An Unreliable Narrator

I am a notoriously bad judge of how I feel.

Growing up a highly sensitive and anxious kid, I was often made to believe that my feelings and reactions were always too big. I grew up around people who didn’t have to the tools or skills to properly regulate their own feelings, and in many cases were taught to push down their own feelings, so they did not have the ability to help me through the highs and lows of mine.

Since I didn’t have access to resources to help me name my big, uncomfortable feelings, I never knew what to say when someone would ask me why I was crying or upset. If I didn’t have an answer, their response would be something along the lines of then there’s nothing to be upset about. I remember being frustrated because I didn’t have the language to explain how I felt and, by extension, how these reactions made me feel.

This applied to my physical health, too. If you’ve been around here for a while, you know that I had symptoms of type 1 diabetes for nearly a decade before I was diagnosed, and it took years for the typical tell-tale symptoms to present themselves. Most of the time, I just felt off, I felt bad, but I couldn’t explain what that meant. There was always some other explanation for how I felt—I didn’t eat enough that day, I needed to get more sleep, etc. etc.. Then there were the migraines that would make me sick to my stomach, but those times also had the opportunity to be explained away. I would get sick because I would “work myself up” over my head hurting. Again, I started believing all of these things because I didn’t have any evidence to the contrary.

After receiving my Generalized Anxiety Disorder and type 1 diabetes diagnoses, my life was flipped upside down. All of a sudden, I had an entire lifetime of downplaying emotions and feelings to unlearn, and I’m still working on that to this day.

I make a real effort to listen to my body (and my mind) now, but sometimes I still find myself feeling like an inconvenience when I need to check my blood sugar at work—telling myself that maybe I’m not low, maybe it’s fine. I’ve gotten better at catching myself when I think that, but it’s still a process. My coworkers and friends will ask me if I’m okay, and I fall into the habit of immediately assuring them that yeah, I’m fine, and then I proceed to check my blood sugar and see that it is quite low. One of my friends even made the joke that I shouldn’t be trusted when asked if I’m alright. It was funny—because it’s not entirely false.

I’m working on becoming a more reliable narrator in my own life, and it’s a long process. I’ve gotten a lot better at catching the thoughts and reflexes that push me to lie to myself and others. Do you struggle with this too? How do you deal with it?

As always, know that you’re not alone and don’t be ashamed to admit when you aren’t fine, physically or mentally.

—Abbie