Anxiety by Christy Umberger

Poetry

Photo by Kelly Sikkema

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

\(Anxiety\)

Is tip-toeing, worried of the creaky stair, rehearsing the entire day’s conversations in the shower. Is thought whirlpools interrupting Sunday morning sleep. Is doing just one more thing before taking a break. Anxiety is trying to stay straight on a moving balance beam, thinking through Monday’s meeting while watching my favorite jazz musician, and nervous every day what to do with the rest of my life. Anxiety is winding through an unknown city—buildings suddenly taller, night darker; lost—a ghost in my body. Anxiety is holding my breath, afraid to turn off Friends reruns when I’m alone, and turning to alcohol for relief. Is sitting in sinking mud, mind so loud, I only notice my surroundings for a second before I’m yanked away.

Recovery
is lying down
in the grass, exhaling
up at the sky,
Sunday morning at the park.
Recovery is sun on the balcony
as I translate amorphous thoughts
into words—a pen and paper
my second therapist,
simplifying dynamics
I once found so complicated.
Recovery is breathing into my belly
rather than sucking it in,
learning how to have fun
—aging in reverse. Recovery
is Saturday with no plans,
napping and stretching
like the cat. Recovery
is sometimes backwards—more round
than straight lines or sharp
corners, shaking
heavy marbles out of my glass mind jar
till the last one escapes, ready to fill up
with cotton candy laughs instead.
Recovery is dancing,
lots of dancing, and not making beauty
out of struggle. Recovery
is not solving others’ problems.
Recovery is tall, head raised,
a sure smile, feeling
home inside me.

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About the Poet:

Christy Umberger is a poet currently living in Fort Collins, CO with her partner, Christian, and her cat, Pepper. Christy loves to hike, read in the sun, go to concerts, and explore new places. She has a Bachelor’s degree in English Writing Studies from Millersville University.