| “I’m a bad bitch, and I got bad anxiety” – Megan Thee Stallion Last weekend I had a panic attack. It was triggered after reading about the crowd crush tragedy in South Korea and going to visit friends shortly afterwards (along with my own lingering feelings of anxiety around socializing in potentially maskless crowds). It took me a couple of days for my body-mind to get itself right and for me to center myself – having to go into a busy week at work the day after didn’t necessarily make that easier. The last panic attack I had that was that severe was in February of 2020, right before things shut down for the pandemic. I was supposed to go out for karaoke with co-workers during a work trip in Philly and I thought I was going to have a heart attack. (In hindsight, that panic attack may also have been a part of my prolonged recovery from possible COVID, or whatever bug knocked me on my ass that January, but we’ll never know at this point.) I’ve been getting panic attacks at various points in my life since childhood but didn’t actually identify them as such until the pandemic started. There’s something about being forced to be still with your own thoughts and feelings that forces you to come to terms with what they actually mean for you. Thanks to therapy and my doctor, I’m learning more about myself and how to be more proactive in prioritizing my own mental health, including unlearning a lot of habits and cultural pressure to be “high functioning” and push through my own burnout and stress – or to not even name it as such. I’m trying to do a better job of showing up for myself and doing it openly. It’s hard for me to do at times: pushing though stress, being hyper-focused on activities or capitulating to others’ expectations and requests is traditionally how I cope in response to it. As a Black woman, I understand that we have a history of being denied the opportunity to recover from, or even acknowledge our own stress or trauma. We have to “keep it moving,” for our careers, for our own survival, for our communities, our families. Or just because we are dismissed as too “strong and independent” for mental illness – or any vulnerability. Our generational resilience is so often weaponized against us, which makes it hard to talk openly and regularly about anxiety or depression, even as we live with them, and the passed-down stressors of historical discrimination, oppression and violence. (According to a research study, anxiety and depression among Black Americans skyrocketed from 36 percent to 46 percent after George Floyd’s death.) Hearing Megan Thee Stallion’s song “Anxiety” for the first time this year hit me incredibly hard, especially hearing the lyrics come from her, considering everything she’s endured and how she’s so often admired for her powerful image and stage presence. I’ve been so moved to hear her talk about the anxiety she is experiencing now, in this moment – not something she’s “cured” or overcome, but anxiety that is still a part of her life. “They keep sayin’ I should get help, but I don’t even know what I need/ They keep sayin’ speak your truth, but at the same time, say they don’t believe.” I wish there were more public examples and stories of Black folks (real and/or fictional) living with anxiety. In writing this newsletter, I tried to think of examples outside of Megan Thee Stallion and the only one I could recall was Randall’s story arc on This Is Us. (And that’s a great example, delving into Randall’s overachieving coping mechanisms, similar to what I mentioned earlier). But there’s so much room for more stories. Even now, in a culture that is more candid about mental illness than ever before, there’s still so much stigma connected to talking about it as a daily reality. I’m doing what I can – for myself – but it’s still a challenge for me to even be honest with myself about what I’m feeling and why, much like Meg. But Meg’s story, her voice is one reason why I am so committed to my own self-care, even when I don’t get it right, and naming my feelings and responses. Anxiety doesn’t look or manifest itself in the same way for everyone – and figuring that out is part of the journey of healing and care. Hearing the experiences of other “bad bitches with anxiety” goes a long way in busting stigma and empower people to identify and name what we need. xoxo to my bad bitches with anxiety (or struggling with mental health in other ways), i see you! |
Keidra Chaney 
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