By Raegan Weems
Rapid heartbeat. Sweaty palms. Trembling. A foggy mind. My leg began to shake as I watched the clock, each passing second making my chest tighten. I repeatedly tapped my pencil on my desk and tried to clear my mind as I reread the question for what felt like the millionth time. “It’s just an exam,” I kept repeating to myself, a mantra my family kept telling me that day. “It’s okay to be nervous, it’s not the end of the world.”
Then why did it feel that way? Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t regain focus or erase the feeling of impending doom. As I left the exam hall I took a minute to ponder on what the last hour felt like during the exam. That’s when I realized this reaction wasn’t normal. There must be more to the story.
When I was a child, I always had high levels of anxiety; it became a part of who I was. My family chalked up my nervousness to a personality trait, and I lived my whole life thinking chronic anxiety was “normal.” I never discovered how severe it was until I became a freshman at UF. Besides my exam experience, I began to avoid simple tasks and procrastinate in my schoolwork, the ultimate recipe for disaster as a pre-medical student. When the work piled up, my mind would enter fight or flight mode, and I would blame myself thinking I was a lazy and unmotivated student who didn’t deserve to study at such a prestigious institution. My grades started to tank and I slept to avoid the weight of everyday expectations. Suddenly, I went from an ambitious A+ scholar to an apprehensive pre-med student who never left their dorm. I started spiraling and questioning how I was going to pass the semester or how I could control my mind. I thought to myself, “How could I ever dream of practicing medicine if I couldn’t even stay calm enough for an exam?” I began to reflect on the weight of the situation and realized it was bigger than I thought. It was time to reach out for help.
I wasn’t excited about going to see a therapist, as I had bad experiences with them in the past. However, I remained optimistic as I logged onto the Zoom call and began my appointment. Upon examining my symptoms, I was diagnosed with severe generalized anxiety disorder. This health issue is characterized by trouble concentrating, avoiding tasks, irritability and restlessness — all symptoms I had been living with throughout the semester. According to recent statistics, generalized anxiety disorder impacts about 4.4% of the global population. My therapist explained the diagnosis wasn’t a label and it doesn’t define the person I am. Despite effective treatments, the stigma surrounding mental health prevents people from seeking care. Due to this stigma, only one in four people diagnosed with anxiety disorders receive treatment.
As I began treatment, there were times I wanted to give up. Even after trying breathing, grounding techniques and a variety of medications, my anxiety seemed to persist. However, rewiring your brain is no easy task, and it takes a lot of discipline. I was reminded that all brains are different and what may work for you won’t work for someone else. My mom was my support system and a constant light in my life, helping me overcome every obstacle. Despite my mind feeling like it was fighting against me, I showed up and worked hard every day. I was referred to the Disability Resource Center by mental health professionals on campus. Colleges that receive federal funding must ensure their programs can provide students with accommodations if they’re struggling with their mental health. The resources from the DRC helped lessen my anxiety through time accommodation on exams. I continued my work in therapy and slowly felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. Suddenly, going to class wasn’t filled with racing thoughts about how I wasn’t smart enough, and going out with friends didn’t feel like a burden. And when I walked into the exam hall months later, I said a prayer and reflected on my experience. I smiled as I realized how I’ve grown and how I didn’t let my anxiety define me — it was another stepping stone to build me into the person I am today. And when I continue my journey toward working in healthcare, I will look back at this as another chapter in my story. Neurodiversity is beautiful and our different brains make us unique. If you or somebody you know is struggling with anxiety, reach out for help and resources in your community. And always remember — you are never alone.
Raegan Weems is a fourth-year health science major.
“My Public Health Story” essays originated from an assignment on public health storytelling for a public health messaging and dissemination course led by Gaia Zori, Ph.D., M.P.H., coordinator for the social and behavioral sciences and public health practice concentrations in the Master of Public Health program.