anxiety

Yes Yes Yes And: Fear is Your Friend

Kate Sloan

Sometimes I feel like this blog is ultimately just a slow reveal of all my nerdy quirks. Like a striptease, except instead of my naked body, you get to see more and more dorky facts about me. Like how I love Sherlock fanfiction, keep statistics on my sleep cycles, and think speculums are cool.

One of my more impassioned nerdy interests is improv. I studied it for years in high school, played on a competitive team, and even coached a troupe for a year. I don’t do much ‘prov these days, though I do still go to shows and fangirl in the improvisors’ general direction.

Lately I’ve been listening to the Backline podcast and it has reignited my improv obsession in full force. And as I listen, I’m increasingly aware that my improv training has actually helped me out sexually, in more ways than one. So I’m launching a little blog series called Yes Yes Yes And, to dissect the parallels between improv and sex. (If you’re wondering why the hell this feature is titled that: it’s a dumb improv joke that makes me smile. “Yes, and” is the guiding principle of improv, and “Yes yes yes!” is, uh, you could say, a guiding principle of good sex.)

Sexprov lesson #1: fear is your friend.

If you improvise, you will be scared. There’s no way around it. My coach used to tell me, “Jump into the fear.” Rob Norman says, “The fear never goes away; you just start to like it.”

Not only do you start to like it; you also learn how to improvise through your fear, instead of panicking or freezing up. You get better at being in the moment and staying present, so that even if adrenaline is flooding your system, you can still string sentences together, follow a narrative, listen to your scene partner, and generate new ideas as you go along.

Fear helps you grow. It pushes you. It keeps you on your toes. It shines a spotlight on your struggles so you know what areas to try to improve upon. It’s not inherently a bad thing; it’s just a signal, a tool. Frank Sinatra once said he probably wouldn’t want to keep performing if he no longer experienced stage fright, because what would be the point?

When it comes to sex, obviously, there are situations where fear is bad. You should never have sex that genuinely scares you, because that wouldn’t be consensual. Sex should feel positive and exciting.

But sometimes, fear is just excitement with the brakes on. You can feel the difference between “good fear” and “bad fear.” If it’s bad, your whole body and your deepest intuition all scream “NO” – but if it’s good, some part of you feels exhilarated and intrigued. Your apprehensive adrenaline rush is accompanied by breathless what-ifs and desperate wishes. The needle on your internal meter trembles a little closer to “Fuck yeah!” than it does to “Hell no!”

I know from firsthand experience that getting over sexual fear is worth doing. There was a time when even the thought of touching a penis made me want to vomit from anxiety. But when I actually started to do it, I realized it was lots of fun. And from there, I came to recognize that if I could get over that fear – a terror that had, at various times, made me cry, panic, and consider a life of celibacy – then I could truly do anything.

Doing scary shit gives you a “fear reference” for tackling bigger and bigger challenges. Any time you encounter a scary new situation, in or out of the bedroom, you can remind yourself, “Hey, I did [that terrifying thing], and it turned out great. I can do this, too!”

You will often be surprised at how delicious it feels to do shit that makes you nervous. Once you buck up and do it, you feel like a goddamn superhero. And you’ll probably have a hell of a lot of fun in the process.

Have you ever overcome a sexual fear? Have you embraced fear as a positive motivator in your life, sexually or otherwise?

How to Date When You Have Anxiety

Kate Sloan

“You should write a blog post about how to date when you’re an anxious person!” my friend said excitedly, as we gossiped about boys (and mental health struggles) over lattes and cupcakes.

“HAAHAHAHAHAhahahaha,” I replied. “I have no idea how to deal with my anxiety while dating. I barely even manage it myself. How can I tell other people how to do it?”

The more that I thought about this exchange, though, the more I wondered if I could actually be more helpful than I’d realized. I don’t think you have to be an expert in order to help someone. The experiences you’ve had, and the lessons you’ve learned, can be of use to others even if you’re still in the midst of your own journey.

So, with that in mind, here are some things I’ve learned about navigating the dating world when your brain’s fear-meter is a little out of whack. I hope this helps you, at least a little.

1. Enlist socially competent friends.

It feels a little “high school” to constantly text friends whenever anything happens with your crush, I know. But if you’re lucky enough, as I am, to have friends who appreciate (or at least tolerate) this behavior instead of blocking your number, I think you should let those friends support you and help you.

Here are some examples of ways my more socially skilled friends have saved my ass when anxiety was clouding my brain:

• I texted my pal E., “[Boy] said he might want to see a movie with me today, but now I feel like it would be too forward for me to text him and ask him about it!” E. reminded me, “[Boy] said he wanted to see a movie with you, so it’s not forward,” and then suggested a possible wording for the text I could send. What an angel.

• I spoke to a number of friends about the situation with a boy I liked, and several of them said, “Go for it!” I wasn’t really sure what this meant, precisely. I asked my friend E. what he meant when he said “Go for it” and he said, “Tell him you like him, or ask him out.” Ahhh, okay, I thought. The specificity helped.

• While chatting with my friend A., I listed a bunch of things that [Boy] had said and done the last time we hung out, all of which I thought were ambiguous and could have been flirty or just friendly; I really didn’t know. When I finished, A. laughed for a good minute and said, very sarcastically, “Yeah, he’s totally just into you as a friend.” Her third-party viewpoint helped me see what my anxiety had been hiding from me.

• Soon before my last break-up, I realized I didn’t actually know how to break up with someone. People kept telling me, “Just get it over with!” and “Be respectful but firm!” but I was missing basic information like where to do it and what to actually say. My pal A. helped me rehearse a little script and weighed the pros and cons of various break-up locations with me. We even discussed what to wear to a break-up, because that’s the kind of thing I worry about.

See? Friends can be sooooo helpful when your brain is being your worst enemy.

2. Journal about it.

Where would I be without journaling? Maybe dead. Definitely sad and confused.

I find journaling absolutely essential as an anxious person because it helps me process all my zillions of thoughts. I can go on a 5-page-long ramble about all the worries and insecurities I have around a particular situation, and by the end of it, a) those thoughts no longer occupy my brain quite so firmly, and b) I can see very clearly just how ridiculous those thoughts are. Journaling gives me some distance, some objectivity.

I can also tell you from firsthand experience that it is hilarious to re-read your old journal entries from the nervous beginnings of relationships. “You silly twit,” you’ll shout at your past self, “of COURSE he meant he liked you when he said ‘I like you’!!”

3. It’s okay to be honest.

Sometimes when I start dating someone, or even when dating seems possibly imminent, I’ll bust out a little speech. It goes something like this:

“Hey, so, just so you know, I have anxiety. That means that sometimes I’ll get really nervous around you and act weird. It doesn’t mean I feel uncomfortable or unsafe with you; it’s just how my brain works. I also might need a little extra reassurance and validation from you sometimes, because my anxiety is always telling me that people don’t like me and that I’m worthless. So if you could try to assure me once in a while that you actually do like me, that would be really helpful. I’ll try not to be too weird.”

People tend to respond favorably to this kind of honesty, actually. Some people even find it adorable. (That’s a whole other can of worms – my mental health issue is not cute, okay?! – but it’s certainly better than them shaming me for my anxiety or dumping me because of it.)

4. Find your self-care practices and use them.

Here are some things I like to do when I’m getting ready to go on a date or to spend time with someone I like:

• Spend ages choosing the ideal outfit, doing my makeup and hair, and making sure I look adorable. (Some would call this obsessive, maybe, but it helps me calm down.)

• Make sure I know, with 100% certainty, where we are going, how much it’s going to cost, what time I have to leave my house in order to get there on time, and any other relevant information. (I eliminate all possible stressors. This is an act of self-love and self-protection.)

• Play Scrabble on my phone while traveling to the destination. (It calms my brain somewhat, by giving me something to focus on besides my stomach-curdling fear. Podcasts and music also help.)

• Breathe deeply and slowly. (“Fear is just excitement without breath,” after all.)

Whatever your own self-care and self-calming practices are, make sure you actually remember to do them when you need to. It might be helpful to write them on a card and keep them in your wallet, or set them as your phone background, or whatever. Keep ’em close and do ’em often.

5. Assess the situation objectively.

As objectively as you can, anyway. I know it’s difficult.

If you find yourself thinking an anxious thought – for example, “He doesn’t like me anymore!” – look for evidence of that thought. Odds are, there won’t be as much as you thought (or any).

Then look for evidence of the opposite thought (e.g. “He likes me a lot!”). There will probably be some.

Breathe. It’s okay. Your fear is inside your own head and nowhere else. You don’t have to listen to it. It doesn’t reflect reality.

Anxious folks: how do YOU navigate the dating world without vomiting on your suitors’ shoes?

Hormonal Birth Control Made Me Crazy

Kate Sloan

I went off birth control when my relationship ended two months ago, after being on it for over three years. In the weeks that followed, school started up again, I did some freelance work, socialized with friends and family, and basically just went about my life as usual – with one key difference: for the first time in three years, I felt 100% happy, well-adjusted, and sane.

When I started flooding my system with artificial hormones in April 2011, I was about to go through some major life changes: starting school, getting into my first sexual relationship with a cis dude, enduring the deaths and mourning of a few people I loved, and falling out of touch with some of my high school friends. So when I started to feel sad, antsy, isolated and irrational, I thought it was just the circumstances of my life transforming me into a different person. I thought, I guess this is my personality now. I wasn’t thrilled about it but I didn’t think it was fixable.

I’d have bad anxiety days, when I’d show up at school and have the unsinkable sensation that everyone around me was staring at me and whispering about me. I’d have bouts of depression so bad that I had to call my city’s distress centre and sob at them over the phone, or lie in bed all day staring at the wall. I’d get irrationally upset at things my boyfriend said or did. I’d look at my body in the mirror and absolutely hate what I saw. My creative output all but stopped and I knew I needed to write and make music but it just didn’t happen, no matter how much I tried.

In short, I had turned into a nutcase. I could see that it had happened, but, again, I thought it was just the new state of my life and that I couldn’t do anything to change it.

Since going off birth control, I’ve felt sunny, excitable, flirty, creative, juiced up, carefree, and ambitious. I’m taking six very challenging courses with heavy workloads at school but I’m breezing through them with excellent grades and not giving a fuck what my classmates think of me. I wake up every day excited to put on a cute outfit, skip to the streetcar stop and go on a new day’s adventure. And my creative output is up up up.

As happy as I feel… I also feel kind of angry. Angry that I had no idea how much birth control was messing me up. Angry that the side effects of birth control are so often misrepresented or downplayed when they can actually literally transform your life. Angry that my doctor told me I should continue with hormones when I asked her to give me a copper IUD instead. Angry that I lost three years of my life to lunacy and turmoil.

Sure, there are some downsides of going off BC – my skin is a tad spottier, my periods will be unpredictable when they start back up, my sex drive is once again high to the point of almost being unmanageable, and my weight loss has slowed right down – but I think mental health is way more important than any of those things. I’ll happily be a zitty, chubby, horndog version of myself if it means I get to be outgoing, cheerful, productive and creative. That trade-off is a no-brainer.

I’ve spoken to a few friends who have corroborated my experiences, and now I’m wondering: did this happen to you? Do you know people who’ve gone through this too? Do you consider your mental health when you make contraceptive decisions? Are you as pissed off as I am that you didn’t know about this sooner?

Getting Over Penis Terror: A Triumphant Tale

Kate Sloan

Once upon a time, I was a little queer girl who had never touched a penis.

Admittedly, I had never touched anyone else’s pussy either. But I’d previously been in a sexual relationship with another girl for a year and a half, and I’d been skilfully managing my own pussy for almost two decades, so there was no intimidation there.

Single but desperately ready to mingle, it dawned on me that a huge part of my issue was my fear of penises. It dominated the shadowy back room of my brain, threatening to burst through and cause major anxiety. I’d think about a cute guy, fantasize about kissing him, maybe contemplate his tongue on my clit, but as soon as his dick became part of my visualization, I felt sick and confused.

Not to get all hippie-dippy on you, but I am certain that the universe sensed my penile apprehension, and that that’s why my romantic life was such a disaster during that time. I longed for my (safe, reliable, non-terrifying) female ex, and wrote her pathetic love songs, which freaked her the fuck out. I dated a guy who was entirely wrong for me and ended up dumping me so he could fuck four other girls at a party. I spent all my time wishing for a boyfriend while unconvincingly sidestepping what I knew was the real issue.

Men wrote to me on OkCupid, men of two different varieties: those who propositioned me for casual sex, and those who seemed genuinely sweet and interested in dating me. The former, I ignored, or occasionally wrote rude replies to; the latter category of men, however, were more difficult. I strung them along, convincing both them and myself that we would eventually meet, even just for coffee, but as soon as that possibility became real, I panicked and ended all contact. All because of that looming, impending penis that gnawed at my composure.

That didn’t change when I first started going out with Jeremy*, but I did like him more than I’d liked anyone in a long while. We went on cute dates to tea shops and bookstores, and while I giggled and gallivanted with him, I secretly dreaded the moment his pants would inevitably come off.

I let him touch me – over the shirt, under the bra, over the skirt, under the panties. I let him do all sorts of nice things to me, all of which he (thank god) loved doing. Sometimes I would be overcome with guilt that I hadn’t reciprocated his sensual touch yet, and I would burst into tears while lying with my head on his chest. He’d hold me and tell me it was okay, I could go as slow as I wanted, and he’d be willing to wait forever for me. But I didn’t want him to have to wait forever.

It was a combination of attraction, mild cajoling, and plain courage that finally got me to touch his penis for the first time. He said, “You don’t even have to do anything to it. You can just put your hand on it.” So I did.

It wasn’t so bad. Soft and sensitive, just like my girly bits. Lightning didn’t strike me dead; I didn’t faint from terror. It was just… fine.

After a couple minutes of gentle, idle touching, I withdrew my hand and he let me watch him jerk off. I snuggled up to him and cast my gaze on the way his hand worked his foreskin up and over the head of his cock, again and again, alternately concealing and revealing that moist, pink surface. That night, I wrote in my journal, It was actually kind of gorgeous.

*Name changed to protect the cocks and egos of the innocent.