As he told you Jacquelyne Froeber
It’s July Ethnic Minority Mental Health Awareness Month.
I couldn’t breathe.
I ran into my parents bedroom clutching my chest as I gasped for air. The look of panic on their faces made breathing harder.
Sitting on their bed, it felt like an eternity before I started to feel normal again. Actually, it was probably less than a minute, but it was enough time for my parents to rule out something life-threatening or some object getting stuck in my throat. “Oh my god, what was that?” they wondered aloud.
I shrugged. I was 13 years old. I had no idea what happened. I was just glad it was over.
A few days later it happened again. Out of nowhere, the wind hit me. Fear pierced my spine and my heart pounded as I struggled to bring in every shallow breath. After the fourth or fifth time, my parents made an appointment with a health care provider. Of course, when I was a kid, I didn’t want to see a health care provider, but I never wanted that to happen again. Always.
During the office visit, the doctor took one look at me and said I was anxious. I remember thinking, okay. And now what; But we left the visit with no real answers or treatment. Apparently I was just a restless child. I hope to overcome this.
Looking back, I’m not shocked that we didn’t think stress was a huge problem. In the black community, mental health issues are taboo. We don’t talk about the real life effects and how mental health conditions can be just as devastating as physical ones. You’re supposed to deal with it privately and move on with your life.
My anxiety continued to grow and develop into a big monstrous thing that followed me into adulthood. It began to manifest in ways other than breathing. I felt upset all the time, so I thought everything had to be done right away. In turn, I was very impatient with people. I often hit my family and friends. I was demanding and frankly mean because I was always on edge.
The stress also increased any negative thoughts I had. I thought worst-case scenarios would happen and that people inherently thought the worst of me.
It wasn’t long before these thoughts caused me to distance myself from others.
That’s the thing about stress. 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 tricks you into thinking everything is ‘normal’.
One day, more than 13 years after that first office visit, I had had enough. I’m tired of not feeling well. I knew that heavy emotions were taking over my life and I needed to talk to someone who could help me deal with my problems. So I made the difficult decision to try the treatment on my own.
The therapist I saw was supportive and kind…but she was not a black woman. I didn’t feel like it could relate to any of the issues I was having, so I tried another one. The second therapist was a black man. Again, I didn’t feel like she could relate to me as a black woman, but she had some perspective on anxiety that made a big impression on me. He told me to trial the lies from my anxious brain. To observe my thoughts, ask them and see if they are the truth or something I have made up.
Things were going well with treatment and then Covid hit. Naturally, my anxiety skyrocketed. But thankfully I was also in a place where I knew that if I felt this way in therapy, I could imagine other people—especially people of color—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 focused on the feelings that stress brings and what I’ve learned in my life. Many people online had positive responses and I felt in my bones that I had found an outlet for my art that could have an impact on people.
The “So Anxious” series helped me step forward and talk about anxiety in ways I never imagined. My college 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, theatrical production is an extension of “So Anxious” which details my personal and cultural journey as a Black woman navigating anxiety and the importance of normalizing mental health issues in the Black community.
Now, I know you’re wondering, how does an anxious person play live without having a panic attack? Well, it’s not easy. And I began to let my anxious brain get in the way of my message.
The challenges of organizing the show were overwhelming and my mental health took a back seat. I started pulling away and avoiding people again. At the same time, I tried to control everything in the performance, from the keyboard notes to the lighting. It became clear after a few shows that I didn’t practice 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 real and let go of the things I can’t control.
In 2023 I felt strong and ready to start my live show again. On opening night, the theater was packed and I felt my breath catch in my throat. But it wasn’t stress. 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 okay to ask for help. Just take one breath at a time.
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Our real women, real stories are the authentic experiences of real life women. The views, 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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