As a high school sophomore, I thought it a wise idea to take AP Biology, a perfectly logical plan for a young woman bound for communications school and a career in television. Let’s be honest, my guidance counselor may have been high when that particular recommendation came my way, but I made the best of it. Regardless, I jumped in with both fifteen year old feet and loved it. My teacher, a crazy, old, dusty bat, about whom rumors circulated that her former dentist husband, used her chompers as a practice field, leaving her with the firmest mouth of gums you ever did see, constantly challenged us to DO BETTER. She expected a LOT. I walked into her class a cocky over-achiever who barely needed to crack a book to gain A’s. I walked out that first day paralyzed with fear of a B…or worse.

During a unit studying the nervous system, our teacher assigned a project to demonstrate a disorder or disease affecting the nerves. I chose Multiple Sclerosis. My poster board pretty decently animated the breakdown of the protective myelin sheath and the negative effects as a result. I incorporated a pump and a hose and some yarn and it was good. Not great, in my opinion, definitely not my best work, and no where near the suit of armor I made out of cardboard and tin foil in 7th grade that impressed my teacher so much he insisted I wear it during an academic fair, AND I DID.

The night before turning in the project, I woke in the middle of the night and power projectile vomited ALL OVER my room, my bed, and my assignment. I wasn’t sick, no stomach bug, no fever. What could’ve possibly prompted my body to empty the contents of my belly in such grand fashion?

And that, friends, was my first introduction to the hate/hate affair with anxiety.

I can Monday Morning Quarterback and conclude the constant din of worry always existed at some level and remained so consistently, I believed everyone felt the same elephant-sitting-on-your-chest-during-a-cardiac-episode Chalked it up to normal. Never said a word. In college I had my first panic attack. Postpartum anxiety and depression prompted my first time chatting about this odd phenomenon with a medical professional, who prescribed meds, which literally changed my life. Although I’ve gone through several iterations of treatment, and ALL THE THERAPY, I found a regimen that works, like 90% of the time. Unless, you know, a full-scale Contagion level pandemic breaks out.

I felt the wave start to breech late last week, about the same time our amazing management gave us the option of working from home. Which I welcomed, but hello upended routine! And then schools cancelled classes for two weeks. And my stepdaughter’s university shut down for the remainder of the semester, requiring us to move her out of her dorm on a few moments notice. And, family remained scattered around the Eastern Seaboard due to school and vacations. And then we confirmed our wedding needed postponing. And then we began running low on supplies. And then…

Boom. The wave crashed over me and I started drowning.

Anxiety rears up and kicks you in the head so unexpectedly, so suddenly, it leaves you knocked out, flat on the ground, fighting for breath. But not before your brain spirals out of its orbit, shouting lies and spewing untruths so loudly and often you begin believing the propaganda. I fought with my fiance’, I probably scared everyone in my midst, and finally, late last night, I collapsed into bed, surrounded by love and burly arms, exhausted and relieved that I’d found a way to swim to the surface, take a breath, and gain my bearings.

I was ok. The perceived ever-present danger subsided.

Why am I sharing this with you? Because I’ve heard from so many friends and colleagues and strangers experiencing much the same. The state of the world is terrifying and it will, very likely, impact you in ways no one can imagine right now. That unpredictability and lack of control breeds anxiety and depression. What can you do to help if you’re struggling? First, breathe. Just breathe, in and out. Try and focus on something fixed and count to ten. Anything to give your mind and body a chance to take a beat. Then, rest. Sleep. Try and eat something if you can, but definitely keep hydrated. Stay off social media for the most part.

What if someone you love is struggling and you feel helpless? It’s scary to watch someone you love panic and wrestle with the anxiety monster. Be present and aware of what calms them. For me, it’s touch. Simply holding my hand or touching my shoulders will almost always fend off an attack. For some it might be words of encouragement. Or listening. Most importantly, you can’t and won’t “fix” their anxiety. They’re not a problem to be solved, and that’s OK.

Will there be more bad days? Yeah. Probably. Likely. Don’t overdo it with drinking Quarantini’s, because booze does not play well with anxiety or depression. Wash yo’ hands, and rest. A lot. Get plenty of sleep. Do a little more of what makes you happy. Have quarantine sex (Dr Oz says it’s the best thing you can do!). Put your damn Christmas lights back up. Clean out your closet. Find the delight in the darkness. I will, too.