Anxiety has been hanging around with me for most of my life.
Not every day.
Not always loudly.
Sometimes it’s just that little hum in the background telling me something isn’t quite right when, as far as I can tell, everything is perfectly fine.
I’m 72 now.
I lost 98 pounds. My type 2 diabetes went into remission. I changed how I eat. I changed how I move. I went from thinking my body was falling apart to teaching movement classes almost every day.
A lot changed.
The anxiety didn’t completely disappear.
I think that’s worth saying.
Because we like transformation stories with clean endings.
Before.
After.
Problem solved.
Life apparently didn’t get the memo.
About ten years ago, I tried therapy.
I wasn’t opposed to it.
I figured maybe there was something there I hadn’t dealt with.
Most of the sessions were online. We talked. We dug around.
Some strange childhood memories surfaced that I couldn’t tell were real memories, distorted memories, or something my brain was constructing while we were poking aroun…
