Thank Goodness For Anxiety

I found it while going through an old filing cabinet.

Declaration of Initiation. Dated May 19, 1999. Signed in full—by me.

I was 30 years old.

I was crossing a threshold at the time. And apparently a big enough one to need to write a declaration of independence to myself.

I slowly read through the proclamations I had written: I committed to presence. To stepping into my own wisdom. To leading with courage. And then, proclamation three: I face my twin fears—Attention and Expectation—squarely as a spiritual warrior.

Ha.

Even then I was trying to be a spiritual warrior.

Not a worrier.

But a warrior.

I was pushing back against voices that were nagging me from the inside. A part of me that didn’t want to stand out. The part that didn’t want to do anything particularly special so there would be any more expectations on me.

Those voices were making me anxious. And all of this was back in 1999—before COVID, before AI, before the state of the world as we know it today.

Almost every client I work with brings up anxiety at some point in our coaching.

They mention it quietly, like they are confessing something they should have outgrown by now. “I struggle with anxiety. And sometimes depression.”

How could we not be anxious right now?

With the swirling around us, the more appropriate question might be what's wrong with people who aren't anxious?

I always say the same thing in response to these clients: You are not alone.

But even though it’s super common, we all tend to treat anxiety like it’s something we should get rid of. An intruder. Something that broke in and needs to be promptly escorted out. And the faster we do that, the better.

I’m not immune to it. I don’t like anxiety either.

But what if stopping it isn’t the right goal?

Back in 1999 when I signed that contract with myself, something uncomfortable was elbowing me from the inside—something that wanted out. Something that wanted space and wanted me to stop shrinking it. I was a decade into my career, still a young parent, and yet I longed to grow into a bigger version of myself.

I’m not sure I would have written this proclamation—named those fears and committed to facing them—if the discomfort hadn’t gotten so loud.

But the anxiety wasn’t the enemy.

It was an invitation.

I love how Pema Chödrön talks about this: She says that that fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth.

Every threshold I have crossed has felt like that.

Now that I’m older, I become a bit more comfortable with anxiety. I still don’t like it, but we can be in the same room together.

These days, when I find myself feeling that way, I check in to see what the anxiety is signaling. It could be from a dream. Or from something related to work or life that is on my mind. When I recognize it, I say quietly to myself: “This is anxiety. Hello, anxiety.”

And then I ask, “What are you trying to tell me”?

Perhaps it’s a signal to slow down. A sign to go outside into the woods. My body may want a little more self-love. Or it’s a signal that part of me is not comfortable with the direction I am going.

What is your anxiety trying to tell you?

Oftentimes in life we stand on thresholds—a line we are ready to cross, but we still are on this side of it.

Perhaps it’s a calling. An intense wanting for something in your life to be different.

Spiritual teacher Shani Lehrer says that the light of our soul is very strong, and it will find its way out through the cracks. And if we don’t allow it, it will hurt on its way out.

This kind of calling can feel like it creates anxiety. It creates enormous pressure.

But maybe the anxiety isn’t the problem.

Maybe it’s the light, looking for a way out. 

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