The title says it all. It’s my anxiety. I own it.
It’s a pretty basic statement on it’s surface. Straightforward.
When I left my weekly CBT session today, I had that feeling. You know that feeling. The one that feels like you just bullshitted your way through a situation. But the thing is, you didn’t actually bullshit anyone. You went through the motions, did the things you asked, and responded truthfully. But something still seems off. It’s the things you didn’t say. Those are the things that are bothering you. The things you didn’t reveal.
I have a great doctor. He is holding up his side of the bargain. I have a plan that’s realistic, executable, and proven. Now it’s just up to me to make it happen.
And I do. I really am doing a great job. But there is more that can be done. I’m putting in 90% effort. But that extra 10% … that extra push … that’s where I’m starting to fall short. And it’s not out of desire or effort. So what is it?
(I think I’m on to something here.)
It’s taking responsibility for my anxiety. I need to own my recovery plan. While I have a great doctor, the plan is given to me to use for me. It’s onlyour plan in the conceptual sense. It’s my plan in the execution sense.
When I report my exposure results each week, I’m treating it like I’m reporting my progress to my doctor. But I should be reporting my progress back to ME. I am the boss of this plan. The buck stops with me. Nobody else can push me to make that last 10% of effort.
It’s not an assignment graded on a curve by my doctor. It’s not ok to do the minimum amount of work to declare done while my doctor gives me a few atta-boy’s — all the while knowing that I didn’t put in that extra effort.
I have to own this, completely. I don’t think I have thus far. That needs to change.
Yes, I’m talking to YOU, Brian!