Disappearing Tricks: Life With Anxiety

When I was still a child, I learned the secret of how to disappear.

This was something of a miracle because I had always been too loud and too rough, with dirty fingernails and chronically bruised shins and a long golden ponytail that whipped around my waist when I ran. The only time that I was quiet was when I was reading. And I read the way some people breathe – necessarily and without effort. When I read, I traveled through time and space and in and out of reality. I returned to my own world fuzzy-headed, unsure of the line between what was real and what I’d imagined.

This ability to escape through books was a treasure, but one day, I discovered that there were other ways to leave reality behind. I could do it anytime I needed to.

I was born craving approval. From my earliest memories, I wanted to achieve perfection with every fiber of my being. I believed that I deserved love and acceptance because I made the best grades and won all of the awards and obeyed my parents and made everyone in my class laugh. But I was a child, and like all children, there were times when I got in trouble.

When a teacher or my parents corrected me, I was devastated. I lived to please and when I didn’t I felt physically sick with the knowledge that I’d disappointed them. My heart would race until my chest hurt and my stomach would clench and I would imagine myself breaking into a thousand pieces. My body would shake and I would chant to myself, “I’m not here. I’m not here. I’m not here.” And then one day, I wasn’t.

Or at least, part of me wasn’t. It was as if I was no longer quite connected to my body. I could hear my father’s words of anger and disappointment, but they seemed to be coming from a long way off. I was sitting across from him at the kitchen table, but I was also floating somewhere up in the corner of the room watching myself with cool detachment, protected from the intensity of his disappointment and no longer on the verge of breaking.

This, I discovered, was an incredible skill. I now had the power to remove myself from whatever situations proved too stressful or upsetting to handle, and no one else would even know. I had learned to disappear in plain sight.

I became so good at disappearing that I forgot how to stay put. I now know that this is called disassociating, but at the time I heard it called “zoning out.” I got into such a habit of disassociating that I found myself doing it not only when my stress level skyrocketed, but also when I was bored, upset, or feeling anything else I didn’t want to be feeling.

All of this disappearing started to affect my memory. Although I graduated from high school only ten years ago, I have almost no memories of that entire chunk of my life, most of which I spent observing myself from a long way off. High school was possibly the most stressful time of my life as I tried to maintain perfect grades and perfect behavior while constantly trying to earn the approval of my parents, my teachers, my church leaders, and my friends. I lived in a state of constant and severe anxiety, which I didn’t even recognize as abnormal.

I’d suffered from chronic tension headaches from the time I was in elementary school, but during my freshman year of college I developed a heart arrhythmia. It came and went, lasting anywhere from a few minutes to a few days. It felt like my heart would skip a beat, followed by an extra hard double-beat at the end of the overlong pause. Some nights I couldn’t sleep because each heartbeat was so strong it felt like it was echoing through my body, rattling my teeth, and making my limbs throb. “Premature Ventricular Contractions” the doctor said. Triggered by stress and anxiety. I told the doctor I wasn’t stressed or anxious about anything and that it must be something else. He said to drink a lot of water, replenish my electrolytes, and lay off of caffeine.

Around the same time I started having stomach problems that I still struggle with. For weeks or even months at a time I would have chronic stomachaches that weren’t affected by what I ate or didn’t eat, by how much I exercised or how much caffeine I drank. My belly bloated and swelled until I looked like I was a solid 5 months pregnant, and most of the time I was in constant pain. This would last for long stretches of time until one day, just as unexpectedly as it came, it would stop, and I would live normally for weeks or months with no issues. I had learned to live with extreme amounts of stress so well that I honestly could not see a pattern of my anxiety correlating with my stomach problems.

There were other physical signs that something was going on, but I simply didn’t recognize them as abnormal. I remember dozens of times when I would meet with a professor, spend time with a friend I found difficult to please, have some sort of confrontation, or be forced to participate in some activity that I didn’t want to do, and my whole body would tremble so hard that my teeth chattered. I would sweat through my clothes, the kind of sweat that stains, and afterwards, when I relaxed, my whole body would ache from the tension I’d been carrying. Now I realize that this was from an extreme amount of adrenaline my anxious body was releasing to help me get through an overwhelming situation, but at the time it never occurred to me that this was abnormal.

It wasn’t until last spring, as we began preparing to move back to the States after two years in Korea, that I was finally able to recognize all of this for what it was – anxiety. As I started looking for a job and a place to live in the US, I was blindsided by a series of panic attacks that would strike without warning – at home, on the bus, at work. My heart would pound and I would feel like I was being stabbed through the chest as fears I didn’t know I had raced through my head. I thought we’d die in Korea and never make it back, or that we’d get back and not be able to find a place to live, or that I wouldn’t be able to find a job and we’d spend all of our savings and not be able to pay our bills and be miserable. Often these panic episodes would start completely unprovoked as I went about my normal routine. I never knew when they might hit and I couldn’t escape them by disassociating, and that was part of what made them so utterly terrifying.

The panic attacks were new territory for me. I’d never thought of myself as an anxious person. I knew people who were anxious – people who could twist themselves up in worry over things that had never even entered my head. I always wanted to take those friends by the shoulders, maybe shake them a little, and remind them to RELAX. And suddenly, I found myself unable to relax. I wasn’t intentionally stirring up an anxiety and worry in myself; it was rising up out of the place it had been hiding for years.

The panic attacks had one positive effect – they made me recognize anxiety for the first time and to realize that what I had been experiencing for so long wasn’t healthy or normal. As I started to look back over my life, I could see that anxiety had been my constant companion since childhood. I could see it in the way I chewed my fingernails bloody and how I laid in my bed at night as a second grader, praying for Jesus to return before I woke up. I could see it in the host of unidentifiable ailments, each one a physical manifestation of a level of stress that my mind and my heart simply couldn’t handle.

Even though I was starting to see a pattern of anxiety in my life, I still thought the panic attacks were associated with the move and that once we’d settled down back in America they would subside. It’s been six months since we returned to the US and while the attacks have lessened, they haven’t disappeared. Sometimes we have to cancel plans last minute because I’m suddenly seized with the conviction that my husband will die if he leaves the house, and for the present I no longer stand in line at the bank or visit movie theaters because these places are triggers for me.

I know that this all sounds very dramatic and maybe a bit depressing, but ironically, I’m feeling more and more hopeful. See, there is freedom in calling something by its name. Sometimes naming the thing takes away some of its power. When the panic attacks started, I couldn’t understand where they were coming from or why, and I felt powerless against them. Now I understand that anxiety has been part of my DNA all along. I understand that my habit of dissociating and my health issues have been a subconscious way of dealing with an unusually high level of anxiety from a very young age.

Anxiety for me is mental and physical—it is not a conscious decision and it is not something I can make go away through force of will—but it is also profoundly spiritual. Learning to manage anxiety requires my letting go of the need to manipulate my circumstances and control every outcome. The anxiety itself may never go away (though I pray that it does), but I am coming to understand that I have a weapon that can keep me from being overwhelmed. Along with therapy for my mind and medication for my body, there is a remedy for my spirit and it’s called Truth.

Anxiety shouts with a loud voice, but Truth always speaks louder.

Truth says that the peace of God which transcends understanding will guard my heart and my mind.

Truth says those who trust in the Lord will be kept in perfect peace.

Truth says, “Fear not, for I am with you!” time and time again.

Truth is giving me the courage to stay put instead of disappearing. It’s teaching me to accept my weaknesses and my limitations and to rely on a strength greater than my own. And it’s teaching me how to live well in a world where I’m not always in control.

Image Credit: Shutterstock.com


  1. Hi Lily – you have a real gift for tipping pain out into the sun and sifting through it methodically. There’s not a word out of place in your post.

    ‘There is freedom in calling something by its name’ hits your nail squarely on the head. And once it’s named, you have a chance to reshape it. We all have software running in the background of our minds; programmes we downloaded once, when we needed them, but have forgotten to delete or update. Your system sounds as if it’s refreshing itself.

    Which isn’t to downplay the discomfort of the process. To move metaphors – it’s a bit like unpicking an untidy, childishly-stitched patch of darning on the seam of a much-loved teddy, made, in desperation, to stop her falling apart. You have to move with attention and slow care to undo threads tightly woven together long ago for protection,created with the best of intentions but without much knowledge of how best to wield a needle and thread.

    Restoration is the slowest of processes, but the most rewarding. (http://bit.ly/1Zzqshj) If you’ve ever seen restorers at work, moving over a Titian or a Leonardo da Vinci with cotton swabs/buds in hand, slowly slowly dabbing the dirt away, you’ll know that a sequence of what looks, or feels, like a series of infinitesimal, inconsequential movements adds up to recovery.

    All best wishes

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Elaine, thank you so much for your kind and wise words. I’ve been thinking that one important part of recovery is showing love and grace to that past self – like you said, we have these programs we developed because we needed them at a certain time in our lives to survive. It’s easy to feel frustrated with myself for what feels like faulty wiring, but when I step back and remember that some of this was necessary at the time, I can extend grace to my younger self and have hope that I can be made new.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Hi Lily – that reminds me of the Japanese art (Kintsugi or Kintsukuroi http://bit.ly/1or9jsE) of mending broken pottery with golden glue, so that the break becomes a beautiful, appreciated part of the life of the pot. Did they do that in Korea too?

        It’s a great metaphor for life – we all carry our cracks and dents with us and they’re like battle scars. As are your survival tactics from childhood.

        It isn’t ‘faulty wiring’. It’s a tool that you picked up in your childhood and forgot that you still had in your backpack. Now that it’s no longer useful, you’ll put it down. But, as with any weight that you carry for awhile, you’ll have to readjust your balance a bit once you lay it down. And be patient with yourself.

        All best wishes


  2. I’m sorry to hear that you’re experiencing this. I used to get horrible panic attacks and anxiety — when I was in my early teens, I had a fear that my mother would go missing. Sometimes if she went out without her cellphone or I couldn’t contact her, I would be convinced that something terrible would happen.

    So I can sympathize, especially with this: “Sometimes we have to cancel plans last minute because I’m suddenly seized with the conviction that my husband will die if he leaves the house”.

    My fear was irrational, but having a panic attack is a visceral experience and it doesn’t listen to reason. Thankfully, I haven’t had an anxiety attack for years now. I hope that this passes for you too.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Isn’t t interesting what things can trigger that anxiety? After my sophomore year in college I had this amazing opportunity to travel to Africa in the summer. The night before I left I absolutely freaked out – crying uncontrollably, etc. The thing I was most afraid of was something happening to Jonathan (then my boyfriend, now my husband) while I was gone, or something happening to me so that I wouldn’t be able to get back to him. It was so bad that I almost didn’t want to go. There was no specific reason (no terrorism or other known dangers where I was going) to make me feel that way, but it’s crazy how paralyzing those fears can be. I think that was my first sort of panic attack, but I didn’t realize it at the time.
      I’m glad you’ve gotten past yours. I’m cautiously optimistic that mine are getting better. 🙂 Thanks for sharing your story.


    1. I’m sorry that you suffer from anxiety, but I’m so glad you’ve found some medication that has helped you! I’m still on a journey with that myself. Thanks for reading and for sharing.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. You are absolutely right! Naming something to yourself significantly lessens its power. And many, many kudos to you for figuring it out. It’s really hard to see ourselves clearly. I also have chronic low-level anxiety that manifested as mysterious jaw pain, digestion issues, etc. It’s really hard, but just naming it to yourself is such a big step!


    1. Thank you, Kate. That’s exactly how I would describe it for myself – chronic low-level anxiety that shows up in all these physical ways with occasional sharp episodes of anxiety when something major triggers it. It really has helped a lot to understand that the constant anxiety is a real thing that is affecting my life and my health. If you don’t see it as a problem, you can’t do anything to fix it!


  4. There is definitely power in naming the thing that plagues us.

    That, too, is how I read. You can imagine the devastation I felt when I went through a period when I couldn’t read. I was too anxious. I am slowly making my way back.

    I too learned how to disappear…

    You’re not alone.


    1. Thank you so much for your support! At this point, I can’t imagine not reading. It’s become such a safe place for me where I can take my mind away from the things that produce anxiety, but I’m still doing something healthy and productive as opposed to taking my mind away with alcohol or some other unhealthy distraction. I hope you continue to make progress in your journey and can fall into books again.


  5. How courageous of you to write so openly about this, this can already be the start of a healingprocess! Not knowing what to say I only can qoute some wise people who said some maybe sensefull things as there is Ali ibn Abu Talib who said: “Do not let your difficulties fill you with anxiety, after all it is only in the darkest nights that stars shine more brightly.” or more recently Amit ray, who said:”If you want to conquer the anxiety of life, live in the moment, live in the breath.”


    1. Thank you. I love those quotes. The Amit Ray quote reminds me of my One Word for the year – mindfulness. Part of the reason I chose mindfulness is because I do think living in the moment and living “in the breath” is one of the best ways to combat anxiety. Thanks for your encouragement and support!


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