The first time my partner said I was “incredibly neurotic,” I was offended. I nodded along, choosing not to fight this battle, but inside I raged. To my mind, I was calm, collected, confident. A high achiever. Sometimes stressed, yes, but never paralysed by anxiety. And definitely not neurotic.
It took a year of therapy, and much reflection between sessions, for me to realise my partner was, as usual, right. I was an incredibly neurotic child, then an incredibly neurotic teen, and—until recently—an incredibly neurotic adult.
Anxiety has been the bane of my life. And I never even knew it.
My therapy journey
It’s funny how therapy works. When I began last November, I thought myself a happy, balanced individual. I wasn’t resorting to therapy to fix my problems—I merely wanted insight. I’d had severe mental health issues—depression, mania, hospitalisation, finally a bipolar diagnosis—but all that was in the past. Present Val was fine.
Then I actually started therapy and, four months in, uncovered a laundry list of issues I’d previously had no inkling of. Here’s the highlight reel I wrote down this May:
I default to judgement, not empathy.
I impose unbelievably high standards on others.
I catastrophise.
I am an incredibly anxious person, no wonder I’ve been called “neurotic.”
I label myself “selfish” because that’s easier than working through conflicting emotions to arrive at a more nuanced, forgiving assessment.
I feel guilty when I put myself first.
I may be a people pleaser.
I have laughably low expectations of people, especially my parents.
I use unjustifiably harsh language in my negative self-talk.
I am a people pleaser.
I have low self-esteem.
I have no self-esteem.
I hate myself, always have… always will?
It’s six months later, and thanks to the heroic efforts of my therapist and my enthusiastic cooperation, I no longer hate myself. I don’t know yet if I love myself, but at least hatred is no longer in the picture.
I still suffer from most of the issues listed above. But I don’t hate myself for them. Because therapy has helped me understand that I am, as you are, human. We are not meant to be perfect.
There is no finished human product. There is no destination that therapy—indeed life—leads to (except, of course, death). Everything happens on the journey.
The Subtle Art of Letting Go
In my journey, I’m learning to let go. Of many things, but first the need for control that underlay my anxiety all these decades. Anxiety that I now recognise thanks to my levelled-up self-awareness:
You’re going to laugh, but—as recently as maybe six months ago—if I was scheduling a dinner date three weeks in advance and we didn’t fix a specific time, I’d get anxious. Yes, but what time? I’d press until my dinner date committed. Then if, on the day of or even the day before, my date changed the time we’d fixed three weeks earlier, I’d get annoyed.
If I made a joke and no one laughed, if I pushed back on something at work and was waiting for a response, or even if someone stopped replying to my text mid-conversation for no apparent reason, I’d get anxious. To the point where it would actually keep me up at night.
My anxiety made me fearful of everything. I was afraid my friends wouldn’t show up to dinner. I was afraid my every joke or comment or pushback would end relationships, make my loved ones angry, lose me my dream job.
You wouldn’t know it from the outside: I did appear calm, collected, confident. I’d take on new challenges, protect my boundaries, risk rejection as I initiated new friendships and published honest thoughts. But inside, I was always afraid.
And it’s all because of my need for control.
From my boss’s comprehensive collection of self-help advice, the one that has always resonated the most is his take on responsibility and choice: I am responsible for everything that happens in my life. And I can always choose.
But it’s a slippery slope from “I’m not going to sit back and let life happen to me” to “I must make sure my life happens exactly as I want it.”
For decades, I was at the bottom of that slope. I mistook agency for power. I thought my life was up to me, and only me. It was up to me to make this dinner happen at exactly 6:17PM in three weeks’ time. It was up to me to make everybody laugh with this well-timed joke. It was up to me to make this project happen at work in exactly this way. It was up to me to make this person my friend.
It was up to me to make Dad understand why I didn’t move back to care for him for the four years he battled his terminal cancer.
But of course, I was wrong. It wasn’t up to me. It was never up to me.
Our lives are made up of a million tiny decisions, a million moments, a million accidents waiting to happen. And it’s not only wrong, but dangerous, to believe we can control any of it.
Because we can’t. We can only choose what seems the best course of action in the moment, then let go of the rest. This is not abdicating responsibility. This is accepting we are not omnipotent.
This is how I now live. Not in anxiety or fear. But in the freedom of knowing there is only so much I can do. And finally discovering, three decades late, that the beauty of life lies outside my tiny sphere, out there in the vast and—if you let go—life-affirming unknown.
What do you think?
Starting therapy is the best thing I’ve ever done. Period. For myself, my family, my friends, my coworkers, and my partner who for seven years quietly tolerated my many neuroses and loved me loudly. All credit for a less neurotic Val to me for doing the work, and to my therapist for therapising so effectively this past year and for, in my moment of need, giving me a hug and whispering: You’re not a bad person.
I intend to keep going to therapy. There is much left to unpack. And I am loving the journey through my tears. I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes.
Do you go to therapy? Would you consider it? If you do, what have you learnt about yourself?
Please hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. And if you enjoyed this, I’d be grateful if you could share it with a friend. Val Thinks is free to read, and always will be. And it can only grow through the support of its readers, i.e. you.
We’re still on an every-other-week holiday schedule, so I’ll see you in two weeks… In the meantime, stay thoughtful, and good luck with holiday gift shopping!
Val
"the freedom of knowing there is only so much I can do", this was for me, the core of your Subtle of Art of Letting Go. It resonates with me a lot this year which like you, have helped me heal. Life just feels less heavy...
Today I learned I might be neurotic!