May I Recognize My Progress

    I was about 12 years old when I started regularly seeing a therapist to talk about my anxiety. I am now 20 years old, and although eight years offers plenty of time for growth, there are still some days that I feel like 12-year-old Libby who wrote in her journal about being sad even when she was around other people, and how she was overwhelmed by these thoughts inside her head that told her she didn't matter all that much. When I encounter these low moments, I become very frustrated with myself and question if I'll ever be the kind of person I want to be if my anxiety's presence is so strong.
    Then I have to breathe (I'm actually really working to do that simple activity more often) and remind myself that I am so not the same person I was eight years ago. I have spent almost a decade since then changing, learning, and approaching my anxiety in a much healthier way than I would've if my parents had never encouraged me to seek professional help (thank you x infinity mom and dad). I have experienced awful and debilitating things because of my anxiety. Anxiety has this bff named low self-esteem and their favorite place to hang out is inside me. They make it rather easy to fixate on those dark memories. Enduring life with a mental illness sometimes makes me believe that all I really am is the illness, and that sucks. However, I'd like to think that the little triumphs I've accumulated over the years outweigh those dark memories. These little triumphs are clear evidence that even though anxiety may always be a part of me, it doesn't own me.

    I made my way to those triumphs by carrying myself through a number of anxiety-inducing situations. I don't often see myself in a courageous light because I still live most of my life inside my worrisome head, but I'm really trying to acknowledge when I survive these mental/emotional hurdles. I think it would be a disservice to 12-year-old Libby to not take note of progress. For me, defining 'progress' has been about repeated exposure to those situations that scare me. These are situations that most other people wouldn't deem scary, intimidating, or unbearable, which is why I often avoid giving myself any credit. I have high expectations for myself because I desperately want to feel brave, bold, and unshakeable. I want to live my life like a normal young adult with fun and spontaneity in mind, but my anxiety never lets me operate that way. Instead, it frequently steps in and shouts, "you can't handle this!," and I choose to believe it. So I survive, but I don't remotely feel like I succeed. There's a big difference between those two and being on the surviving end is disappointing. Except it shouldn't be, right?
    That's the tough thing for me about monitoring progress; I crave perfection instead. Progress is not linear, and that's both a painful and enlightening lesson I am learning over and over again. I shouldn't downplay the steps I make in a positive direction, whether they be big or small, because there are plenty of things present Libby has accomplished in recent years that 12-year-old me would've never imagined. For example,

• I chose Musical Theatre as my major—that's constant singing, dancing, and acting in front of an audience...UM HELLO ANXIETY
• My choice of major brought me to a college four hours away from home where I didn't know a single soul (*craps pants*)
• I was able to make new friends in college, and they don't think I'm a weird awkward mess (if they do, they considerately haven't expressed that to me)
• I go to theatre parties and out to the bars and don't look totally out of place, even though my inner monologue is telling me to fret about tooooooo many things
• I go to the gym by myself quite a bit. Do I avoid the weight room with all the bulky men? You bet I do, but I still proudly sweat my tail off on the elliptical because exercise helps clear my mind
• I was put in charge of occasionally 6-7 kids at a time as a camp counselor (ANXIOUS CITY!), but I was pretty darn good at my job
• I went on vacation to Texas with two close friends, which is so far from familiar territory. There was possibility for SO many things to go wrong, but it's now one of my fondest memories 
• I sat down and had a meal in public with a guy I was attracted to and didn't freeze like a lunatic or throw up out of terror
• Lastly, I'm writing this blog post. 12-year-old Libby was very quiet about her inner demons, which was absolutely valid. 20-year-old Libby has started to embrace the healing that comes from sharing her truth. I wouldn't be mortified to have a conversation with someone (who isn't my therapist) about my mental health issues and that right there is DAMN PROGRESS. 

It's really difficult not to judge my shortcomings. It takes conscious and consistent effort to recognize that the little triumphs do matter because they have and are continuing to pave the way to creating a better, wiser human being. So that's where I'm at right now—struggling to see progress because those bummer bffs (anxiety & low self-esteem) keep telling me I'm not enough. But you know what? I have the power to kindly tell them to shove off when necessary because they do not benefit me. What I need on this journey of self-love is forgiveness and faith. Whatever you need on your journey (which won't be linear and that's OK), I sincerely hope you can look within and access it. <3