Welcome to Anxiety on Your Mind, a series that explores what it’s really like to live with anxiety. Here, Kestral Gaian, an author from Scotland, shares their story…
Writing | Kestral Gaian as told to Fiona Fletcher Reid
There’s something quite exposing about having your imagination examined by strangers, which is how I’m feeling this week. My latest novel has just been published, and, of course, I’m grateful for the chance for people to read my words, but I’m also feeling strangely vulnerable about the fact that the project is finished. I can’t make any more changes, and that loss of control is hitting me harder than I expected.
One of the reasons I’m so anxious is that it’s been a decade since my last novel was published – to mixed reviews – and, although I love to write rebellious characters, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t waiting for the validation that comes from seeing positive feedback. The characters have been living in my head for five years, so it feels scary to finally set them free knowing that people will have thoughts and opinions about them.
Even though I said I wouldn’t, I find myself scanning for reviews, but when I find a positive one, I don’t get the calming effect I’m craving. In fact, when I read some of the lovely things people have said about my writing, I worry that I can’t live up to the idea that someone has of me. Praise can feel as destabilising as criticism, because it raises the stakes, and can even deepen my fear of not being good enough, even though it’s a compliment!
Alongside hearing the opinions of complete strangers, there’s a deeper anxiety around people I know reading my work, too. The dynamics in my family have changed a lot in the last few years. In the past, we were quite guarded and didn’t really share our lives with each other. However, in the last 18 months, we’ve experienced several losses and have grown closer as a result – and I’ve reconnected with people who didn’t know I was an author, or even know me by this name. So, while I’ve shared my work publicly before, this project feels like the first time my whole family is watching from the sidelines.
These fears around visibility are, in many ways, totally legitimate. As a queer person, putting yourself out there professionally, in the current political climate, alongside the ongoing damage to LGBTQIA+ rights, and the constant sense of scrutiny, is uncomfortable. I think sometimes we talk about anxiety as if it’s purely internal – something about me, specifically – that needs to be fixed, but the cultural context matters, and acknowledging that is important.
I’m also worried about money this week and how I’m going to pay rent without much freelance work on the horizon. It’s in these moments that I find myself spiralling into the worst-case scenarios, and that pushes me to work harder than I know is good for me. There’s also a constant push and pull between what kind of writing will make me money and fulfilling my desire to make art that has a meaningful impact on people’s lives. I think most creatives feel this inner conflict in some way.
I feel my chest tightening when I scroll through posts from my peers announcing their career successes. It’s frustrating that a week that should be marked by my own achievement can so easily be overshadowed by my internal critic. Am I doing enough? Am I moving fast enough? Should I be more strategic? More visible? Less visible? It’s a constant calibration exercise that adds an additional layer of mental exhaustion to an emotional week.
Thankfully, I have people who are able to hold space for me to vent all these thoughts, and they don’t judge me for having a complicated relationship with how my work impacts my sense of identity and self-worth. The time spent with family ends up being the best part of my week, not something to fear. It’s a cliché to admit, but just saying my anxious thoughts out loud to someone I trust tends to shrink the fear and has definitely helped this week.
Writing, of course, is also a form of mental processing which allows me to actively work through my emotions in a way that feels natural. I find that if I can get the feeling of anxiety captured in language, it suddenly becomes easier to navigate. Words on the page give me something to work with.
I’ve also become better at noticing patterns. From this week alone, I can see that visibility, money, and comparison are consistent triggers. Knowing that doesn’t eliminate them, but it stops them from feeling mysterious.
Even alongside the anxiety I’ve felt this week, I’ve also started to feel proud of everything I’ve created. Although letting it go out into the world feels vulnerable, it’s also an act of self-trust. Trust that these messy transitions are simply all part of what it means to be human.
