Anxiety?

Are you anxious? What you say to yourself is even more important than what others say to you, more important than what you say to others. Morri came across this factoid recently: Facing a big game, world class athletes don’t say, “I’m anxious.” They say, “I’m excited.” How we label our experiences, how we talk to ourselves about ourselves, is the most important speech of all.

How do we learn to talk to ourselves? We get a lot from the early authorities in our lives, parents and teachers, what they say to us and what we overhear them saying about us. It's hard to shake toxic negativity we hear. But we can also invent it for ourselves. Why are we all so “anxious”? Can we blame it on Freud? We probably can blame at least some of it on our therapists. Erika helped me a lot. My seven-year analysis got me through social work school and a doctoral program in sociology, got me started on my mental health career. My analysis taught me to pay attention to my feelings. Recognizing them, owning them, was a good thing. Labelling them “anxiety” came with baggage. “Anxiety” is not a good thing, not something to be proud of. What would have happened if Erika had taught me instead to label my feelings as excitement. “Excitement” is a good thing, Nobody needs to be ashamed of their excitement.

My “anxieties” were everywhere. Every Friday afternoon, at the Brookdale Psychiatry Department Grand Rounds, there was a fascinating guest speaker and then Q&A. Even the junior members of the department were encouraged to come to the podium, to ask a question. I called my experience “anxiety” and learned to cope. I wrote my question – even a five-word question – on a card before going to the podium, read my question, and sat down. I was in my mid-20’s at the time. Fifty years later, comparable situations were exciting. I don’t know how or when I began to relabel what I was feeling. No one helped me do it. It just happened.

Sometimes our self-talk is destructive. We label ourselves as cowards or failures or paranoid. I became an “underachiever” when Mr. Redmond, my high school guidance counselor labeled me. I underachieved for years. In my mid-40’s, I stopped being an “underachiever” and became a “late bloomer.” Everything changed.

These changes happened to me behind my back. Life would have been easier, more fun, less painful, if I’d learned to talk to myself differently at an earlier age. The learning process is endless and exciting. These days, I’m working on “old.” I catch myself calling me “old.” When I say, “I’m old,” I’m saying, “Ken, you can’t do that. You’re afraid that you won’t’ have time to finish.” What I’m saying to myself is that I’m anxious.

That’s when I remind myself “Ken, you’re learning something new. This is fascinating. This is exciting. This is an adventure.”

“Can’t do that” is bullshit.