my anxiety shifted when

I think that each one of us is often undergoing a battle, either internal or external or both, that we feel afraid to share with others. Instead, we keep these struggles bottled up on the inside, alone and hidden.

I had a client once who actually titled this part of themself – the hidden, dark, anxious and depressed part – their “bottle”. It was tucked deep within, corked, surrounded by barbed wire, and locked away from the world.

I have these struggles myself, when I'm going through something or struggling, and it feels impossible to share with anyone. How could they understand? And then we have moments where we can experience freedom from these struggles. The moments when we decide to open up, to share, to push forward, to release the bottled up emotion. Moments when we let go and let the light in.

One of my favorite images of this “letting go” revolves around cycling. In my early 20s, I was really into spin classes at the gym. Now I have a Peloton that I ride everyday. There's something about riding a bike that helps me release emotion that I've been holding on to. The part that I love the most about cycling is – the climb. Cue Miley Cyrus.

If you're not familiar with the art of cycling – the climb is the part of the ride that's gritty, challenging, tough, sticky, an uphill battle. A great metaphor for inner challenges and struggles.

Several years ago, in 2017, RJ and I were a part of a cycling group out of Kennesaw, Georgia. We'd meet every Saturday morning at 10 AM at the local bike shop near Town Center Mall. A group of us would take off on our bikes, following the leader, a 20-something bike shop employee who made the whole ride look easy, and ride together through the streets of Kennesaw. We'd ride down Barrett Parkway, under i-75, past Kennesaw State University, through business parks, across busy intersections, looping our way through Kennesaw Mountain National Battlefield Park, where we'd stop half way and take a bathroom break at the public restrooms. Then we'd all head back, the same way to the shop, in a line, riding down the busy streets of Kennesaw.

Here's the main thing I remember about the cycling crew: I was very often the only female, and most of the riders were men in their 50s and 60s. It was my job to “keep up" or get left behind. Often, the weekly riders line up was (1) the 20-something bike shop employee leading the pack, (2) the older fit guys, (3) RJ somewhere toward the front, (4) the not-as-fit guys, (5) me, (6) another bike shop employee whose job it was to make sure no one got left behind.

One of the most difficult parts of the weekly, Saturday day ride was crossing over Highway 41 – a busy 4 lane intersection heading into Kennesaw Mountain. As a group, we would stop at the red light together, and once the light turned green you were responsible to “clip in” (reattach your cycling shoes to the bike), start peddling, and get across the busy intersection as quickly as possible so cars could follow behind. The stressful thing about this intersection, making it the most challenging part of the ride, the entire thing takes place on a massive uphill.

You see, clipping in and out of the bike on a flat road… easy. Clipping in and gaining momentum through a massive intersection, on a hill, followed by the biggest climb of the ride – so scary.

Every week, I'd feel so anxious approaching the red light. I'd unclip my shoes to break, wondering if I'd be able to clip in again without falling, get the bike moving again, build momentum, get through the intersection, and make it up the climb/hill on the other side… also, without getting left by the group. Getting left by the group was my biggest fear. But I wouldn't let anyone know it. Gotta look tough to hang with this group.

I remember, on one particular ride, my clips were just right. The light turned green. I started peddling and made it through the intersection first. I was always ready for the light to turn green – hypervigilent. As I climbed up the long hill ahead, legs pumping, all the men passed me.

Now the standard etiquette for cycling groups is that when you pass someone, you always shout, “ON YOUR LEFT!” and you pass on the cyclist's left side. This allows for the cyclist to (1) know you're coming up behind them and (2) move to the right so you can pass. One by one, the guys passed me on the long uphill, yelling “ON YOUR LEFT!”

But one yelled, as he pumped his bike past me on my left, “Keep going! You're building character!”

I don't think he knew the gravity of the statement he made. How this hill was the most stressful for me on the entire ride. How I felt immediately impacted as he said it. How my adrenaline was still rushing from the stressful intersection into this massive climb. How his statement would stick with me, years later, becoming a part of my own positive self-talk and inner voice when I feel anxious.

That was an “open bottle” moment for me. A moment where I realized that my anxiety and fear didn't have to stay locked up and hidden. That it was okay for others to see my weakness and my battles. That my battles were, in fact, character building. This man didn't know that I felt afraid of this hill every week. He didn't know that, for me, this was the most difficult part of the climb.

And it's not even really about climbing, but it's about the fear of letting go, the fear of doing hard things, the fear of others seeing your struggle, the fear of being known. It's a part of being human – struggle.

I tell people all the time that it's okay to struggle. It doesn't make you weak… it makes you human. I tell people that it's okay to allow others to see you struggle. It doesn't make you weak… it makes you brave. And I tell people that their struggles build character.

I think real growth and healing take place when we allow others to see our struggles. When we invite them into our struggles. This is true vulnerability.

I think inner strength is developed when we face our struggles head on, realizing we don't have to face them alone.

I've been open in writing about my struggles with anxiety and people pleasing. Somedays are easier than others. One day a few weeks ago, anxiety got the best of me. I reminded myself to keep going because this difficult moment was building character. I reminded myself that I would reach the top of the hill, or as cyclists say, “the end of the climb.” That I would experience riding the downhill, wheels flying, wind in my hair, legs tingling from the exertion it took to climb the hill, a little tired, sweaty. I would make it to the other side.

I hope today that you would be willing to let others in, to see the struggles you're facing. I hope you will ask for help when you need it. I hope you're able to face your struggles knowing that they are temporary – even if temporary feels like a long time – and they are building character. A reminder to keep going even when life feels gritty and uphill.