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April Stew On That
by Rachel Stewart
The following article appeared in the print issue of Ponca City Monthly magazine. Get full access to all online articles, videos and content by becoming a paid subscriber. We offer free and paid subscription plans. Find rack locations to pick up your free print copy here, or subscribe here to get online access plus exclusive content.
You know the saying “go with your gut” … what does that even mean? My gut literally can’t even handle a glass of milk or an ice cream cone, yet I’m supposed to trust it with important decisions and my future like it’s some kind of oracle? This saying wasn’t meant for people with anxiety.
If I have an upset tummy, my mind instantly goes to intestinal tumor. My knee hurt the other day and I diagnosed myself with gout. And I don’t even know what gout is. Turns out I had just been sitting crisscross-applesauce too long. The other day I had a stroke, I think. My symptoms? Just a headache. Nerves before getting on a flight? How do I know if that’s normal or if that means the plane is going to crash and I shouldn’t get on it? I also constantly think I’m going to get trafficked when I’m at Walmart or really any public setting, until a dear friend reminded me that I’m far too old to get trafficked, that they target young girls, not middle-aged moms. Which hurt to hear, but I do feel slightly more at ease in public now. Anxiety really is no joke. How do I teach my body that “fight-or-flight” response is for life-or-death situations, not for small-talk with the cashier at the gas station or responding to an email? My other favorite symptom of my anxiety is the over-thinking. If you send me a text that says “Okay” … are you mad at me? If you send me a text that says “Okay.” A PERIOD?! Why are you furious at me?!! And if you send “K” I will simply pass away. You have to send “Okay!” otherwise I won’t be able to sleep that night. Anyways, I have to go, I have a doctor’s appointment for what I believe to be a pulmonary embolism.
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