'Tiny Bubbles' for Anxious People

My mental history as a bottomless opened bottle of champagne.

This article was inspired by Garbage From The Gurus - by

Leon Macfayden

, who argues that the common expression “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” is untrue. I agree, and while replying to his post, I realized I had more to say on the topic, so clear the table; it is time for me to dump my purse.

(Edit: I must also credit

The Psychology of Happiness

for the post A (Detailed) Guide to Self-Compassion (for Skeptics), which provided the framework used in this post.)

Once upon a time, in West Nowhere, Japan

Roughly ten years ago, in my mid-forties, I had my first real Panic Attack. It broke me. I have spent the last ten years healing. It has not made me stronger unless you define "stronger" as "better understanding your weaknesses," which I would accept as a solid argument. As a teacher, I know that sometimes the most competent students are the ones who "know what they do not know," which would support understanding your weaknesses as a form of strength.

(Photo by Myriam Zilles on Unsplash)

However, I think of my Anxiety as a bottomless bottle of champagne. It was opened with an explosion, and now the cage is gone, and the cork comes out more easily. The champagne has maintained its heightened bubbly state and shows no signs of settling. That does not make me feel stronger. I try meditation to 'settle the bubbles' that fight to pop the cork, but that is only containment. The barrier has been breached.

(My wife sketched this while I told her about this post over dinner. Sushi! Yum.)

It feels good to say that, so I am stronger because I can share my feelings. However, that has yet to bear fruit in reducing the underlying Anxiety. Mediation helps. Writing helps. Talking helps. But nothing has put the cage back on that bottle, nor has it settled the bubbles—the curse of the tiny bubbles, ever-present and ready to explode.

I was raised to think men are strong, formed in the crucible of toxic masculinity. However, I learned from my Panic Attack that I am no predator; I am prey. Fight or flight is my jam; it is where I live, and no, I don’t enjoy it. However, that is a thread to pull another time. Right now, I am busy cursing the tiny bubbles, so I rewrote this old classic tune for people who feel like me.

Tiny Bubbles as interpreted for anxious people.

Preemptive apologies to Don Ho and Leon Pober:

Tiny bubbles
In the wine,
Make me anxious, 
Make me cry.

Tiny bubbles,
Make me wanna roll over,
With a feeling I'm gonna,
Feel blue till the end of time.

So, I will pray for the moon,
Hope to settle for a tree,
More likely, I'll be engrossed,
Watching the damn TV.

So, the best that I can say,
Is I'll get through today,
And make a wish,
Happiness might come my way.

If I could sing or play the guitar, piano, or even the triangle, I could become a TikTok star singing this in a minor chord. Luckily for you, I am tone-deaf and decided to spare you the torture.

So, watch Don Ho, and sing along with my lyrics if you like.

Weird Al, if you are out there, please put on an Aloha shirt and some leis and record this one for me.

My Anxiety has not made me stronger, but it has made me more aware of my emotional fragility. It has made me aware of my triggers, and it has made me seek out different ways to handle them. Rationally, I have a good idea about what to do. Still, I have yet to cage the emotional mind and give the rational mind complete control. And, if I could, would I want to? We need the inner child to take over at times to explore, be creative, and be joyful. After all, Jack didn’t entertain his inner child.

(Image source: Wikimedia.org)

Don’t be like Jack.

(Image source: Looper.com)

You're looking a bit tipsy there, Stevie. Why don’t you give me the keys and let me drive?

The best way I think of it is to treat emotional me, whom I have named Stevie, like he is drunk. (As my father’s name was also Steve. It was my childhood name in my Dad’s home.) When I realize I am acting on my emotions in a negative way, I externalize Stevie and think of him as my drunk friend. I don’t dismiss his opinions or his ideas or even dislike him for his actions. He is my friend, and I love and accept him as he is. I can, however, keep him from driving and doing harm. In this way, I try to let Rational Me, Steve, talk to my Inner Child, Stevie, and keep him from driving the car. (In case I am losing you, I am the car.)

Action point: Name your Inner Child and engage with them.

This exercise is helpful, but anyone who ever drank a bit too much knows rational decision-making is one of the first skills to go. So, your inner Stevie wants to be Stevie, and Steve, who isn’t drinking, will be a buzzkill and will be avoided at all costs. It takes effort for Steve to track Stevie down, engage him, and get him to hand over the keys. We all know it sometimes takes finesse to get the keys from a friend who is drunk and full of confidence, but imagine if that friend is also intimately aware of all your tricks. It is not impossible, but it can be done. It takes patience, self-acceptance, and practice.

Be well,

Steve