Popeye and Anxiety have Something in Common

Learning to Live Log

Thoughts on Cancer Survivorship and Building a Life Beyond

Anxiety has been a close companion my whole life. I was the one looking for monsters under my bed as a kid, but not quite like the ones in the Eminem song or what I wrote about in this piece . My hyper-vigilance went on steroids when cancer reared its ugly head. Cancer was like feeding spinach to my anxiety named Popeye...

for those of us old enough to remember the hilarious children’s cartoon. It threatened to burst at the seams and overpower me, much like the cartoon sailor-man when he would eat the greens. The big difference was that my anxiety wasn’t about what could happen; it finally was about something that was happening - for real! All of the tools that I had learned to deal with anxiety and fear no longer applied, and I had to find a new space in which to function. These lessons have significance for life today.

Our world has become even more complex since my first episode of cancer was discovered the week before 9/11. The monsters under the bed from fears during childhood now take human form in the shape of mass shootings like the ones of this past weekend in El Paso, Texas and Dayton, Ohio in the U.S. The recent Times Square and mall incident of the past day underscore the level of panic that lies just at the surface - ready to explode when a motorcycle backfires or a sign falls.

Anxiety has a powerful way of disconnecting us from good things that are happening and the closeness that we can feel with another human. It robs us of life before our life can be robbed.

The carnage and trauma are re-lived moment-by-moment through platforms on our devices and screens at any hour of the day or night. How is it possible now to sit in a movie theater or purchase school supplies at a large discount store without stopping to consider that our life could end today as victim of a shooting? It would be very easy to turn this log post into the 100 forms of spinach fueling my anxiety named Popeye after viewing “Fed Up” and “The Great Hack” over the past week. Those subjects are for another day.

I know that the issue of anxiety is an important one to tackle for cancer survivors. There are scans, blood tests, side effects to be managed, and the scares that new lumps or aches and pains bring. But, this topic isn’t just for survivors. We all have anxiety that must be tamed every day, such as the potential to lose someone through death or divorce or the simple act of kissing the cheeks of our children in the morning and putting them on a bus bound for a school building.

As I work on the book Surviving , I revisit hundreds of pages of writing that I have produced over the past 25 years. An episode from the winter of 2002 jumps out at me and I am propelled right back to that moment – that crippling anxiety.

January 31, 2002 -- Back in Nuclear Testing I shed tears…Don’t breathe, don’t move, don’t talk...as the tube encloses tightly around me, and I feel my breath on the suffocating wall that comes on my face, chest, shoulders legs beyond my hair and toes. It’s not human. Thirty minutes of encapsulation seem like centuries. I call for the test to stop. They bring my mother in. We start all over…

There are many things I have learned about managing anxiety through my own journey and working in mental health.

Acknowledge that the anxiety exists.

Anxiety is weird – the more you try to ignore it or act like it isn’t happening, the worse it becomes. By owning it, you have the power to move beyond it.

Plant yourself into moments that are grounding and

bring connection to your life.

Anxiety has a powerful way of disconnecting us from good things that are happening and the closeness that we can feel with another human. It robs us of life before our life can be robbed. The answer might be taking a step away from your desk and asking a colleague for a brief walk in the sun without devices in hand. Pay attention to how the rays of the sun feel on your skin. For some it might mean chopping figs that are heavy on the trees this time of year and creating a bubbling brew that becomes a preserve. Take in the intoxicating aroma of sugar and earth combined, as I did last week. I highly recommend the experience (see photo) . When anxious thoughts enter your mind, acknowledge them, and then move back into the present moment that you have created.

Start understanding the day-to-day things within your control that fuel your anxiety and reduce or eliminate them.

In other words, learn to control the spinach intake of your anxiety named Popeye. How much time are you spending looking at a screen? How much news are you consuming? For example, is your device the first thing you reach for in the morning – perhaps even before you greet your partner, child, or pet? How do you feel after scrolling through your device? Alternatively, start your day with something that feels good and offers the opportunity to express gratitude such as a warm hug, the taste of freshly brewed coffee, or hot water pounding your back in the shower. Gratitude shrinks the fear monster. Offer up thanks for the people along the path that made all of those things possible.

It is not unusual for some survivors to need more professional help managing their anxiety post-treatment. If it is hindering your daily functioning, please consider reaching out to a therapist or your doctor to consider additional treatment.

Since my first episode of cancer, escalators have been an enormous source of anxiety for me. To this day we don’t know if it was due to radiation impacting my brain and ultimately my depth-perception or if it is related to a panic episode. There are times when it seems impossible to step on, and an elevator comes to the rescue.

Gratitude shrinks the fear monster.

It was in the warm embrace of my youngest stepson this summer that I was reminded about the healing power of connection and grounding to my anxiety. We were returning from a trip abroad, and I was presented with one of the endless Atlanta airport escalators. Envisioning himself as a giant in his almost five-feet frame, my 12 year-old boy stepped in front of the escalator and exclaimed, “I’ve got you!” As we stepped on, he wrapped me in a full embrace and laid my head on his shoulder. I closed my eyes and took in the moment - the sweet smell of his shampoo, his slow and steady breaths, and the way his arms would embrace me tighter when signs of panic were creeping in. The monster didn’t go away – the escalator still was there. What also rode along with us was that precious moment , my willingness to be vulnerable, and the opportunity for my stepson to feel the burst of joy that comes with offering tangible support to someone in need.

And, how did he learn to do this? He was just copying a behavior that had been first discovered and then modeled for years by my husband. This time, however, he stepped in to be the hero. And lucky for me, he doesn’t like spinach.

If you missed the previous two logs, check them out by clicking on the links below or go to the log on my website.

Give Me Rainbows and Sunsets but Hold the Unicorns

July 25, 2019

Embracing Our Scars

July 11, 2019

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About the Learning to Live Log (LLL)

· This Log is created and written by Rebecca Palpant Shimkets, a two-time cancer survivor with an over two-decade career in mental health specializing in media depictions of mental illnesses and building programs in the domestic U.S. and internationally. The LLL is a bi-weekly email for colleagues and friends and new readers that explores mental health and post-treatment cancer survivorship. Rebecca is writing a book on the topic and you can learn more at www.survivingthebook.com. Encourage colleagues and friends to subscribe and see previous Log posts by sharing this email, visiting www.survivingthebook.com or emailing palpantr@gmail.com . Follow on social media by clicking the buttons at the bottom of this page.

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Rebecca Palpant Shimkets.

To contact via email palpantr@gmail.com or connect via social media channels.