Help wanted: Full-time anxiety advocate for an anxious adult male

My friend Heathcliff[1] and I are having beers at a table with our comfortable and gregarious friends.

I make this distinction because Heathcliff and I are seldom comfortable in our own skin and rarely gregarious, unless we’ve had numerous beers.

Sometimes it works, and sometimes…

This is due to the fact that Heathcliff and I both struggle with anxiety disorders[2] that can make socializing strenuous and sometimes manifests in panic attacks—sometimes at a table with comfortable and gregarious friends.

Heathcliff is staring intently at his beer. “I need to piss but there are too many people in the men’s room,” he says without looking up.

“Tell me about it,” I say, my eyes are also averted yet fully comprehending his despair. It’s hard to be comfortable when you have to use the bathroom but can’t due to anxiety. “Imagine if we had anxiety advocates who could stand outside the men’s room for us and make sure no one comes in. We could pee in peace.”

Heathcliff grins. “Imagine if we had an anxiety advocate for everything in our lives, a person who could help us with all the little things we can’t do.”

“Imagine,” I say wistfully.

For anyone who suffers from an anxiety disorder, you already know exactly what I’m talking about here. For those who don’t, please allow me to explain.

Most people have a healthy level of anxiety that allows our species to survive. Sometimes referred to as “the fight or flight response,” it allows us to physiologically sense danger and respond accordingly. This response told our ancestors to run from the wooly mammoth as opposed to trying to pet it, and it still protects us.

However, for those of us with anxiety disorders, this response is completely out of whack. We have the physiological response to danger when there isn’t any danger present. It sometimes prevents us from performing simple tasks, such as driving to the store, talking on the telephone, or checking our email.

A person with well-adjusted levels of anxiety cannot comprehend this. Why can’t you ask a stranger to borrow the ketchup from the table next to you? Why can’t you answer the door and pay the pizza delivery person? Why can’t you raise your hand and ask a question in a meeting?

And there’s the rub. There is no rational explanation for our anxiety. It’s just the way we’re hard-wired. Sure, most people experience anxiety when having to speak in public or before a big exam, but for an anxious person, the response is always kicking in, making the simple things in everyday life difficult to navigate.

So an anxiety advocate would be employed to perform these simple tasks. Your job description might include speaking for your client during a Zoom meeting, waiting in line at a crowded supermarket, or posing for a picture in place of them[3].

Heathcliff and I become uncharacteristically optimistic about the prospect of hiring anxiety advocates who would communicate comfortably and gregariously with our friends at the table as we text them what to say on our behalf.

But then reality hits. “How are we going to afford to pay our anxiety advocates?” I ask Heathcliff.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters. “I guess we’re going to have to work through it on our own.”

“Meditate, medicate, confront the uncomfortable,” I say, crestfallen. “Do you want another beer, Heathcliff? I think I can afford that.”

“I believe I do,” he says. “And I still have to piss.”

___________

[1] Heathcliff is an alias, if you couldn’t tell. My friend is an anxious man, like me, and the thought of me using his real name in my column would set off a series of full-blown panic attacks for him.

[2] There are different kinds of anxiety disorders, such as generalized anxiety, panic disorders, social anxiety, etc. Heathcliff and I seem to run the gamut.

[3] Gender has nothing to do with the hiring process here. It’s simply holding a place in a photo because having your picture taken is a truly horrendous experience.