As told to Jacquelyne Froeber
July is National Minority Mental Health Awareness Month.
I couldn’t catch my breath.
I ran into my parents’ bedroom clutching my chest as I gulped for air. The look of panic on their faces only made breathing harder.
Sitting on their bed, it felt like an eternity before I began to feel normal again. In reality, it was probably less than a minute, but it was enough time for my parents to rule out something life threatening or an object lodged in my throat. “Gosh, what was that?” they wondered out loud.
I shrugged. I was 13 years old. I had no clue what happened. I was just glad it was over.
A few days later it happened again. Out of nowhere, the wind was knocked out of me. Fear prickled up my spine and my heart pounded as I struggled to bring in each shallow breath. After the fourth or fifth time, my parents made an appointment with a healthcare provider. Of course, being a kid, I didn’t want to see a healthcare provider, but I never wanted this to happen again. Ever.
During the office visit, the doctor took one look at me and said I was anxious. I remember thinking, OK. Now what? But we left the visit without any real answers or treatment. Apparently I was just an anxious kid. Hopefully I’d grow out of it.
Looking back, I’m not shocked that we didn’t think anxiety was a huge problem. In the Black community, mental health issues are taboo. We don’t talk about the real-life impacts and how mental health conditions can be just as devastating as physical ones. You’re just supposed to deal with it in private and go on with your life.
My anxiety continued to grow and grow into a big monstrous thing that followed me into adulthood. It started to manifest in other ways beyond breathing. I felt unsettled all the time, so I thought everything needed to happen immediately. In turn, I was very impatient with people. I often snapped at my family and friends. I was demanding and downright mean because I was always on edge.
Anxiety also increased any negative thoughts I had. I thought the worst scenarios were going to happen and that people inherently thought the worst of me.
It wasn’t long before these thoughts had me distancing myself from others.
That’s the thing with anxiety. Without getting to the root of the monstrous thing, you never know when it will steal your breath — your good energy — and your anxious brain fools you into thinking it’s all “normal.”
One day, more than 13 years after that first office visit, I’d had enough. I was tired of not feeling well. I knew the heavy feelings were taking over my life and I needed to talk to someone who could help me work through my problems. So, I made the tough decision on my own to try therapy.
The therapist I saw was supportive and kind … but she wasn’t a Black woman. I didn’t feel like she could relate to some of the issues I was dealing with, so I tried another one. The second therapist was a Black man. Again, I didn’t feel like he could relate to me as a Black woman, but he did have some perspective on anxiety that left a big impression on me. He told me to put the lies from my anxious brain on trial. To observe my thoughts, question them and see if they are the truth or something I’ve made up.
Things were going well with therapy, and then Covid hit. Naturally, my anxiety skyrocketed. But thankfully I was also in a place where I knew if I was feeling this way with therapy, I could imagine other people — especially people of color — were feeling anxious, overwhelmed and alone.
In 2020, I created a mini web series called “So Anxious” about what it’s like to be a Black woman with anxiety. Each episode was short and centered around the feelings anxiety brings and what I’ve learned through my life. A lot of people online had positive responses, and I felt in my bones that I’d found an outlet for my art that could make an impact on people.
The “So Anxious” series helped me move forward and speak out about anxiety in ways I never imagined. My college invited me to speak on the subject to students on campus. In 2021, I started performing my one-woman show, “This is My Brain on Anxiety: The Detailed Experience of an Anxious Black Woman,” in my hometown of Charlotte, North Carolina.
2024 (Photo/Julius “J” Boseman)
The live, theatrical production is an expansion of “So Anxious” detailing my personal and cultural journey as a Black woman navigating through anxiety and the importance of normalizing mental health issues in the Black community.
Now, I know you’re wondering, How does a person with anxiety perform live without having a panic attack? Well, it’s not easy. And I started to let my anxious brain get in the way of my message.
The challenges of putting together the show were overwhelming and my mental health took a back seat. I began pulling away and avoiding people again. At the same time, I tried to control everything in the show from the keyboard player’s notes to the lighting. It became clear after a few shows that I wasn’t practicing what I preached. So I took a step back in 2022.
I spent the next year putting my mental health first. I started making meditation a top priority again and I meditate every day — sometimes multiple times a day. It helps clear my mind and I’m able to focus on the things that are true and let go of the things that I can’t control.
In 2023, I felt strong and ready to start performing my live show again. On opening night, the theater was packed, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. But it wasn’t anxiety. It was all the love and support that took my breath away. I felt fearless then — and every time I perform — because I know I’m helping spread the word that anxiety is a real problem and it’s OK to ask for help. Just take it one breath at a time.
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