An Overflow of Thoughts on Anxiety

One man. 187 pounds. A pair of goggles. A hairy belly. And a speedo a few sizes too small. A recipe for disaster. In the spring of 2012 my father did the unthinkable: he crashed my sister’s graduation party by showing up in a speedo, jumping over the fence, running laps around the pool, and then showering all the guests in water when he successfully produced a monumental cannonball that shook the core of the earth with all its power. Needless to say my sister was quite embarrassed when she returned to school and the hundreds of kids present at the party spread the story about her dad and the speedo that was a few sizes too small.

Whenever my sister and I were younger we always responded this way to my dad’s endless antics- we quickly grew embarrassed and begged him to stop. We did whatever we could to run away from his ludicrousness. Yet when I experienced one of the hardest things I have ever gone through, the one thing I wanted was my dad’s jokes and love.

Anxiety hit me out of nowhere. I remember suddenly becoming extremely apprehensive about things that were unfathomable. These fears were much deeper than any nerves I had ever endured when taking a test, getting on stage in front of hundreds of people, waiting to go on a big roller coaster, or freaking out about homework due the next day. This terrified me. I felt like I was trapped inside my own brain and could not escape. And I was only 13 years old.

My mother, the orderly, logistical member of the family, quickly rushed to my side offering aid in various forms. From psychological therapy to anxiety exercises, we tried it all. I ran to her with everything, but I never once ran to my dad. My mom had told him about my anxiety disorder but not once did I think to find relief in the man that I thought could not understand my pain and would simply brush it off as a trivial fluctuation of emotions.

“Ah, an emotional teenage girl. Didn’t see that one coming!” I could hear him saying with a chuckle as I tried to express my hurt.

Then when my anxiety got to the point where I was so desperate I would do whatever I could, I ran to my dad. And what he did surprised me. He hurt. I could see in his eyes that he feared whatever was tormenting his “Jr. Baby.” Yet he let my mom do the dirty work of seeking professional help and examining all the logistics of anxious behavior. Instead, my dad told me that he had dealt with anxiety for his whole life. And I realized that for him, comedy was a way to relieve the fears. Anytime those false realities of apprehension began to attack him, he fought back with funny dances and witty dad jokes.

So, I began to fight my anxiety with the last thing I thought could defeat it: laughter. Imagine that. I’m sitting in my room shaking in waves of apprehension and I think about my dad jumping over the fence in a speedo a few sizes too small. And it helped.

I still deal with my anxiety disorder today. I take my medication in the morning and I prepare myself for the fears that lie ahead in everyday. But now when I start to be hit by anxiety I decide to react like my dad and laugh in the face of my fears. Look out, anxiety, this cannonball of smiles is about to drench you down.

Except I won’t be wearing a speedo.