This is me screaming on a dock. I don't know why I'm screaming. Or why I'm bald. Anxiety will do that.

I have anxiety.

It used to be every day, but thankfully not since going gluten-free. Now, instead of being like an annoying roommate, my anxiety has become more of an abrasive neighbour; I don't deal with it every day, but enough that I wish putting up a really tall fence would help.

Anxiety found me yesterday, as I was chilling out in my new office (there will be an entire upcoming post dedicated to this glorious space). I was working and listening to music and tweeting and facebooking; a perfect day of aloneness.

I was not having a bad day.

I did not have more stress to contend with than usual.

I wasn't tired or hungry or upset.

But there it was, like a bad neighbour with leaf blower, interrupting my beautiful morning. I got that familiar ah, dammit! moment when I felt it creep up inside me, clawing its way through my body like it owns the place. I always know it's going to take up residence in my head and stomach. I know it's going to sit heavily on my chest, arms crossed and a smug look on its (invisible) face.  "Why now?" I asked aloud like a crazy woman. "This is SO unfair. I was having a great day!"

We all have a little bit of anxiety; it's a natural human motivator. It keeps us on our toes, helps us with productivity, warns us of danger. But when it's unwarranted, unwelcome and overwhelming, it becomes debilitating. Anxiety is a bitch. And not in that loving way I refer to my best friend ("Thanks for the coffee, you generous bitch.") or the mailman ("Where's my National Geographic, bitch?") It is a bitch in that bad way people mean it.

I usually try to fight it off. I tell myself to just get over it, already. I get angry about it. I try to control it. And when I can't, I mope about how awful it feels to be trapped inside my head like that.

But what I'm learning is that - for me - trying to fight anxiety is like trying to fight other things I'm powerless against, like income tax and mullets and jeggings. No matter what I do, there's always going to be a tax system, bad hair, and fashions I don't understand. And there is always going to be anxiety in my life because I am not a monk and I do not live on a mountain full of people with shaved heads (a blissfully mullet-free zone) who spend their days finding inner peace.

Believe me, I have a hard enough time finding my bra, let alone inner peace.

There are some things that have helped to keep the anxiety at bay most days: regular exercise, switching up half my coffee for the decaffeinated variety (yes, really), getting enough sleep, eating better, deep breathing - basically, all those things the experts tell you to do. They help, but they haven't eradicated the problem by any means.

Yesterday I decided to go all 1990's and honour my feelings. I got tired of fighting an inner war I clearly wasn't winning. I sat with the heavy feeling in my chest. I accepted that it was there instead of trying to deny it.

I get so angry with myself when I have a high anxiety day. But would I treat someone else that way? Would I tell them to get over it? No. I would be kind and understanding and cut them a bit of slack. I would tell them to take good care of themselves, remind them that they're wonderful, and that tomorrow is a new day.

So that's what I did.

I cut myself some slack.

I was kind and gentle.

I told myself I'm still a wonderful person, and that tomorrow is a new day.

And today really is a new day. Both factually and emotionally. Today is not nearly as bad as yesterday. The feeling in my chest is a little lighter, my tummy feels better, my head is happier.

Days like yesterday are going to happen no matter what. I can't control the biological forces behind anxiety, but I can choose not to beat myself up on those days. That's something I can control.

This pleases me greatly, as I am pretty controlling. Just ask my kids.