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3.61 AVERAGE
3.61 AVERAGE
So, here's the thing. I don't think my anxiety is "cute." I can't make it "beautiful." There's no universe in which I am, can try to be, or ever will be "charmed" by my mental hangups, like a parent of a precociously disruptive toddler.
Maybe it's that Wilson and I have different types of anxiety. I have some GAD but my particular beast is SAD (with the added bonus of misophonia, currently untreatable). I don't know how to put this diplomatically except to say that there's no way Wilson has any personal experience with SAD, at least with any SAD that I'm familiar with, and I'm painfully familiar with what I've got.
SAD is not a superpower. Maybe it could be if I were bipolar, too, which seems to be her jumping-off point for talking about anxiety. SAD on its lonesome doesn't get me to the edges of humanity, though; it wouldn't produce any dogma-shattering concepts were I, as she dubiously suggests, to go off any hypothetical meds (I'm not on any and am in the process of trying to find a decent psychiatrist who'll prescribe them, a process which is significantly hampered by, guess what, SAD). What social anxiety gets me is crying in the car after I accidentally let the door close on someone after I hold it open for someone else, or when I mess up a Smoothie King order. Social anxiety is me almost having a breakdown in the grocery store because I have "there is no ethical consumption under capitalism" on a relentless loop in my brain while I'm just there to buy milk and raspberry jam, but I'm terrified of what people would say about me if they knew I was, you know, buying food I need to stay alive. (It's worse when I've had a bad mental health day/week and I want to buy meat. God forbid.) When I leave an alumni party because I've been ignored by the third person who I used to know in college and I don't have the nerve to say hello to anyone anymore, that's not an effing superpower. I regret 90% of every conversation with every friend I've ever had; I obsess over how I present myself to each person I'm close to, I censor myself for them, I micromanage what I tell them and how I tell it, and even then I still feel shame and embarrassment over who I let myself be in front of them - all out of the crippling, terrifying certainty that one day I'll say the wrong thing and they'll cut me out of their life and I'll be that much closer to being alone.
Being unable to function with a bare minimum of peace of mind in a social setting, casual or close, is not something I should be expected to "sit in." It's not something I should be guilted for trying to heal from, which is, according to Wilson, either impossible or inauthentic. I've scratched my wrists bloody with my fingernails or pen caps during or after certain stressful social situations. Is it really """blunting my true self""" to take medication so I can bare-bones function while talking to a client at work, much less so I can try to be okay with who I am to my friends?
Anyway, I don't trust middle-aged white women who throw the word "guru" around like it's a catch-all term. Or anyone who suggests going off your meds because it makes you more "authentic" or "creatively productive" or whatever.
If anxiety, social and otherwise, was incarnated in the body, I would cut it out of me with a rusty oyster fork, under any conditions necessary. It's not a superpower and no one should feel guilted by this sporadically-helpful memoir into being thankful for it, into finding it "cute," or into shying away from seeking help to, yes, heal from it.
Maybe it's that Wilson and I have different types of anxiety. I have some GAD but my particular beast is SAD (with the added bonus of misophonia, currently untreatable). I don't know how to put this diplomatically except to say that there's no way Wilson has any personal experience with SAD, at least with any SAD that I'm familiar with, and I'm painfully familiar with what I've got.
SAD is not a superpower. Maybe it could be if I were bipolar, too, which seems to be her jumping-off point for talking about anxiety. SAD on its lonesome doesn't get me to the edges of humanity, though; it wouldn't produce any dogma-shattering concepts were I, as she dubiously suggests, to go off any hypothetical meds (I'm not on any and am in the process of trying to find a decent psychiatrist who'll prescribe them, a process which is significantly hampered by, guess what, SAD). What social anxiety gets me is crying in the car after I accidentally let the door close on someone after I hold it open for someone else, or when I mess up a Smoothie King order. Social anxiety is me almost having a breakdown in the grocery store because I have "there is no ethical consumption under capitalism" on a relentless loop in my brain while I'm just there to buy milk and raspberry jam, but I'm terrified of what people would say about me if they knew I was, you know, buying food I need to stay alive. (It's worse when I've had a bad mental health day/week and I want to buy meat. God forbid.) When I leave an alumni party because I've been ignored by the third person who I used to know in college and I don't have the nerve to say hello to anyone anymore, that's not an effing superpower. I regret 90% of every conversation with every friend I've ever had; I obsess over how I present myself to each person I'm close to, I censor myself for them, I micromanage what I tell them and how I tell it, and even then I still feel shame and embarrassment over who I let myself be in front of them - all out of the crippling, terrifying certainty that one day I'll say the wrong thing and they'll cut me out of their life and I'll be that much closer to being alone.
Being unable to function with a bare minimum of peace of mind in a social setting, casual or close, is not something I should be expected to "sit in." It's not something I should be guilted for trying to heal from, which is, according to Wilson, either impossible or inauthentic. I've scratched my wrists bloody with my fingernails or pen caps during or after certain stressful social situations. Is it really """blunting my true self""" to take medication so I can bare-bones function while talking to a client at work, much less so I can try to be okay with who I am to my friends?
Anyway, I don't trust middle-aged white women who throw the word "guru" around like it's a catch-all term. Or anyone who suggests going off your meds because it makes you more "authentic" or "creatively productive" or whatever.
If anxiety, social and otherwise, was incarnated in the body, I would cut it out of me with a rusty oyster fork, under any conditions necessary. It's not a superpower and no one should feel guilted by this sporadically-helpful memoir into being thankful for it, into finding it "cute," or into shying away from seeking help to, yes, heal from it.
This was an account of what the author has done to treat her anxiety.
I have been having a seriously tough time the past year battling my anxiety. This book was recommended to me from a fellow anxious friend and it was so worth the read! Sarah Wilson turns the view of anxiety into one that doesn’t make it a battle but one where you live with this part of you in a different way. I’m not even phrasing this right but she does an incredible job making you feel okay, that you’re not alone, and it is feasible to live a life with less “anxiety spirals”.
Sarah’s book is laid out in mismatched, thought-stream style chapters interspersed with challenges and tips that will help strengthen that coping muscle.
That’s literally the only reason 4 instead of 5 stars was the layout of the book because I like organized, uniform chapters but...that’s just my anxiety. If anything this layout just mimics the anxious brain and helps challenge us out of our comfort zone and into the anxious mind.
If you have anxiety or love someone who does, you’ll find something great to take away from this book you’ll always remember. Whether it be a metaphor for what a panic attack is really like or conscious tips on how to help someone going through it.
Sarah’s book is laid out in mismatched, thought-stream style chapters interspersed with challenges and tips that will help strengthen that coping muscle.
That’s literally the only reason 4 instead of 5 stars was the layout of the book because I like organized, uniform chapters but...that’s just my anxiety. If anything this layout just mimics the anxious brain and helps challenge us out of our comfort zone and into the anxious mind.
If you have anxiety or love someone who does, you’ll find something great to take away from this book you’ll always remember. Whether it be a metaphor for what a panic attack is really like or conscious tips on how to help someone going through it.
Yeah, some loosy-goosy stuff that others have mentioned, and I think some times when she was tongue in cheek, which doesn't always come through in print. But also a very clear voice of anxiety and a good bit of truth that comes from being in that anxiety. I found it entertaining (mostly) and often useful. And I'm happy with that outcome.
The author has bipolar disorder but thinks it’s just anxiety. And if she works really hard she will get better. She is also anti medication. I had to quit this book early because I have no desire to read about someone so sick who refuses to acknowledge her illness or work to get better and then turn around and offer that as advice to other people who are sick.
challenging
emotional
informative
inspiring
reflective
slow-paced
I had really high expectations for this book and instead I found myself dragging through it.