Anxiety is My Puppeteer
But my strength is my own
If I am a puppet, then anxiety is my puppeteer. She promised to guide me well. She promised we’d make a beautiful act. She promised to keep me safe. She promised to set me free.
Yet, I am controlled by anxiety now. There are multiple strings sewn into every limp of my body. Some days she gives me freedom, choice in my movements and decisions. Other days I am not me at all. I look like me, but there is something else moving through me. Something else controlling me. I cannot rationale these days. I cannot make sense of them except to say…what if…
If I am a puppet and anxiety is my puppeteer, then we dance to a symphony of what ifs. We glide across a steady beat of worry and get lost in the crescendo of fear. Every day the song is different, yet the theme is the same. I have come to find some comfort in the familiarity of this. Yet, I long for the day I can create my own dance, one of survival and strength…
If I am a puppet and anxiety is my puppeteer and we dance to a symphony of what ifs, then my strength comes after the final bow. When the lights dim, right before the curtains close, I stand up. Always of my own accord, I stand up. You see, I’ve tried many times to escape anxiety’s grip. I’ve cut the ties, but there just seem to be more binding me. I’ve tried to run, but where do you run when you’re already at the only place you’ve ever known. I’ve tried on different versions of strength for size, to see which one fits the best. So, this, for me, is what I do: I stand up. I show myself that she cannot keep me down. Even when the curtain closes and no one else can see: I stand up. Even when they mock me, even when they slander me, even when it makes no sense to them: I stand up. Even when my knees shake, even when my breath hitches, even when tears line my eyes: I stand up.
Because anxiety doesn’t go away, so I have to do everything scared and strong.
Because the ones that don’t know anxiety will never understand, so I have to do everything in the face of questions and ridicule.
Because even when other people think anxiety has ownership of me, I know she doesn’t, I know I can stand up.
If I am a puppet, then anxiety is my puppeteer. We dance to a symphony of what ifs and, in my own strength, I stand up at the end of the day.
Let’s continue the conversation:
Do you struggle with anxiety?
What would you say is puppeteering your life in this season?
How do you overcome struggles and show yourself strength?
Want to read more Little Bits of Everything?
A shorty story based on the question: Do you love him?
A quick poem on motherhood and the saying How Silly of Me
A note on mental health and being honest enough to say I’m Not Fine
A favorite letter to my husband titled One More Day After That
The most honest Four Gentle Reminders that everyone needs to hear
A popular short story on The Edge of The World
This is so beautifully written and expressed in your article. Depression would be my puppeteer sometimes depression brings its other puppeteer anxiety and they take over depending on the show. I have a strange relationship with my depression. It’s all I’ve ever known my constant companion I don’t want it here most days, but we have learnt to co exist.