52 cents & grounding exercises

on anxiety, panic attacks, and the humbling experience of living a life.

i spend a lot of time thinking about how there are so many ways to live a life. it overwhelms me, thinking about where i could be and where i am. i don’t know how i imagined i’d be stepping out into the world at the beginning of my thirties. i truly don’t know where i thought i’d be, but i do know what i’m supposed to be doing. it’s deep in the calcium of my bones, the things we are told to have / have achieved by now. i know it all feels extra hard for us. i know that somehow being single, renting an apartment, not having a proper long-term career, and not having a savings all feels like i have deeply and truly done something wrong. 

all i know is where i am. all i know is the day to day effort it takes me to become friends with it.

recently, i did the truly humbling and brave thing of paying my rent as a single income human (which is absurdly expensive for my income, yet the most affordable i can find). this particular time left me with 52 cents remaining in my bank account. i went for a walk with a friend and showed her the balance of my accounts. “do you have groceries!?” she asked. “are you okay?!” i don’t remember my reply. i think i laughed. (i did not have groceries. i was definitely not okay).

on a beautiful, sunny thursday at 12:30pm at a cafe, i had a panic attack sitting across from my best friend. in the middle of our conversation, out of the blue, i looked her straight in the eyes and told her the anxiety was in my arms. she laughed. my face felt so hot. the anxiety set up camp in my sternum. she realised i wasn’t kidding, looked at me, and asked me to find 5 things i can see. 4 things i can touch. 3 things i can hear. 2 things i can smell. 1 thing i can taste. we took our lunch to go. 

the other day, scrolling on instagram, i saw a photo of a band i am deeply obsessed with, and all i could think about was how big the crowd was at the venue. if i was there, how would i find a bathroom? and if i did, how would i be able to find my friends again? if i had a drink, would i feel light and dance or have a panic attack? if i did have a panic attack, would it pass? would i make it through?

this summer was full of every no i could muster because i couldn’t trust my brain and my body. i didn’t feel characteristically mandy. i couldn’t go away with friends because i busy trying to become friends with my anxiety — the kind that lives in parking far away from where i’m going because i’d rather walk to the place than have people watch me park. the kind that shows up at cafes where they call out your name and drink order in case i hear it wrong or take someone else’s drink (good thing this is what my local cafe does! if you also have this anxiety, i’ve learned to bring my own mug so i can recognise that it is in fact my drink). the kind of anxiety that makes me spend at least 30 minutes choosing what to wear when i leave the house, only to immediately regret it once i get to where i’m going. the kind that has me leaving my house, only to return and triple-check that i haven’t left my straightener (or any appliances) on. the kind that has me hating bars or loud spaces (unless i’m with close friends) and has me shutting down mid-conversation with strangers in said bars or loud spaces. the kind that has me spiralling after every social interaction. 

i am trying to breathe through it. all of it. i think of how the best case scenario is i’ll be able to say yes to things again, and not need to know all of the details: who will be there? what are we eating? what do i need to bring? how loud will it be? is there a start and end time? where do i park? who’s driving?

i think of how the most likely scenario is that i may still need to know all of these things. i may still have midday panic attacks sitting across from my friends. i may still hate loud spaces, and cafes that call your name, and need to know where to park, and need to pee while out at an event and worry i won’t be able to find the table at the restaurant or my friends in the crowd and wonder if drinking will be fun or send me into a spiral —

but all the while, i will have learned to breathe deep into the anxiety in my sternum. i will learn that i will be okay if it stays a while. and i will learn to trust, deep in the calcium in my bones, that all i have/have achieved by now isn’t inherently wrong. i may not have a partner, or own a house, or have a long-term career, or have a savings.

but i do have 52 cents.

---

i read two books this summer that were the most tender, beautiful tales of mental health & anxiety in healthy romantic relationships. i’d highly recommend “just for the summer” and “yours truly” by abby jimenez.

and if you’re interested, here is my go-to playlist to drown out the hum of anxiety: