I'm in an art exhibition this weekend and it's triggering daily panic attacks
I'm showing my art in my old city. Why am I not more excited?
This is the first time I’m anxious to go back to Philadelphia.
I’m always giddy days leading up to my return trips. Not this time.
I should be excited. I’m showing my art publicly for a second time. Not just a second time but in a city I once called home, where my friends can come see my work.
Most importantly, I should be excited because my art is for an amazing person named Jon, a cancer survivor I was matched with to create this piece. His story is what inspired the painting and, after four months and multiple Zoom hangouts, we are meeting in person for the first time on Sunday.
The weeks leading up to the art reception have been anxiety filled, however. The organization behind the program is a former client. In August, they ended my contract in a way that was described as “Icy,” “Brutal,” “Hypocritical” and “Ice cold” by close friends. It was a vengeful decision meant to burn a bridge, and it was done knowing I was an active program participant who still had loose ties.
Now, I have to go back and attempt to cross that singed bridge.
I considered dropping out of the program and art exhibition. The organization’s decision just broke me emotionally. I was invested in the mission and had no intention of ever leaving as a part-time staff member. I built strong relationships and the founder even wrote a glowing testimonial for me a month prior. Even today, I’m still grappling with how someone could change their opinion of me so quickly and harshly.
I let the program’s director know that dropping out was a possibility, however, I’d need a week to get some mental clarity. To attend the reception would be an embarrassment, like a wounded animal showing up to beg for scraps. I didn’t want to show my face or have to explain why someone hadn’t heard from me lately. Truthfully, I just wanted to hide.
As you can expect, the days leading up to my decision were psychological torture. Once I properly got my emotions in check I understood I only had one option.
It’s not all about me
My purpose in the program is to give someone touched by cancer a unique experience through art and friendship. Jon, someone completely outside my professional situation, is my purpose. To drop out would hurt him deeply; punishment for doing nothing wrong. I realized our supportive, accept-each-other-as-we-are friendship is much bigger than the urge to sit and lick my wounds.
But let’s be serious for a second.
I was terrified to tell Jon my new status as an underemployed person. I knew that even though the organization brought me pain, it still brought him joy. I didn’t want to rain on his joy, so I avoided him until I couldn’t anymore. I had to come clean regarding my M.I.A. status.
An emotionally intelligent and caring human, Jon welcomed my emotions with grace. He understood why I was going through grief while honoring the ways he benefits from the program I cared so much about. He cheered me on when I turned to painting to regain my self-confidence and sense of pride after my professional loss. Regularly, he reminds me great things will happen if I stay true to myself.
My role is to help Jon heal from a traumatic health experience but he’s the one who facilitated healing. In our four months as now-lifelong friends he has reminded me to let go, especially when it comes to self criticism. His wisdom has truly kept me afloat as I work to get my confidence back.
Finding community when you’re ostracized
I’m still anxious, though. For nearly three months I’ve had nightmares about this event. Adding to my anxiety is my inability to find replacement work and overall financial uncertainty.
In desperation, I’ve made arrangements to substitute teach—much different from writing and content management work in both demands and pay. I’m nervous how my chronic pain will respond to going back to in-person work, as my stress has physically manifested via migraine attacks and locked muscles. The irony is not lost on me that an organization with the word “heal” in the tagline created a mountain of healing work for me to take on.
This experience has also helped me understand why panic attack symptoms are often mistaken for a heart attack. For three months, I have struggled to catch my breath. My chest often feels tight and I am filled with dread multiple times a day. I’ve been waiting to get this weekend over with just so I can breathe again.
But there is a silver lining to everything. Through battling these anxiety-rooted side effects I found comfort in an unexpected place. A month ago I had one of my many nightmares about this weekend’s event. In it, I frantically searched for Jon.
“I just need to find Jon.”
“Jon is my comfort person.”
Through that nightmare, I gained perspective. I wouldn’t be alone at the event. Jon IS my comfort person. Yes, an entire community said very clearly WE DON’T WANT YOU, but not Jon, not Jon’s sweet wife and certainly not my date—a proud friend who has always supported my career choices.
I may have lost a big community but there is love, support and power in small communities. I am grateful for that. Still anxious, but with a generous dose of gratitude.
Reprioritizing things for a moment
I’m trying to hang onto those reminders during this transitional season.
I know people support me, I have something to offer and things will work out for the best. You know, the stuff you’re supposed to tell yourself when you feel knocked down. But 2024 has been a rollercoaster year. I’ve seen beautiful sights and shared joy with loved ones, however, I am emotionally depleted. I know it has affected my publication.
Publish days are no longer exciting. Subscriber interest has waned (likely due to my recent phone-it-in content) and I feel silly indulging in personal writing when I am extremely underemployed.
I’m also creatively exhausted. Juggling the few clients I have while ensuring every cover letter is perfect has my energy spent. The excitement I had toward researching now topics and digging into story ideas has completely vanished because I’ve been consistently locked out of a system I need to survive.
I’m still going to write, though. I’m still going to publish interesting conversations and stories about silliness. It just won’t be every week.
I’m pulling back because I have to focus on making sure I am the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best of the best… Until I get another rejection letter and have to do it all again.
Despite the emotional and creative drain, I’ve been putting good energy into my work, which gives me hope my situation will change. I’m working on creating social media courses for small business owners and am positioning myself as a content coach. I’ve been told election seasons are rough for work, especially self-employed contractors, so I’m hoping winter will be kinder.
Anyway, if someone needs a writer, social media specialist or digital marketer, hit me up. *wink*