anxiety

Text reads: The comfort zone is so comfortable. Background contains a woman balancing on a fence.

The comfort zone is so comfortable

I don’t watch that much TV but one show I’m really digging at the moment is Star Trek: Lower Decks. In an episode entitled “Where Pleasant Fountains Lie”, there’s a scene in which Rutherford is nervous about an assignment on an alien ship, away from his familiar surroundings.

“You need to get outside your comfort zone,” Tendi tells him.

“But I love my zone!” Rutherford replies.

I am definitely Rutherford, minus the cybernetic implant. Though I probs do have a cybernetic implant now that I’m double-vaxxed, it’s just not visible on my face. 😉

Anyway, Rutherford likes his zone and I like my zone because it’s just so damn comfortable. People say things like, “If you’re not living on the edge, you’re taking up too much room.” But… room is good. I like my space.

I like familiarity. I live dangerously by taking afternoon naps (not during work days obviously) and then trying to fall asleep again at a reasonable hour at night. 😛 Having to (ew) market myself and talk about my book is definitely not within my favoured zone.

But I do generally feel good about myself after the fact when I push myself outside my comfort zone.

For instance, I decided to work in libraries even with the full understanding that it was essentially a customer service job (as opposed to a “sit amongst books and shush people” job). And the first few times I had to answer the phone and talk to clients, I was pretty flustered, but now I’m fine with it.

Recently, I did a beginner salsa class and it was actually fun. I probably wouldn’t do it again — I’m not a dancer and I don’t like all that unnecessary touching, haha. But I’m glad I tried it.

And then there’s Black and Blue. I sat on the manuscript for a long time, thinking that if I never published it, it would never have the opportunity to fail. Now it’s about to be unleashed upon the world and some of you are going to hate it, but that’s okay. I’m happy it’s getting out there.

Like Rutherford, I’m trying to forge ahead with the mission. And like Rutherford, (spoiler alert) I have not died.

And yes, I realise there was nothing particularly mind blowing about that snippet of conversation between Rutherford and Tendi, and I could’ve talked about stepping out of my comfort zone without bring it up at all. But I didn’t want to because Lower Decks is awesome. 🙂

Text reads: All my systems are nervous. Background contains someone wringing their hands.

All my systems are nervous

Today was a funny old day.

It started out like a pretty normal Friday in WA. I grabbed a coffee from my favourite cafe on my way into work. Recent talk of COVID-19 spreading through the ventilation in hotels was sort of in the back of my mind. But mostly I was thinking about what I needed to get done before the end of the week.

By lunchtime, the rumour mill about a possible snap lockdown was in overdrive and my colleagues and I were nervously waiting for Mark McGowan’s press conference. Just after 2.30pm, he came out and confirmed we’d had community transmission. Masks would be mandatory from 6pm and the Perth and Peel regions would go into a three-day lockdown from midnight.

It also means ANZAC Day dawn services are cancelled for the second year in a row, and anyone who planned to go away over the long weekend (Monday is a public holiday) had a decision to make quickly.

I’ve been on edge for a few hours now but I think I’m starting to calm down. I’ve done this before. I’m in a good position (mentally, financially, geographically, etc.) compared to so many other people.

And I’m about as far from an extrovert as you can get, so it’s not like I’m fuelled by going out and socialising.

It’s the uncertainty that messes with my head. 😦 And some of the exposure sites are places I go to, though I haven’t been there in the past couple of weeks so I should be okay.

Functioning within normal parameters, as Data might say on Star Trek. Those parameters happen to include anxiety, but medication and therapy helps with that. 😉

Text reads: Keeping well and breathing. Background contains cardboard gift box and close-up of Christmas tree.

Keeping well and breathing

It’s the 21st of December, which means it’s time to play the greatest Australian Christmas song of all time — “How to Make Gravy” by Paul Kelly. The classic tale of a man who finds himself in prison over the holidays while his family gets together without him and makes gravy incorrectly, probably.

Paul Kelly – How to Make Gravy (singalong version)

It’s also a good time to acknowledge that, for various reasons, the festive season actually sucks for a lot of people. This year, many people are separated from loved ones due to the pandemic, while others might be trapped in situations with someone they can’t get away from.

My life is pretty good, but I do find my anxiety is sometimes worse during holidays or long weekends.

In case someone else reading this is in a similar boat, I thought I’d share a mindful breathing exercise I use when I’m feeling overwhelmed. It’s not a magic pill or anything, but it’s helped me at times, and maybe it’ll help you.

It goes a little something like this…

  1. Find a reasonably comfortable position. If you’re stressed or anxious, you’re probably not feeling very comfortable, but do your best.
  2. Close your eyes. This isn’t mandatory, but I find it helps me focus on my breathing, which is kind of the point. 🙂
  3. Take a deep breath in for four seconds.
  4. Hold your breath for two seconds.
  5. Exhale for six seconds through your mouth like you’re blowing out slowly through a straw.
  6. Repeat this process for a minute or so.

If you find that breathing exercise useful, consider it my Christmas gift to you. If it’s not useful, then the Paul Kelly song can be my gift to you. 😀

Happy Gravy Day.

Text reads: We are who we are for a lot of reasons. Background contains a paint palette.

We are who we are for a lot of reasons

Last year (I think… I’ve lost all concept of time in 2020) I was asked an interesting question by an old friend:

“Have you always been this shy? Or did something happen to you when you were little?”

At the time I said, “I’ve always been like this”, which I believe to be true.

And my friend said, “That’s cool then. If it was the result of some unresolved trauma you’re not talking about, that would be unhealthy.”

(Just to clarify, my friend is in no way a qualified mental health professional and you should not take any health advice from this blog.)

But I have been thinking lately about why I am the way I am. And there are lots of factors that have shaped me, many of which I probably can’t even identify. However, there is one period of my life that comes to mind.

Pre-primary. I had spent the first few years of my life with older siblings and older cousins. The first day of school was the first time I’d encountered kids my age in the flesh. And it was overwhelming.

I didn’t know how to make friends. I didn’t know how to talk to people. I retreated into safe, familiar things like painting, playdough, and dolls… while doing my best to avoid frightening things I couldn’t control, like outdoor play and other children.

My teacher quickly reached a verdict and called my parents in for a meeting.

“Your daughter thinks she’s too good for the other kids,” said the teacher. “You’re obviously spoiling her at home.”

I moved to a different class, where — after a lot of help from my new teachers — I made some progress. I even got invited to a birthday party later in the year. However, socialising would prove difficult throughout my school years and even now as an adult.

I wouldn’t classify it as “unresolved trauma”. It is what it is. But what if that first teacher had realised/cared that I was struggling, instead of just writing me off as stuck-up? Would I be different? More confident and bubbly? An award-winning conversationalist?

Yeah, probably not. Like I said, there are many factors that have shaped my life and who I am.

But a part of me wonders. What if?

Then again, I’m pretty sure not being able to speak to people helped drive me towards books and writing, so maybe that teacher actually did me a favour. 😛

P.S. If you’ve read my previous posts on this blog, you may have noticed I’ve dropped the “Dear Diary” opening. It was beginning to feel a bit contrived as I’m clearly writing to an audience (not a huge one, but an audience nonetheless). I did briefly consider “Dear friend” like in The Perks of Being a Wallflower, but I wasn’t sure how Stephen Chbosky would feel about that. Especially after I lifted a line from his book for the title of this post. 😀

Text reads: The masked music fan. Image contains a concert crowd and a heartbeat line.

The masked music fan

Dear Diary,

Before the pandemic, if I was out and about for “non-essential” reasons, there was a pretty high likelihood I was going to a gig. I love live music. For someone who took piano lessons for roughly a third of their life, my own playing is rubbish, but I get a buzz out of seeing people who don’t suck do their thing.

However, it was never quite as easy as that.

Because a gig isn’t just the live music. It’s the sweaty bodies squeezing up against you. It’s the randos who want to hug a stranger and scream centimetres away from your face. It’s the beer being waved around in the air and spilling onto your head.

To be fair, I gave up alcohol years ago, and social situations are way out of my comfort zone. So I’m writing from the perspective of an awkward, sober introvert with an anxiety disorder.

But I guess I’ve always had to weigh up whether or not I love a particular band or want to see a particular gig more than I hate the other stuff that comes with it.

And then a global pandemic hit. Which came with its own set of worries. But it also meant I wasn’t constantly thinking about the pros and cons of going out (there was nowhere to go) and I wasn’t really missing out on anything (there was nothing happening). Truth be told, there was a certain freedom in that.

Now there are gigs back on in Western Australia (albeit with restrictions) and I’ve had to make that decision again. Knowing that people are very lax when it comes to social distancing, the thought of being anywhere near a pub or club at the moment freaks me out.

But there was a benefit gig on Saturday, “A little help for our friends”, to raise money for WA-based production companies that have taken a beating during the pandemic. And I decided to go after considering that:

  • the ticket price would hopefully weed out anyone who was just looking to get shitfaced, leaving those who were there for the bands;
  • it was at the Astor Theatre, where one can get a drink, but alcohol isn’t the main point of its existence;
  • the venue was only allowed a 50% capacity so even if no one was social distancing, I’d have a chance of moving away from people who weren’t respecting my personal space;
  • I knew musicians in three of the five bands, and obviously hadn’t seen them play in quite some time;
  • I have some face masks at home and was willing to be the only person wearing one at the gig. And I’m pretty sure I was, but hey, I’m also Asian. In many Asian countries, it’s not a cultural oddity to have a mask on, even when there isn’t a global pandemic.

And I’m glad I went.

I did get shoved around a bit on the dance floor and elbowed in the head on multiple occasions (I’m very short). And towards the end of the night, I was starting to feel a little overwhelmed. But no one spilt anything on me and no one touched me on purpose. And the bands were on fire, some perhaps more so than others, but this is a “Lee-Ann’s issues” review, not a gig review. 😛

So yes, I managed to get out and I had a good time. And with WA in a strong position COVID-wise (fingers crossed it stays that way), hopefully there’ll be more good times in the foreseeable future that aren’t crippled by anxiety. 🙂