I’m on a plane as I’m writing this, on the way to enjoy a much-needed getaway with my husband, but I just can’t get in vacation mode because of my brain.
Always my brain. I’ve been on at least 20 flights in my life, and they’ve always gone smoothly. But that doesn’t stop my anxiety from putting a damper on the trip.
Apparently, anxiety flies for free along with my bags. Here I sit arguing with myself whether the plane is going to crash. This is what people misunderstand about anxiety — these aren’t fleeting thoughts I have as I’m boarding.
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