didn't want, and that I thought they wouldn't want. I stopped talking about the things which worried me.

As I got older, I started achieving, and I worried about not achieving because it would disappoint my family. At the same time, my older sibling wasn't achieving, in fact he was failing, and falling hard. Whenever I achieved something, the message was always the same 'We can't talk about it or celebrate it in case it uspets him'. So I stopped talking about the things in my life which made me happy.

My parents are very proud people - they too put on a front for the outside world, even when things were awful at home. They never let anything slip, and I had to do the same. I stopped talking to anyone about what was upsetting me.

I didn't let people in, and I still don't - I don't have close friends, I barely talk to my family at all, and when I do I get defensive and anxious. My partner has gotten far - very far in fact - but I still find it difficult to talk, and I would still much rather talk about anything else but me. And even though we've spent weeks together constantly in one another's company, I've always had the safety of going home and staying in my room, and hiding myself away eventually.

Until now - now I'll be moving in with him, and I won't have a place to hide. He will know me, and I know that he will love me just as I am - and that's painful. To share everything with someone will be scary. And I worry that I will not be enough.

So my next step, or what I think is my next step now - to break down the barriers. To find a way to stop putting my guard up, and trust people enough to let them in.

I'm sure I will probably feel like writing about it at some stage.

So yesterday was all about looking at myself again - looking at what inside me is hurting and missing. It's amazing how your mind will step in with distractions to try and take you away from looking at the sore spots inside yourself.

It made me look back at how I had been thinking, feeling and behaving in the months leading up to anxiety spilling out of me. I realised that I hadn't been looking after myself physically - living on coffee, skipping meals, not sleeping enough, not setting aside time to exercise, relax or look after myself but squeezing what I could into tiny late-night pockets of time, and doing these things half-heartedly whilst thinking about my endless to-do list.

I realised that my head had steadily been filling itself with negative thoughts about myself, which I took as a withdrawal symptom from coming off my medication.

I realised that I had stopped looking after myself. Everything I did was dedicated to work or taking care of other peoples' needs.

Again, I've had countless people telling me that I need to take care of me, that I need to love myself first before I can think about loving others. A friendly board member pointed this out to me yesterday when I couldn't think of one thing that lifted my heart, other than my partner.

Looking at myself is nerve-wracking, but it is helping (at least right now when I'm writing this. Note to self: read this back when you feel like it isn't helping, probably later on today.). There are a lot of layers to uncover, and I will need help with that, but by turning the lens back on myself, I can see my partner for what he is - a beautiful, wonderful, loving person to share the journey with.

I felt like I touched the sorest spot. It was only for a moment, but a moment where I felt like myself.

It was a moment where the tears sprang to my eyes, but I couldn't think about it a moment longer to let the tears fall.

It's buried under a thick crust, and my mind takes me away from it by injecting more intrusive thoughts. I'm not strong enough yet to look it straight in the eye and get through it.

And it's nothing to do with my relationship. Quite the opposite.

Another note to self (apologies to anyone still reading - it's unlikely anyone is still reading, but if you are - thank you):

You had a period of anxiety. You did some yoga and you still didn't feel better. You watched a video, and you still didn't feel better.

But the anxiety went away. You kept going and kept persevering without allowing yourself to drop down into the depths of a panic attack, and the anxiety went away.

Right now you have times where you are worried because what if you don't get anxious in response to the thoughts. That's going to be a scary bridge to cross, but you will need to cross it to get to the other side. Stop being a chicken, and be ready to cross when the time comes.

Remember that things won't 'click' all at once, and you are going to have up and down times - this is probably going to get worse as you continue to persevere, but don't let it stop you. You have the will to get through.

PS Right now you're having times when you wish other people were there to help you. Sometimes you're going to reach a stage where you need someone to help you. But for crying out loud, get back to doing it yourself, because you're the only person who can get yourself through this.

Dear Mum

You will never read this, but I needed to write it.

Do you remember when I was 3 years old? I remember the summer when I was 3 years old - you were standing in the bathroom, and I can't remember why, but I came in to tell you that I loved you much more than Dad.

I remember, again and again, the times when I told you that I would never love anyone as much as I loved you. I remember telling you that I would never leave you.

I remember days and nights spent at your knee comforting you when Dad stormed out the house. I remember listening to him berate you and be cruel to you, waiting for the moment when he would go and I was needed to comfort you, and tell you again that I would never leave you.

I remember lying in the dark next to you as you viciously went into all the details of your bitter relationship with Dad, and how you had hated and been repulsed by him from the day you met him. I remember all the cruel words you never said to him, but instead confided in me.

I remember years, decades of trying to please you and fit into the impossible shape of the child that you wanted, who was perfect for you. I remember countless occasions of disappointing you because I was not what you wanted. I remember never feeling like I was enough.

And I remember your constant wish that I would not grow up, that I would be your Benjamin Button and revert back to infancy. I remember you crying with every day I became older. I remember you, over and over sharing your fear of the day when I left. I reassured you, again and again that I would never leave you.

I told you I would always love you more than anyone, that I would never leave you, no matter how much you hurt me. And now here I am, with more love for someone else, and on the way to leaving you.

People keep telling me that I'm not leaving you, I'm just moving on to the next phase of my life, a life which will still include you, albeit not under the same roof. But I am leaving you - you and the impossible task of being what you need me to be.

People tell me that I deserve to be happy. But how can I deserve to be happy when I am doing the very things I told you I wouldn't?

People tell me that you are not my responsibility, that I can't fix your issues, that I can't live in the increasingly tiny world that you have made for yourself. But I have been fused with your needs for as long as I can remember, and walking away from that is not something I can do with ease.

I feel a world of guilt for leaving you, for choosing a life where I am happy and loved just as I am. It goes against what has been embedded into my unconscious from early on, but if I am to be happy and live my life, I have to peel away every layer of guilt, and I have to console the 3 year old child that feels, with every fibre of being, that she is betraying you and failing at everything she ever set out to do.

Because the truth is that I have spent far too long in your small, narrow world, and have grown too bjg for it. I need to leave to grow, otherwise I will continue to shrivel and wilt as I am doing just now. I pray that you will forgive me and learn to love me as I am, but I cannot return to what I was if you do not choose to grow with me.

I'm sorry for breaking your heart, Mum. I'm sorry that I couldn't live up to that 3 year old standing in the bathroom promising to never leave you. I'm sorry.

Last night I felt angry by my family. I started writing a post on here about everything that had happened, but when I read it, it seemed so petty and childish. I saved it in a private place on my computer, and left it there.

I am angry with my family, but not about the silly things which annoyed me last night. I realised I was focusing on that experience to avoid all of the painful experiences locked in my head. It seems my mind will do anything to avoid dealing with that pain in any great amounts.

I need to be patient with myself. I let myself be sad last night, and today I feel a little clearer, but I know there is more to scrape away. Keep going.

I'm back in the bathroom again, 3 years old, telling my Mum that I love her much more than I love Dad. I can't remember the response or why I was saying that, but I clearly remember my Dad walking past at that exact moment. I remember the guilt I felt that he had heard me say this.

I remember that I felt I had to love my Mum more, because she demanded more, but I didn’t want my Dad to feel left out. I wanted them to feel equally loved. And when they didn’t love each other, I felt I had to make up for that love by providing them with more.

During my relationship, I have always felt a need and anxiety to balance up my love for everyone - to spend equal amounts of time with my partner and my family, to ensure my Mum still feels just as loved as my partner, even though the love is different. To make sure my Mum feels as though I am happiest with her, not with anyone else.

I have felt anxious about spending time with friends, because what if my family or partner don't feel loved enough? I associate time with love, and love with time, because I felt I needed to be with my Mum to make her feel loved and less lonely.

Does love=time? In some situations I don't think so. Friends understand that I don't see or speak to them all the time, but then I keep them at arms length, and perhaps I would feel differently about this if I had close friends.

I don't expect people to give up their time for me, in fact it makes me downright uncomfortable when people give up their time for me.

I think the belief that love=time goes back to my relationship with my Mum - she was, and is, so lonely. My Dad doesn't spend time with her, and never really has, so I would spend time with her to make up for it. Concert after boring concert, years accompanying her to church, sitting with her hour after hour to make her feel that she had company. To make her feel that she was loved when my Dad certainly doesn't show any love to her.

But that isn't a realistic belief. Yes, you need to spend time with those you love, and yes, you might sometimes need to go along with something that isn't really your thing, but the key is quality - an hour spent having a chat with someone is better than spending three hours sat silently by their side. And I think it's also about mutuality - I gave and gave and gave to my Mum, but only received when what I was interested matched what she was interested in. Anything outside her interest - I was on my own.

Love is not measurable - you can't take a ruler or a test tube to love, and you can't maintain a set level of 100%. You can love everyone, but not equally.

Right now I feel that I have to prove my love for my partner by being there with him and only him. I don't want to see friends, I don't want to do anything except be there for him. Perhaps this is an echo of my relationship with my Mum.

I know this isn't something my partner would want or encourage - he wants me to see friends, to have my own interests, and my own happiness away from him. That's what gives us conversation and energy - that I can share my experiences, my interests and joys with him, and he can do the same. I know that spending all your time on one person is not healthy - I learned that with my Mum - so I need to challenge that belief.

I'm starting to - I'm meeting work friends for coffee, I'm looking at courses and activities which interest me, and these things pull on my anxiety. I think 'what if I do this and I enjoy it, and I'm enjoying myself more there than with my partner?' - what a bizarre train of thought, and one which isn't true. In fact, the reverse is true - it's easier to feel love for my partner when I'm doing something for me.

I really worried about not spending enough time with my partner in the run up to all my anxiety spilling out. A heavy workload and family troubles meant that I was constantly running about, and I felt that I wasn't giving my partner enough love. I felt guilty, just as I felt guilty every time I wasn't with my Mum. Again this isn't something my partner instills in me, and he would be horrified that I even thought like that - it comes from my own warped belief that I need to give everything to everyone I love, and divide it all out equally.

I started self-consciously punishing myself - negative thoughts about myself, not allowing myself to be happy in different situations. It's made me realise that I'm shrinking myself down because I feel ashamed that I haven't given him equal amounts of love. I know in reality that he doesn't expect this - far from it - but my previous experience of trying to give my Mum everything has made me follow a similar pattern, because I shrink myself down for her. It's made me project the resentment I feel onto my partner, when in fact he loves me just as I am and encourages me to grow. The complete opposite of my Mum.

I have cut out so much of my life for my Mum. I don't want to feel that I am happy anywhere else, in case she feels that she isn't enough, or in case she feels lonely. I treat time away from her - whether on my own, with my partner or with friends - with great guilt. The guilt has been there for decades, but it has come to a head now that I am moving out.

I won't be spending hours of the day sitting with her. I won't see her everyday, I won't be able to check that she is okay in the flesh. If she is lonely, she will have to find a way through, if she feels trapped and attacked by my Dad then she will need to find her own way through. I can't be there to make her happy any more, and that fills me with guilt.

I can't give love equally, because love is immeasurable. I can't give time equally, because demands on time are always shifting, not just for me but for everyone. With regards to my partner, I can protect one evening a week where it is just the two of us, shutting the world out for the evening and talking and watching movies and just being together.

I wish I could say the same for my Mum - that I will spend a couple of hours a week with her enjoying our time together. but I can't do that. I'm too hurt by her, and have concealed myself from her for too long to just switch back to having a healthy relationship again. I have more work to do here.

Things I need to work on:

- Accepting that I cannot love everyone equally, nor can I give everyone equal amounts of time.
- Accepting that whilst I can't love everyone equally, it's okay to love more than one person in my life.
- I have to love myself too - allow myself to enjoy my own interests without feeling guilty.
- Exploring the feelings I have around my Mum
- Stop projecting my resentment onto my partner, who loves me just as I am.