For years, the universe has refused to respect my wishes. In particular, I often experience things which I didn’t want to happen. And it’s unclear who I’m supposed to complain to about this.
I feel… weird.
After years of building my knowledge of “How To Self Care,” I’ve become well-versed in identifying my needs and fixing them. I know how to rest when I’m tired, or how to channel my energy when there’s an excess.
I’ve never felt more useless than during covid. In my country, there ws a time when every Thursday evening everybody lined up outside to applaud health workers. Quite rightly, we recognised their bravery and heroism in frightening circumstances.
I, on the other hand, wasn’t saving lives. I’ve spent the last few years writing…
The first time I ever spoke in front of a large audience, I was terrified. Even the (ironic) comfort that the topic was “my fear of public speaking” didn’t help.
Each attempt to fix my anxiety only unearthed more problems… but it IS possible to get anxiety under control.
It’s June, 2020, and here in the UK the coronavirus lockdown is relaxing. (Actually, it’s not at all relaxing, it’s extremely stress-inducing, but you know what I mean.) Like most people, I’ve struggled with isolation and stress during these early stages of the pandemic but now that some aspects of daily life are returning…
Have you ever entered the doldrums? Not the literal doldrums—the tedious places at sea where winds are few and sailors struggled to escape. I mean those times in life when nothing at all feels interesting.
During my regular comedy talk about anxiety there’s an important moment: the first time I mention my experience of suicidality.
A hush usually falls on the room, in sharp contrast to the earlier laughter.
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Wishes are dangerous. So every fairy tale tells us. The genie will grant your desires… but too literally. The monkey paw will give you what you want… but with an evil twist. And, just when you think you’re safe, the magic lemming steals your fruit in the night.