From a very young age, I have struggled with anxiety. I was a bright child as a general rule, but I found my self immobilised in a classroom setting when I had to talk infront of others. I had lots of friends, a lovely family, and for as long as I can remember my teachers adored me. So why did I struggle with this crippling anxiety? Why was I too shy to speak? Too scared to try?

I don’t have the answers to these questions. Not even close. But I thought I could share a story that may help some.

As you can tell I was a worrier. I worried about things far in the past. I worried about things years in the future. And I worried about things out of my control. A lot of abstract fears mixed in with everyday child- like fears. When I reached the age of 6 or 7, one of my teachers suggested to my parents I start a ‘worrybox’. The idea seemed silly to me at first and I told my parents there was not point! I wasn’t fixable! (A dramatic 7 year old to say the least). But of course, my mum went ahead. She bought a lovely tin, (I can still picture it now – all shades of purple with tiny fairy’s all over) and a matching notepad and pen, and she wrote on the side “Jasmine’s worrybox”. The idea was that when I felt anxious or I had a worry, at night, I would write it down, pop it in inside the tin, and go to sleep. That way the worry was out of my head, and by the morning the problem wouldn’t be as bad as it was the night before. Of course my parents also read the notes and tried to rationalise my way of thinking, but the whole concept of clearing my head of my fears, seemed to help things be put into perspective. Naturally this didn’t get rid of my anxiety (as 9 years later I found myself booking my first therapy session) but it was a good place to start.

So why this long-winded and probably very boring story?

Well, I can say that I no longer have a physical worry box. But from time to time, I find myself opening my notes section on my phone, and writing down all my stresses, struggles and anxieties. I order them about, mark them with importance, prioritise, delete, add and so on. And then I read them. And the simple act of emptying my brain onto a document infront of me, helps me to gain perspective and to rationalise. “What’s the worst that can happen in that situation?” I often find myself asking. And usually, the answer isn’t too terrifying (but I guess it depends on what kind of crazy situations you get yourself in to)! After sorting all of my thoughts, I delete the document. Gone! Forgotten about! (At least for a while).

Sharing your struggle always seems terrifying. To be open with someone puts you in a vulnerable position. But sharing your struggle always seems to minimise the problem. As the saying goes, “a problem shared is a problem halved” – and that will always ring true. We cannot fight all of our battles alone! Ask for help. Confide in someone, in something, (even if it’s just your notes), and let yourself be vulnerable. It’s okay not to be okay; share your story.