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 tried to breathe. The panicked look on their faces only made breathing harder.
Sitting on my bed, it seemed like an eternity before I started to feel normal again. In reality, it was probably less than a minute, but it was enough time for my parents to rule out anything life-threatening or an object lodged in my throat. “Oh my God, what was that?” they wondered out loud.
I shrugged. I was 13. I had no idea what had happened. I was just glad it was over.
A few days later, it happened again. Suddenly, I was out of breath. Fear ran down my spine and my heart was pounding as I struggled to take a deep breath. After the fourth or fifth time, my parents made an appointment with a doctor. Of course, being a kid, I didn’t want to see a doctor, but I didn’t want this to happen again. Ever.
During the office visit, the doctor looked at me and said I was anxious. I remember thinking, “Okay. Now what?” But we left the office without any real answers or treatment. Apparently, I was just an anxious kid. Hopefully, it would go away with time.
Looking back, I’m not surprised we didn’t think anxiety was a big deal. In the black community, mental health issues are taboo. We don’t talk about the real-life repercussions or how mental health conditions can be just as devastating as physical ones. You’re supposed to deal with them privately and get on with your life.
My anxiety continued to grow and became something huge and monstrous that stayed with me into adulthood. It started to manifest itself in other ways besides my breathing. I felt restless all the time, so I thought everything had to happen right away. At the same time, I was very impatient with people. I often got angry with my family and friends. I was demanding and downright cruel because I was always on edge.
Anxiety also increased the negative thoughts I had. I thought the worst-case scenarios were going to happen and that people naturally thought the worst of me.
It wasn’t long before these thoughts caused me to distance myself from others.
That’s the thing about anxiety. If you don’t get to the root of that monstrous thing, you never know when it will steal your breath (your good energy) and your anxious brain will trick you into believing that everything is “normal.”
One day, more than 13 years after that first office visit, I couldn’t take it anymore. I was fed up with not feeling well. I knew that heavy feelings were taking over my life and that I needed to talk to someone who could help me work through my issues. So I made the difficult decision 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 facing, 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 a perspective on anxiety that left a deep impression on me. He told me to test the lies in my anxious brain. To look at my thoughts, question them, and see if they were the truth or something I had made up.
Things were going well with therapy, but then COVID hit. Naturally, my anxiety skyrocketed. But luckily, I was also at a point where I knew that if I was feeling this way about therapy, I could imagine other people — especially people of color — feeling anxious, overwhelmed, and alone.
In 2020, I created a web miniseries called “So Anxious” about what it’s like to be a Black woman with anxiety. Each episode was short and focused on the feelings that anxiety brings and what I’ve learned throughout my life. Many people online had positive responses and I felt deep down that I had found an outlet for my art that could have an impact on people.
The “So Anxious” series helped me move forward and talk about anxiety in ways I never imagined. My university invited me to speak about the topic to students on campus. In 2021, I began 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 theater production is an expansion of “So Anxious,” which details 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 might be wondering how a person with anxiety can 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 on the show were overwhelming, and my mental health took a backseat. I started distancing myself 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. After a few shows, it became clear to me 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 me clear my mind and I can focus on the things that are true and let go of the things I can’t control.
In 2023, I felt strong and ready to perform my live show again. On opening night, the theater was packed and I felt like I was short of breath. But it wasn’t anxiety. It was all the love and support that took my breath away. I felt brave in that moment (and every time I perform) because I know I’m helping spread the message that anxiety is a real issue and it’s okay to ask for help. You just have to take it one breath at a time.
Do you have any real women, any real stories you’d like to share? let us know.
Our Real Women, Real Stories are the authentic experiences of real-life women. The opinions and experiences shared in these stories are not endorsed by HealthyWomen and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of HealthyWomen.
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