Page 60 of Lucy and Her Wicked Three

"No, Portia, I'm serious, it's not. A lot of people struggle with anxiety. It's definitely made worse in our culture because of social media, as I'm sure you can all attest. But I've been dealing with it since I was a kid. It's difficult to discern real problems with ones my brain decides are threats. I used to use chewing gum as a coping mechanism when my heart started racing whenever I'd get stressed out. But my anxiety morphed as I got older; now I get hot and my senses overload, and gum no longer does the trick."

The words spill out of me now, floodgates open. "We didn't have insurance when I was growing up, so my mom never attempted to medicate me. As I got older and got into health and fitness, I tried to manage my anxiety on my own, without using drugs."

I let out a harsh laugh. "Some days, I probably should be on medication. But mostly, when I feel a little out of control, I turn on cool air, fan my chest, intentionally slow my breathing, and try to talk myselfthroughthe anxiety.ThatI learned in therapy, and it does help."

"Why didn't you stay in therapy?" Mary-Anne sks.

"Well, it's expensive, for one. Being self-employed, as you all know, isn't that lucrative when you're just getting started. And honestly, I really thought I had it under control. I mean, that's what my account was supposed to be all about. Where I could post breathing techniques or whatever tips and tricks I found to help other people going through the same thing."

"And look hot while doing it," Cara adds cheekily.

Portia groans, "Yes, Cara, that's definitely what matters here."

"What? I'm just saying, how else is anyone going to listen to what you're saying if you're not looking hot while saying it?"

"Are you fucking serious right now?"

"Are you? Jesus, Portia, climb off your high horse. Like you'd ever post a real picture of you having a bad day."

She may have a point in that I don't think Portia's ever done such a thing. But don't tell Portia she can't or won't do something, because she'll chew up your words and spit them back at you. She turns directly to me.

"You know what? I have a new idea for the photoshoot we were going to do. I'm going to need some time redirecting and planning it though. You in?"

I don't know what she has in mind, but the gleam in her eye has me nodding instantly.

"Great," she tilts her head, pointedly ignoring Cara, sipping down the last of her mimosa.

"So, you're feeling okay, then, Lucy?" Mary-Anne asks again.

"I am. At least, I think I'm on my way there. I'm definitely still struggling. I mean, before I freaked out two weeks ago, when I was online, if I posted something, I had to physically force myself to walk away from my phone and wait before I checked it. When I woke up in the morning, the first thing I did, my very first thought, wasI need to check my phone. I didn't realize how intense it was until I got a little space from it."

"I don't know how you've managed to separate yourself from it. I'm kind of jealous. I've done it before, but never for more than a day or two."

The elusive digital detox. I've touted it in the past, did an entire series on it. Pretended to take a break and disconnect but instead used the time to collect content, and then I reemerged, seemingly healthier and less stressed on the other side. I've hated myself for those lies. Because I've tried it too, and couldn't last a day, let alone two. Now it's been two weeks and my phone… I don't even know where it is right now. Somewhere back in the apartment.

I don't even know when the obsession or need to scroll faded. Even boring, quiet moments—and I've had so many of those these last few weeks—I don't reach for my phone at all anymore. The realization carries a warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest. Like another lock clicking into place.

"It's all about balance, Lu. I mean, you don't need a personal catastrophe to distract you from your distraction."

"That's all it is, though. A distraction. It's meaningless."

"Umm, excuse you, remember who you're talking to?"

Properly chastised, I wince. "I'm sorry, that was a shitty thing to say. It's not meaningless. And I really do think making posts that help people cope with their mental health can help.Especially if they're like me and don't have health insurance, or maybe they do but don't have access to quality care."

"Look, Lucy. Maybe sometimes it's meaningless, but it isn't always. I mean, it isn't like you're peddling diet pills. You were talking about actual body and mind-healthy things. What's so bad about that?"

"It's the toxic positive culture of it all. Spiritual bypassing. Slap on a smile, grin, and bear it, even if you want to break down. Even if you feel like shit and don't want to. Or if you do want to, you want everyone to see that it's not all perfect sunshine, rainbows, and dollar signs. Some days, I do actually look and feel terrible. But if I post anything even remotely cynical, people freak out and accuse me of being inauthentic. As if, by employing all these techniques, these mental health tricks and exercises should forever cure me of anxiety and stress. It's a double standard."

"So, maybe you should talk more about that. The double standard of it all. That you're a human being who has bad days, which iswhyyou use all those techniques in the first place. I don't think we talk enough about toxic positivity, I totally agree with you there. But maybe you should be a part of the solution. Closing down and running away from your platform, does that help anyone? Isn't that why you got into all this in the first place, to help people?"

Again, I feel ashamed that I didn't give my friends more credit. Because they definitely understand more about what I'm going through than I thought. It sounds like they're going through it too, in their own ways.

"Now," Portia changes the subject, "before we talk about the photoshoot I have in mind, we need to do something about this."

Her eyes bug out, pointing toward my hair, like she's trying to tell me something I haven't managed to bring up on my own.

"It's not that bad." I defend.

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