This post is about my anxiety diagnosis and the medication I take for it, Sertraline, which is the generic name for Zoloft. Iām 33 years old and Iāve been taking Sertraline for about three years now.
Below is the story of how I got there.
This isnāt a clinical explanation or a perfect before-and-after story. Itās messy and personal. Iām sharing it because sometimes hearing someone elseās unfiltered experience can be more comforting than advice.
My Anxiety Diagnosis at 33: Why I Finally Sought Help
I know there are people out there who say everyone needs a diagnosis these days! Everyone needs a label!
Well, Iāll tell you what: saying āI have anxietyā is a lot cleaner than saying:
Donāt mind me if I call you frantic because I think maybe possibly I left the stove on last night even though I checked it five times. Donāt mind me if I start involuntarily crying. Just ignore it and keep talking, and whatever you do, don’t say it’ll all be alright, or what’s wrong? That will make me cry more. Don’t mind me if I don’t text you back right away. Trust me, I saw your text and I thought of probably ten different ways to reply, and I appreciate you as a person, and I don’t want you to feel that I’m dismissing you or ignoring you, but I’m afraid of what happens if I open the door to this conversation because maybe you have a good impression of me and I’ll ruin it by saying the wrong thing, or maybe I’ll just generally say something and you’ll react and I won’t know what I did and then maybe the relationship will be over, so I guess maybe it’s better if it’s over now…
Yeah. I could go on, and trust me, there is a similar monologue for just about every mundane happening on any given day.
But in a crisis?
That rambling, nervous Nelly voice finally shuts it and despite the chaos and adrenaline, I can actually think!
So What Is Anxiety?
I donāt know!
Is it unresolved trauma? Is it genetic? Just a different sensitivity level?
Does it really matter?
Iāll say this, and it only applies to my journey, Iām not suggesting anything about anyone else:
Iām glad I didnāt have the diagnosing type of parent. Iām glad that, despite the struggles, I had to fight it out for a while and came to a place of seeking diagnosis and medication on my own. I think I needed that foundation first.
Again, Iām not suggesting anything for anyone else. If my daughter displays signs of anxiety, Iāll take what action seems most appropriate at the time, and I wouldnāt try to recreate my own experience for her. Not to mention, that would be impossible!
Ha!
Iād have to get her a bunch of siblings, start her off with a disciplined mother from a well-organized family, kill off that mother from cancer (no thanks, knock on wood), add a second marriage, add some additional kids, add a messy divorce that never ended, and on and on it goes.
Itās ridiculous to think I would approach an entirely different set of circumstances with the thing that seems to have helped me. Now that thatās out of the wayā¦
The First Signs of Anxiety I Didnāt Recognize at the Time
I donāt really know if I was an anxious child. Per my fatherās stories about us as kids, I donāt think so.
The first memory I have of what truly seems to have been anxiety is from when I was a senior in high school. The church was having a ācelebrate the seniorsā thing, where the families made those fleece tie blankets, and then we all stood up there draped in the blanket while our parents put their hands on our shoulders and somebody said some words.
I have no idea what was said. I just remember getting extremely hot and uncomfortable. I didnāt want them touching me and couldnāt stand the thought of us all pretending to be a happy family (although now as an adult, I realize there are plenty of families who arenāt āhappyā but are perfectly fine, so yes, I was probably being dramatic).
I just couldnāt take it and found myself making a scene by bolting for the little back exit door in tears. I went upstairs and hid in the preschool until everyone was gone, including my own family. Iām pretty sure I then drove somewhere or drove home, but I definitely donāt remember ever having a conversation about it with anyone.
Living With Anxiety: What It Really Feels Like
Fast forward to the job I was working three years ago as a financial coordinator in a healthcare setting. Prior to that, I had quit my first job. I had stopped jobs before due to things like going back to college or moving, but I had never just quit.
(Well, now Iāve gotten too good at that, but thatās a different story.)
I thought I was all set. The new job was task-based, semi-professional but still relatively active and urgent. It was post-Covid, so we wore company-supplied scrubs (thought that would eliminate social anxiety and decision fatigue), there was a gym nearby Iād use at lunch, and in many ways, it was a good job. I thought I had figured out the formula.
And yet, that dragon anxiety, or whoever she is, reared her head.
Involuntary tears. Analysis paralysis. Overwhelm. All of it.
Another thing about this job: a whole bunch of women in the office were taking Sertraline. Sounds kind of laughable, right? Like I just decided to succumb to peer pressure and jump off the cliff with them?
Not quite, but I did get to hear a lot of first-hand experiences. One woman described the day she dropped her 6-year-old son off and just drove away. She eventually came back, but the anxiety that prompted her to do that was what led her to talk to her doctor.
One final notable aspect of this job: the health insurance was cheap, and I could easily see a counselor for a small out-of-pocket copay.
So I figured, why not?
From āMaladjustedā to Diagnosed: The Insurance-Driven Labeling of Anxiety
Iāve never gone to a counselor for any significant length of time, but on and off Iāve seen different people. Iāve never felt like oh wow! after a session, but the conversations often helped shake things loose. Sometimes just anticipating the appointment was helpful.
With this counselor, we did telehealth sessions, even though she was local. Was she helpful? To some extent, yes. But she also seemed to be practically snoozing through sessions. Her questions and comments also werenāt particularly perceptive.
Still, two important things came out of those sessions.
1. The Medication Suggestion
I talked about my previous job, which was unorthodox, abrasive, and even, though this word is overused, toxic. (Long story short: lots of behind-the-scenes personal connections. Small town stuff.)
At the time, I was wondering if my experiences at the previous job were affecting my perspective at the current job.
I told the counselor I was considering asking my doctor about Sertraline. She just shrugged and said, sure, maybe itāll take the edge off.
That nonchalant response did not endear her to me, but it did kind of help. Iād built up medication in my head as this terrifying, life-altering decision. Her casual response helped me realize maybe itās not such a big deal to ask my doctor.
2. The Diagnosis Debacle
After a couple sessions, I got a notification to sign a document: Iād been diagnosed with adjustment disorder. This sent me into a (now hilarious) spiral; I thought Iād been labeled a maladjusted loon. I prepared a big response to talk it out with the counselor.
Her reaction?
āI just had to write that for insurance.ā
Uhhh.
A few sessions later, I got another diagnosis: general anxiety disorder. I didnāt sign it. I canceled my next session and never went back.
Was it an official diagnosis or what?
I guess.
I still think it was odd and unprofessional to drop that on me without a real conversation. But after talking with various professionals since, yeah the shoe fits.
And honestly, I donāt care. The result is what matters: Sertraline helps me feel more even and relax more easily.
I also truly believe it helped me get through pregnancy, birth, and post-partum relatively unscathed.
Finally, I think it makes me a better mother. I still intellectually have all the same worries in the world, but Iām able to tone down the emotional side of it, and be present and gentle around my daughter.
Iāll never know of course, but I donāt think that would have been the case without medication.
But, Iām getting ahead of myself.
Talking to My Doctor About Anxiety Medication
The conversation with my doctor was the opposite of the counseling experience. Even after the counselorās rather dismissive comment about medication, I still had it built up in my head quite a bit: what if the doctor thinks Iām drug-seeking? What if I cry? (Spoiler: I did.)
Ultimately, the doctor was very kind and supportive, almost too much so. Overwhelming in a different way. (My theory is that since I didnāt grow up with an affectionate parent, I find big displays of support unsettling.)
She suggested Sertraline, and said itās a very common prescription for women (what does that say about this country?), and that side effects are mild unless youāre on a high dose.
What Itās Like Taking Sertraline (Zoloft): Three Years Later
My experience on Sertraline has been very positive. I donāt feel it ākick inā or anything, but I do believe itās helped me better navigate life. It is a pretty gentle medication, compared to things like Xanax, from what I understand anyway.
I used to be skeptical of medication. But hereās where Iāve landed:
Modern life in the U.S. is unnatural in many ways: low on physical activity, low on quality community connections, rampant hyper consumerism and emphasis on independence to a fault.
I have tried asking myself: what are my alternatives to participating in it?
There arenāt many good ones, though I’m working on it. So if I have to participate, why fight the thing that helps me do what I donāt want to do, but have to?
Itās like owning a car. I hate owning a car. Itās a giant scam. But thereās no public transportation where I live, so I own one. That’s how I think of the medication: a tool that gets me from A to B for my sake and my familyās sake.
Would I rather get from A to B on a bike and later nap, snack, and swim with no medication required? Maybe decompress with friends and family over a delicious and healthy dinner? Take regular vacations from work?
Yes. But I donāt live in that world.
I havenāt yet figured out how to make enough money to live in that world and our culture certainly gets further and further away from that world for the middle and working class every day.
Thus, I take the medication. And it helps.
Looking Ahead: The ADHD Chapter Begins
So what about the ADHD diagnosis?
That came later.
Stay tuned.
Interested in personal experience posts like this? Read about my birth experience here, or my musings on my ADHD diagnosis here, or even my post about the blues here.
