The healing power of self-love notes
Seriously, though, would you talk to a friend that way?
Hello, friends! Today’s newsletter features a guest essay from My Sweet Dumb Brain reader Lauren Maffeo. Lauren reports on and works in the global technology sector, travels the world solo like it’s no big deal, and is an all-around boss. She also suffers from anxiety, and wrote openly and generously about her experience here.
On November 2, 2018, I started a note in my iPhone that changed my life.
I was days away from running my second marathon, and in the middle of a panic attack. My heart leapfrogged around my chest, my mind filled with fears of failure, and I felt unsteady on my feet.
In a desperate act to ease my panic, I started an iPhone note, reminding myself that my physical and mental health mattered more than any marathon. At the same time, I mentally berated myself for feeling so scared. I had such privilege that most people don’t: Why couldn’t I just function like a normal person?
It wasn’t until weeks later that I made the connection that I’d never speak to a friend the way I was speaking to myself.
From the outside, 2018 was one of my best years. I spoke at 10 conferences, ran the New York City Marathon, got a certificate in AI for Business Strategy from MIT Sloan, and earned a promotion.
It was also one of my worst years. I dealt with an anxiety disorder that got increasingly worse as the year progressed. By Fall, my involuntary shaking, sweating, tears, and panic attacks were interfering with my daily life.
I could no longer hide from friends what I felt inside: The terror that my mind was wreaking upon me would flash across my face at inopportune times. And because I was scared to look dumb in front of people (What if I faint or throw up in public?", I slowly withdrew into a shell of my own self.
That shell is a dark place to be. And that iPhone note was my first step back into lightness.
I started 2019 determined to get better, but it wasn’t easy. I had an allergic reaction to a new antidepressant that landed me in the hospital—hours before I was due to fly to Europe. And lest you think that you can fly away from anxiety, trust me: It follows. Small acts like boarding trains became Herculean tasks that scared me without reason. Turns out, it’s tough to appreciate the beauty of the Alps when you’re intently focused on not throwing up.
I know how melodramatic this sounds. If you’ve never had an anxiety disorder, it’s hard to fathom how such mundane, daily tasks can bring you to your knees. How panic attacks appear so suddenly that it feels like you’re always running from a ghost. How they can strike without warning wherever you are, whomever you’re with, and make you forget how to breathe.
But that’s what happened to me. And instead of giving myself grace to heal, I gave myself internal tongue lashings:
“What’s wrong with you? Just get on the train already!”
“You’re having a great year at work. Why are you never satisfied?”
“You’re the picture of physical health. Grow up and stop making fake symptoms!”
I was mean to myself, which only made my anxiety worse. I wouldn’t dream of talking to my friend in this hurtful way. And so, as I stared at that iPhone note, I imagined the things I’d tell her—and poured those words back into my own soul:
“It won’t last long—you’re stronger than this and you’ll survive this scary feeling.”
“You might feel incredibly overwhelmed, but you’re getting a better grasp on what your triggers are. Your legs, heart, hands, and body all work even when it feels like they don’t.”
“You managed the situation and made the right choice for yourself. That’s to be applauded.”
Two months after that trip to Europe, I’m doing much better. My second medication, Effexor, is a much better fit for me. I’m seeing my therapist every other week. And, perhaps most crucially, I’m learning to give myself more grace to grow.
I don’t mean to suggest that positive self-talk is a magic cure. I wrote those notes to myself weeks before my first therapy session in almost a year, and months before trying my first long-term medication. When I wrote those words of love, I still had so much work to do.
But here’s the thing: Writing those self-love notes confirmed that I love myself enough to seek help when I need it. Those words of affirmation helped me peek out of the shell that I had crawled into and ask for the help I so desperately needed.
A friend told me last spring, “Anxiety loves joy.” She’s right. I’ve lost too many moments with loved ones worrying about nothing. It’s painful to recall the times I’ve been surrounded by my life-sustaining people and just wanted to run out the door. It hurts my heart to think that it might take even more time for me to feel fully “back to normal.” We aren’t meant to simply survive life, but that’s how it felt to me at times.
But when life gets hard now, I know how to help myself. I do a better job of recognizing how anxiety feels so that I can acknowledge it, then let those feelings pass. And until they do, I have an army of self-love notes to guide me.
In grace and healing,
Lauren
p.s. If you know a friend of colleague who might enjoy My Sweet Dumb Brain, please encourage them to subscribe. Here are guidelines if you're interested in writing a future guest essay. You can also find—and share on social!—past essays on Medium.
Lauren also shared some additional insights, recommendations, and an exercise for this week. Thank you, Lauren!
Good job, brain
I'm currently (re)reading: The Sanitized Stories We Tell, by Sarah Bessey. Sarah’s story about (finally) dealing with the deep pain of her son’s birth is an evergreen essay on vulnerability.
I’m currently inspired by: Dear Men, my friend Melanie Curtin’s podcast on dating and relationships. From physically painful sex to the merits of couples therapy, there’s no aspect of romance that this podcast doesn’t discuss.
I'm currently aiming to: Write down a plan for becoming a foster mom to dogs this summer—a goal I’ve had for years that I’ve let slip through the cracks.
Additional resources
Headspace: I resisted meditation for years because I mistakenly thought it involved “quieting your mind.” The exact opposite is true — meditation is acknowledging each thought in your busy brain before allowing them to pass through without judgment. The guided meditations from Headspace have helped me form new habits that ease my anxiety.
“Travel is No Cure for the Mind”: As a former expat who has set foot on six continents, it’s rare to find someone who loves travel more than me. That’s why I think this essay on the dangers of travel-as-escapism is a must-read.
TED Talks: The Official TED Guide to Public Speaking: I’m reading this right now in advance of several talks I’ll give this spring. My only regret is not reading it sooner.
"You Are Enough: A Call to Travel Solo": I’m writing this newsletter in LA, having flown in on a layover from Australia this morning. If you’ve been dying to take a trip but have no one to go with, I hope this will nudge you to take yourself on an adventure.
For your sweet dumb brain
Try to distinguish anxious feelings from physical illness. Meditation taught me how to recognize what anxiety feels like, and then name those feelings before letting them move through me. If you struggle with anxiety and find yourself feeling sick, scan your body from head to toe and ask if each part of your body feels positive, negative, or neutral. That honesty is a powerful tool to name anxiety for what it is—and let it pass more quickly.