I remember the day anxiety took over my life. I was 12 years old and felt continually, grindingly nervous about everything and nothing. I had spent the morning in the student support office, coming down from a panic attack that had left me pinned to a classroom floor, heart pounding and tears streaming down my face. Over a post-recovery cup of tea and Jaffa Cakes, a pastoral adviser told me that if this was to become a regular occurrence, I would hit burnout by the end of term. The idea stuck.
Within my first few weeks at high school, I was diagnosed with generalised anxiety disorder – a condition characterised by excessive and persistent worry, according to the NHS. A perfectionist streak had spiralled into an acute sense of responsibility. I was an overly conscientious student; I felt I had to be better than everyone else and excel at my studies in order to prove my worth. I tried to do as much work as I could, as perfectly as possible, as a way to shore up low self-esteem.
