Someone once told me not to let my anxiety define me. I just shook my head. Anxiety is as much a part of who I am as anything else. What should I let define me?

Should it be my blondeness that defines me? Or my height? Should I define myself in terms of favorite pastimes? Maybe I could define myself as a woman who loves chocolate. But you know, until seven or eight years ago, I couldn’t admit publicly to liking chocolate. I had (and have still) a great fear that I would be teased for a liking of chocolate. Because of the anxiety. Which defines me.

Yes, I am a woman who loves chocolate. I love my plants and my cats, so we can define me as a woman who loves plants and cats. I have big tits. I have gorgeous eyes. Define me thus as a large-breasted woman with gorgeous eyes. I make good spaghetti, and amazing chocolate pie. I am bright and funny. And I am terrified of you.

I am terrified of all of you, and that does define me as much as my eyes or my cats or the chocolate on my lips; it defines me every bit as well as the sharpness of my wit or the jangle of my laughter.

It’s not like some recent development; I’ve always been this way, as far back as I can remember. So… quit telling me that I shouldn’t accept it. I accept it. This is me. My anxiety and social phobia – my avoidant personality – is my personality. Telling me to refuse it space in my life is absurd.

I’m here. I fear. Get used to it.