Hattie C. Cooper - The Anxious Girls Guide to Dating

How to find romance

while also being really, really nervous.

By Hattie C. Cooper

Text Copyright 2015 Hattie C. Cooper

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

for Jared

who helped me get here

Table of Contents

W hen I started TheAnxious Girl's Guide to Dating blog back in 2013, I did it forone simple reason: if I struggled with dating because of myanxiety, other people must, too. I wanted to share my experiencesand connect. That, and I kept saying I wanted to start a blog aboutdating and anxiety and one day a friend shouted "stop f***ingwhining about it and just do it." I still remember the coffee shopwe were in. And the flavor of tea I tried not to cry into.

Several years later, The Anxious Girl'sGuide has reached thousands of equally anxious people, most ofwhom find the blog by searching phrases like "nervous after firstdate" or "scared for first kiss" or they search "anxiety flyingpooping." These are my people. I'm so thankful for all of you.Connecting with my readers and hearing your experiences has beenone of my most cherished experiences. I am honored by yourtrust.

Now, The Anxious Girl's Guide toDating comes to you in book form with highlights from the blog,even more anecdotes, a little more advice, and a lot moreconfessions that will have my mother asking, "Hattie, why?"

From the start Ive never claimed to have allthe answers. To this day I am still figuring out all the waysanxiety affects my everyday life and I am continually learning howto be a better partner. The purpose of this project is not to fixsomething. The message is not that my readers need to go on datesor need to find romance. The message is merely this: if you feel adesire to participate in the dating world and you feel your anxietyis making it difficult, you are not alone.

As always, the information I provide is froma personal perspective and should never replace the advice or caregiven to you by medical professionals. Please contact your doctorto discuss how best to cope with anxiety and depression. Eachindividual has a unique set of needs.

And please, if you are experiencing suicidalthoughts, contact the suicide hotline at

1-800-273-8255. They are open 24/7. Knowthis: never feel alone.

Thank you for spending some time with me andthank you for your continued support of The Anxious Girl's Guideto Dating. I appreciate you more than you know.

xo,

Hattie

My Anxiety & My Heart:

They Just Can't Leave Each Other Alone

" C an you describewhat it felt like?"

The doctor stood at the foot of my hospitalbed, pushing at my ankles and feeling my shins. An assistant placedsticky plastic circles around my chest.

I tried not to fidget. "Like my left boob wassuddenly detaching from my body."

Cracking a smile, I waited for the laugh thatnever came. The doctor just continued pushing at my legs. But, Imean, come on. The mental image of a breast falling from a body,like a college student marching out of a dull philosophy class,flipping the bird and shouting "I don't need this. It'd felt likemy breast didn't want to listen to my musings on life anymore.

Earlier that day I'd called my generaldoctor's office. I'd been experiencing odd tightness in my chest.Mild nausea. Fatigue. These were all symptoms I'd experienced offand on since childhood symptoms that are familiar to anyoneliving with anxiety. Another doctor told me in college I probablyhave Generalized Anxiety Disorder, but really, I'm just alwaysnervous. So when I called my doctor, it was in hopes of getting ageneral checkup. I wasn't feeling great.

But the real reason was the boob thing. A fewdays before, I'd been in the shower and suddenly felt like my leftbreast had detached from my skin. Like a fork was jammed against myribs. I'd even looked down, expecting to see a crooked set ofbreasts. Instead, I was met with the same sight as always. Anaverage set of breasts and my pale skin being coaxed to a shade ofred usually reserved for flowers in Shakespearean sonnets.

The doctor's office told me I needed to visitan ER. They told me I could have blood clots.

My brain said, "pssh, it's just my anxiety,I'm fine," but my anxiety said "yep, it's finally happened. Thecancer found you. Start Googling how to draft a will."

As I sat in the hospital bed, the technicianperforming an EKG, the assistant botching the IV, whoops let metry the other arm, I kept explaining how I had anxiety. Ipointed out all the tests felt excessive. I sat there and tried notto roll my eyes at myself. At my patterns. At the fact that myentire life has been dominated by my anxiety, my desire to becautious, and my poor, desperate, heart.

My anxiety and my heart have been intertwinedsince childhood.

From elementary school and into adulthood Ican see how my anxiety has directly affected my romantic life.

Negative thought patterns, excessive worry,over-analyzing everything, avoidant behavior, depression,isolation, fear, the majority of my actions coming from a buriedseed of fear that bloomed into a friggin' redwood tree of controlover my life. Do you know what I mean?

And now, here I was once more. Being wheeledacross the hall in a thin fabric hospital gown, being asked tostand in front of a white metal box while the doctor X-Rayedeverything held warm and safe within my ribcage. Here I was, onceagain, over-analyzing everything going on in my heart.

I wasn't surprised. The previous month I'dquit my decent-paying job at a tech startup in Seattle to pursue mywriting, a move that both baffled and concerned the same people whohad applauded me almost exactly a year prior when I landed the job."What a lucky break for someone with a Master's in poetry," they'dsaid, as if thankful they could all sleep better knowing I wasn'tmoving to Paris to try and sell poetry outside the Moulin Rouge.Breathe easy, folks. The poet has been contained.

The same month I quit my job, my boyfriendJared proposed to me. Something that, for a pessimist like myself,was more anxiety-producing than squeal-inducing. I knew I wanted toshare my life with this man, but the idea of an elaborateengagement and wedding made me want to furiously dig a hole in thebackground, crawl in, and pull a camouflage sheet over the top.Don't look at me, my hand-painted sign would say.

I was unemployed, expected to plan a wedding,and was flying to Virginia the following week to attend the weddingof my sister. A lot was going on. So, naturally, this would bereflected in how blood circulated in my body.

After the test results came back, I waited tohear the doctor scream cancer at me like a carnival barker.But instead, he was calm.

"We've ruled out all the major concerns," thedoctor told me. He held a small stack of papers and read fromthem.

"Your symptoms are most likely anxietyrelated. Take one of your Ativans when you feel like you needit."

I was left alone, the paperwork explainingwhat anxiety was, telling me to contact my primary care physician,and suggesting I take a pill. I took a few shaky breaths and toldmyself it was a good thing. I was lucky to be walking into knownterritory. I am familiar with my anxiety. It has been my constantcompanion since childhood.

The poet Jericho Brown once said he believes"every poem is a love poem." And I feel this is also true for everyperson who lives with anxiety. Your story, is a love story. Yourexperiences help you learn how to love yourself and the worldaround you. The pain, setbacks, and frustrations you may experiencefrom your anxiety are all helping you better understand yourself.This, in turn, will teach you truths. And this, in the end, willlead you to truer love. I believe this. And it is why I started