I can’t pinpoint the first time I felt anxious. It feels like I was born with it. I had always been an anxious kid.

There is a beautiful memory that replays often in my head, especially when I feel a sudden calm that resembles the memory. I was about four or five, just woken up from an afternoon nap. I looked around and couldn’t see my mum. The whole house was really quiet. My little heart started beating a bit faster as I got anxious. The thought that I was all alone in the house got me scared and I wanted my mum. So I started crying. Loudly. Now I wish I could cry like that again. Completely loud and free. Now it’s so hard to have a really good cry. It’s usually just a quiet sob or completely held in.

I was screaming and crying thinking I was all alone in this world. A five-year-old was left all alone in this world. I also completely forgot about my dad and brother because my brain was obviously foggy after a long afternoon nap. All I remember feeling was the fear that I was left by myself forever was real. Right then, my dad ran into the room looking all freaked out. He just woke up from a nap himself and was now facing a super distressed five year old. I didn’t stop crying when I saw my dad. I cried even harder. Because at that time I wanted my mum. I was determined that I wouldn’t stop crying until I had my mum. Poor dad!

Yet, he picked me up and squeezed me. There’s something so special and fuzzy warm about a dad’s embrace. Especially to a five-year-old girl. Then he slightly bounced around and started patting on my back gently and slowly. I became less hysterical and turned to a quiet sob. I was still sad but I could start to feel peace settling in. Dad told me mum was not far away, she would be back soon, so I'll be okay. He carried me in his arms for a long time and we stood by the door to wait for my mum to return home. This man had and still has the most patience in the world. The anxiety didn’t quickly disappear, but I knew I would be okay because I had got dad here.

Throughout my childhood and teenage years, I kept the extent of my anxiety to myself. In fact, I didn’t have the vocabulary to explain why I worried all the time. Whenever my mum asked me how my day was. The answer had always been “yea fine” or “just like usual”. It was never “I worried that no one would want to hang out with me if they found out that my mum had cancer.” Or “I worried that if I didn’t keep up the good grades at school my whole family would think I was a disappointment.” The worries were a constant part of my existence, but an entirely silent and private one.

They say with age comes confidence. But I still get anxious about almost anything. I used to think that there was a problem with me. That I’m like a machine with defects or something because I am the way I am. But that couldn't be further than the truth. I know that now. I think with age comes acceptance and knowledge. Acceptance of who I am, with flaws that make me a true human. Knowledge of what I’m feeling and doing, and how to take care of myself better. I also know that I will overthink and worry about everything. But I know I will be okay because I have George here now. He makes me feel the same peace that I had on that day with my dad. Because as it turns out, patience is the best thing you can offer to someone with anxiety.