I’ve had a lot of time to think since I quit or lost my volunteer job which involved taking seniors for bike rides on trishaws along scenic bike paths in Vancouver. I posted about the incident last week but the circumstances actually happened a month ago. In a nutshell, my anxiety—and the complexities of $25,000 e-bikes—got the better of me.
I feel great shame over the episode. I don’t think most people would understand what happened. I’m not even sure I understand. Despite having anxiety all my life and being officially diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety and Social Anxiety shortly after receiving my first mental health label a dozen years ago, Major Depressive Disorder, I have never been able to independently apply any of the strategies for de-escalating anxiety in the moment. In mood disorder groups, individual therapy, hospital and group home settings, I’ve learned and practiced strategies as guided exercises, but they never come to me when I’m actually in crisis. I also carry with me a bottle Xanax for emergencies, but I only remember it as an option long after the anxiety episode has passed. Anxiety has a way of blocking the ability to think coolly and rationally.
I decided early on after being discharged from my first stint in the psych ward that I would be open about my mental health struggles. In fact, twenty minutes after being released, I ran into a friend on the street and blurted where I’d been and why. We grabbed a coffee and my friend proved to be a supportive listener. I was released on a Friday and returned to my job as a school principal the following Monday, everything about daily life still a massive challenge but children have a way of making me smile even when I’m struggling. It was school staff who noticed I was “off.” It took two months before I was finally open with them.
I often blog here about mental health, I used to journal about it, I’ve spoken on panels and been on a CBC podcast. I’m also writing an essay collection about mental health and I’ve taped a ten-episode podcast though I’m stuck as to the technical aspects for adding music and launching it. Most often it’s my eating disorder that is the focus of discussion but I mention anxiety and depression as well. Men are less likely to seek help for their mental health and I am determined to be an open example of someone who has accessed formal supports and continues to need them.
Despite all this background, I am disappointed with how things played out in a volunteer setting. As stated, I didn’t attempt—or even think of—any self-care strategies, but I’m satisfied (“proud” seems like a stretch) that I articulated that I have an anxiety diagnosis and I was in the midst of an anxiety episode. In a crisis, there is often a fight-or-flight response and I chose the latter. I needed to exit the situation, pronto. I didn’t just cancel my ride, I quit the program. I had experienced anxiety before every single ride and worked my way through it on my own so that I could show up and, once I had two seniors seated in the trishaw, enjoy the experience with them. But the anxiety could not be contained this time and I felt it would only increase if I kept returning to the site.
While I disclosed my condition, I did not advocate for myself. In the moment, that wasn’t realistically possible. I didn’t have the composure. I’d fallen apart enough in front of a new employee I’d only met once before and I needed personal space to recover.
Still, the next day I received an email from the director of the program whom I knew. It took another twenty-four hours to read it. He wanted to know if I would like a conversation about things before I was removed from the volunteer list. I declined, instead writing about how much I valued and supported the objectives of the program. Basically, keep doing all that good stuff…without me.
If I’d had my druthers, I would have had that conversation, maybe even in person. I realize that the program is about seniors, not about me as a volunteer. Still, in my background as a school principal and a special education teacher, I knew that what made my volunteering so anxiety-inducing was the fact that each of the highly specialized $25,000 e-bikes was operated a little differently and I often stumble when trying to figure out gizmos and gadgets. There’s a term, reasonable accommodation, that comes to mind. For me, it wasn’t reasonable that I show up for each volunteer shift not knowing which bike I’d be operating from a fleet of eight. I had taken notes on my phone regarding how to operate a couple of them and, if I’d been assured I could expect to use one of them each time, I might still be a volunteer. The firm expectation that I had to know how to operate all of them is what triggered the anxiety. The work-around for someone with a mental health disorder would have been easy to implement. The director may have disagreed, but I didn’t even put the idea out there. It could have been an educational opportunity.
In spite of my openness and my desire to be an advocate, I pedalled away, embarrassed and crushed over the fact I’d failed in a volunteer role. Admittedly, I’m relieved, too. The situation, without an easy modification, had proved too much. Still, I’m left with knowing what my disability prevented me from doing rather than feeling empowered by what I am able to do despite challenges I have. It’s been a learning experience for me, if no one else.
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