I think my anxiety is getting worse.
As a self-described introvert, I avoid crowds, the parties, large gatherings, and most people. I’ve made some strides with my FOMO (fear of missing out) experience, pushing myself to go out more, date more, try new things, do the whole gym thing. And for the most part, I’ve really enjoyed it.
However, lately, something else has manifested. At first, I dismissed it as the post-workout high, adrenaline. Maybe it’s just the rush after a good workout. Maybe it’s that pesky testosterone. Maybe… it’s something else.
The FOMO experience, as I’ve written before, has certainly pushed me to try new things. I’ve learned about the importance of self-care. As someone with a family history of diabetes and renal failure, I advocate yearly health checks and exercise. Man-up, men, and suck it up. I often tease, “This is the only body you get. No warranties. No refunds. No manuals. It’s the only thing you’ll ever truly own.”
My roommate introduced me to massages when he purchased a gift card for me. It’s something I’m truly grateful for as I never thought I’d find myself enjoying one. The experience was eye-opening, sort of like a mechanic pointing out all the things broken with your car. In my case, I was the broken car and the masseur was the mechanic. By the end of my first experience I wanted to marry my masseur. Massages are now part of my self-care, not only alleviate the fatigue of an aging body, but helping ease tired muscles from intense workouts.
A year ago I did some exfoliating and microderm treatments for my back. Youth left me with terrible acne scars. The results left me awe-struck, in a way that made me realize I didn’t have to be a slave to my past… in a way.
And here’s where we get a bit more personal and detailed.
Earlier this year I got circumcised.
It wasn’t a cosmetic decision, though I’ve always been somewhat self-conscience about it. Taboo and cultural differences aside, it was a medical reason, not vanity. Performance issues made some encounters physically uncomfortable or painful. Things were too tight.
“I’m glad you got the treatment you needed.. […]… I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself.”
It was this comment by a friend that really allowed me to self-analyze and see the importance of self-care. It’s in that comment that the creeping anxiety is taking center stage.
I discovered two things recently. When my dad visited a few months ago, in some of the photos (rare I know), I noticed terrible sweat stains. Sure, it was summer, but this seemed excessive. I’ve always been one to sweat excessively, even during workouts it was bad but heck everyone was sweating so it wasn’t a big deal. But, I was also sweating during other odd moments like driving, presentations/meetings, or really anything else with anxiety.
On morning drives to work I’d build up a terrible sweat stain. During the first hour of work–catching up on emails and reviewing the agenda for the day–I noticed a considerable amount of sweating. It didn’t help that most mornings there is a barrage of people messaging me or approaching my desk for help/bad news. “Fix this! Fix that!” At first, I dismissed it as that post-workout high. However, something wasn’t adding up. Visiting a dermatologist, I got diagnosed with hypohidrosis. A couple prescriptions later and what a world of difference. This entire time I had dismissed this excessive sweating as normal. Holy shit!
But then… enter the other side of this… the extreme.
The excessive sweating made way for the anxiety. Sort of how clearing the flood in your basement exposes the leak in your plumbing. You see, the blushing would occur, the hot flashes sans sweat. Given enough time though, even the medication had its limits and the sweat came like a deluge.
There’s something else going on.
I’m not sure what the triggers are. I don’t know how this manifested, or if it’s always been there. Sure, I’m a self-described introvert. I’m terribly shy around men I find attractive. Yet, this is all sort of new.
“This is the only body we get…” I remind myself. It may not come with a manual, but I have to make an effort to figure this out. There can’t be any shame in self-help, and in this case, I may have to talk to someone to figure this out. It’s beginning to impact my confidence at work, and my ability to focus to get things done.
This body is the only thing I’ll truly ever own. Here’s to self-care.