This is a question I’ve been faced with countless times over the past year since I moved to NYC, and one that I’ve met with varying levels of candor. Cut to one of 3 responses →
- “It’s great, thanks!” (my most common response, given to everyone from acquaintances making small talk to family members who would worry incessantly if they heard otherwise)
- “Overwhelming, but good!” (my slightly more honest response, given when I’m in a sharing mood and could actually feel like opening up when asked, “Overwhelming? Aw, how so?”
- “It’s been a hard year.” (the truth, and a statement I’ve saved mostly for my boyfriend, my mom, and my therapist)
Since as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamed of moving to New York City. I remember being a young girl gallivanting through Battery Park on a horse and carriage ride with my family, admiring the “awesome”…aka wildly fake…Louis Vuitton purses on the sidewalk and turning to my Dad to say, “I’m going to live here some day.” Not being much of a big city guy himself (and protective of his very ambitious daughter who challenged him at every turn) he playfully replied, “Awww Erin, I want you safe and close to home.”
Nevertheless, my enthusiasm for the big lights, big jobs, and big energy didn’t subside over the next 16 years and in July of 2018 at 26, I finally made the leap I had always dreamed about.
Just a couple weeks later, nervously waiting for the bus to get to the subway to get to my first day of work at my shiny new job, I collapsed. I’ve been known to pass out due to what my whole life I’ve been referring to as “low blood sugar” based on inconclusive results from doctors (shoutout to candy for getting me through a few tough times), but these circumstances felt different.
Spoiler alert → they weren’t. Nothing irregular was found, I didn’t have a heart problem or an abnormal blood count, and after one overnight I was sent home. The doctors chalked it up to dehydration, and I was only somewhat comforted by the simple solution that if I just drank more water and stayed out of the gross ass NY humidity, I’d be fine.
In the weeks that followed, I was unwillingly introduced to a new close friend who would sit by my side for the next year and probably many more to come: Anxiety. The more I recognized him (let’s call it a him), the more he’d show up. He was my closest friend in NY, actually (lol).
He’d wake me up in the morning with a pit in my stomach, make me take the long way to work just so I could get a seat on the subway, and tell me to turn down plans so that I could stay comfortable, cool, and most importantly, fully conscious, in the comfort of my new apartment. He’d tell me I was going to pass out giving my first week introduction at work, make me nervous to do the things I used to look forward to (i.e. getting on a plane or sitting through a Broadway show), and require that all of my mental energy be exerted to just show up every day as the Erin I wanted people to perceive me to be.
I knew my first year in New York would test me, pushing me outside of my comfort zone that was home, but I didn’t know just how much it would challenge me to know myself better than I ever had.
I didn’t know that it would lead me to recognize that it wasn’t just “low blood sugar” that was causing me to faint all these years. It was also anxiety. The same anxiety I felt every time I had a test and couldn’t eat breakfast in high school, the same anxiety that forced my mom to ease my unbearable nerves for Irish dance competitions (and even classes) throughout my childhood, the same anxiety that the big, daunting, and still oh so impressive city that is New York sparked in me, and the same anxiety that day after day still tells me it’s in control; but also the same anxiety that I’m now learning — with some training — to recognize, accept, and overcome.
I sat in a wine bar with my boyfriend last night, sharing a bottle of orange wine (#brooklynhip) and reflecting on how much we’ve conquered this past year but, most importantly, feeling hopeful for year 2. We had just spent our Saturday, a really hot, humid Saturday, enjoying the city — going to brunch, visiting a museum, and getting dinner with friends. These were all things that a year ago I probably would have said no to. They’re things I still sometimes want to say no to. But, the small wins feel a lot bigger now.
For those that need to hear it (including myself): it’s ok for things not to be ok, it’s ok not to be honest about them until you’re ready, and most importantly — you’re in control and you got this.
So, “How’s New York, you ask?”
It’s a work-in-progress, just like me.
