The beginning is a good place to start.

Anxiety. And what it's taught me.

Dear Ones,

It’s Wednesday, let’s talk about our mental health, shall we?

My daughter was trying to figure out how a new toy worked the other day and I found myself saying to her; “The beginning is a good place to start.” I thought that would be a good title for a newsletter. And so, here we are, starting at my beginning.

Firstly, for those that don’t know me that well, an introduction may help before I get into the nitty gritty of my story.

I’m Jess. Dr. Jess Stanbridge to many. “Jess” to my wife, Lara. And “Mama” to my 14-month-old daughter, Kit. I’m a Specialist Psychiatrist. That doesn’t necessarily make me a special kind of psychiatrist. It just means I specialized in Psychiatry. Confusing? Likely.

I have a very passionate interest in women’s mental health and, out of my private practice in Cape Town, South Africa, I try to support women in all parts of their mental health journeys across the course of their lives. One of my favourite things? Seeing moms through pregnancy and supporting their mental health postpartum. Another favourite thing? Building lasting and authentic relationships with my patients. I have a lot more favourite things but I’m sure you can’t list so many favourite things without that word losing its power. So, I’m going to stop there because, also, this isn’t the point of this newsletter.

The point of this newsletter? To tell you how it all began. So, sit back for a story.

As far as I can remember, I was an anxious kid. I hated sleep overs. I had horrendous separation anxiety from my parents. I used to throw up before exams. My first panic attack was in matric when I thought I was going to get in trouble with the headmistress. But I thought this was just me, my personality, Jess, and so, I carried on with it. I functioned really well academically and socially, and it wasn’t necessarily flagged as anything to worry about at that point.

Until I decided to be a doctor and the demands of medical school over-rode my coping mechanisms, and at the age of 19, I had a panic attack in an anatomical pathology lecture. No one wants to have a panic attack over a cadaver, trust me.

The prominent feeling, I felt on a daily basis was anxiety. Generalized, never-ending, all consuming, struggle-to-breathe, heart-palpitation, worrying-about-everything anxiety. But it was 2003, mental health was still pretty taboo, and no one was talking about it. I thought I was going to lose my mind. I spoke to a few people who gave me the advice of “pulling myself towards myself”, “to stop feeling so much”, “to get it together or I would land up in a mental institution” and “to just tell myself to stop worrying.” Not one of those people pointed me towards help. Firstly, I didn’t understand what was happening to me, and, secondly, I had no idea what to do with it.

Until one day I thought to myself that there must be something physically wrong with my body, and I took myself to my general practitioner. And my GP clocked it. She told me this was anxiety. And she gave me the names of some psychologists. (If you are a GP, please know how important you are to mental health care. You are often the first point of call for many people struggling with mental health symptoms. Educate yourself well on mental health.)

Now, great, I knew what this was, but I wasn’t happy about it. Mental health disorders meant weakness. It meant there was something wrong with me. It meant people would think less of me. It meant I didn’t have what I needed inside of me to cope. It made me feel broken. And I was terrified of the stigma. But I also knew that I was struggling, and I couldn’t keep feeling the way that I did on a daily basis. So, I made a very brave move, and made an appointment with that psychologist.

And that psychologist changed my life.

From there, I was referred on to a psychiatrist. I said “No” to medication at first. I was scared of the side effects. I was scared of it “changing my personality”. I was scared “I would become addicted to it”. (All very false, and very common, beliefs around psychiatric medication.) It took me another year of struggling until I finally agreed to start taking an anti-depressant.

And that anti-depressant changed the trajectory of my life.

My symptoms resolved. I now lived in a world not completely consumed by worry. My life felt easier. I felt like "myself”. I wasn’t continuously trying to manage my symptoms. I could just live. With ease.

I continued with that psychologist for 17 years, and I learnt so much about myself and my anxiety. I became self-aware. I equipped myself with what I needed to manage my worry. I learnt self-compassion. I worked on stopping being hard on myself. I dropped the unrelenting expectation of perfection. I worked and worked and worked. And those 17 years of therapy fundamentally changed the way in which I lived, and how I felt, about my life.

This thing, my anxiety, that I feared so much. That I thought would bring judgement upon me. That I felt so much shame around. That I thought meant I was broken. That I didn’t want to tell anyone I had, for years. That I felt like was my fault.

It’s the thing that led me to what I believe is my true vocation.

Being a psychiatrist.

I did it so that no one else would ever feel as alone and scared as I was when I was symptomatic.

And I’m fucking good at it.

I’m good at it because I actually really get it. I’m good at it because I’m authentically empathic about other’s suffering. I’m good at it because anxiety, in its shadows, has also brought many beautiful things to my life in its light. My anxiety makes me intuitive. It helps me pick up on subtleties that others don’t. It makes me astute. And aware. And gentle. And kind. And warm. And self-aware. And wise. It makes me look at the world differently. It helps me see it through my patient’s eyes. Because those are my eyes too.

My anxiety has given me some of the biggest lessons of my life.

It has taught me that genetics are strong, and sometimes, as hard as we want to fight them, we can’t, we can only manage what they bring with them. And if that’s anxiety, as it was for me, then we manage that.

It’s taught me that shame and secrecy serve no-one and that talking about things not only decreases internalized shame, but also helps other people feel less alone.

It’s taught me that you can do everything right, and you can still develop a mental health condition.

It’s taught me that there is, sometimes, not every time, beauty and learning and growth within the struggle. If I had never had anxiety, I would never have gone down the path of getting to know myself properly. And I would lead a very different kind of life. Now I lead a deeply conscious and self-aware one. And I’m so fucking proud of it.

My anxiety has taught me that things shift. That your brain has the beautiful capability to heal and that there is always, always, ALWAYS hope in that.

It’s taught me that I’m not weak. I’m fucking strong. And those without a mental health condition may never know the strength that it takes to move through them to the other side. But I do. And it’s brave. And courageous. And filled with strength.

It’s taught me that medication works. It really works. And therapy works. It really works.

It’s taught me that a 19-year-old girl, symptomatic and scared, can become a 38-year-old psychiatrist, asymptomatic and powerful and using that experience for good.

It’s taught me that no one is exempt from mental health conditions and that we really need to take looking after our mental health seriously.

It’s taught me that I am not my anxiety. And my anxiety is not me. I am Jess. And I suffer from anxiety. And those two things are separate. Yet intimately linked.

It’s taught me that I want my daughter to know about mental health and how to look after hers, from the very beginning of her life.

It’s still teaching me. Somedays, it doesn’t teach me, it knocks me (I developed post-partum anxiety despite being asymptomatic for 12 years; but that’s a story for another day.) But other days, there are lessons, and I will take those. And I will live those. And I will do it without shame or stigma or judgement.

Do it with me?

All my love,

Jess

P.S. If you think that you may be suffering from a mental health condition, please see a mental health professional. It can get better. I promise. You’ve got this.