My first intimate encounter with Anxiety, which remains clearly etched in my memory, occurred shortly before my 26th birthday. I sat with my mother in the doctor’s office waiting room after completing a neurological consultation and awaiting further testing. Turning to me, my mother’s voice was gentle, “Do you want to know what we think it is?” My father, a physician aware of my symptoms, had previously volunteered no diagnosis.
Before the words, “You have Multiple Sclerosis” finished crossing her lips, tears poured from my eyes. That very moment, Anxiety rushed at me and took firm hold.
These early days of our relationship, when Anxiety first barged into my life, every encounter brought shortness of breath and uncontrollable sobs. Anxiety, pushy and socially inept, ignored my distress and plunged ahead, brazenly spending the night, uninvited, refusing to let me sleep and draining me of all passion, confidence, and motivation.