Is it Health Anxiety ... Or Ableism?
Health anxiety is on the rise, according to research. But, before we can stop the contagion, we have to get honest about a root cause—ableism.
Over the past three decades, health anxiety has increased, especially in young people, according to multiple studies. I don’t need researchers to point it out to me. I can see it in my friends; I can see it in my clients; I have felt it in myself. Health anxiety—a fear and preoccupation with having a serious illness or physical condition—can be debilitating; a constant buzzing in your mind and a ‘what if’ on your shoulder.
It would be easy to blame it all on the pandemic. For me, that period of time did peak my health anxiety, as did the birth of my third child during lockdown. Suddenly, wellness became a hot button topic, and keeping ‘healthy’ was required to hold down a job and feel part of society.
But, as I’ve moved into health anxiety remission, I’ve had to get honest about another reason behind my ruminations: ableism—the discrimination or prejudice towards people with disability.
When it comes to my health anxiety, I have no fear of death. I have—had—a chronic fear of developing a physical illness, which would make my life unliveable and un-valuable. More specifically, I had a core fear that, if I developed a physical condition, I would have no worth to my husband or my children. This is why, my health anxiety only developed after I married my current partner and we started a family.
Ableism: the System
There are very tangible fears attached to health anxiety—how you’d pay medical bills, care for your kids, or navigate the impact on your identity. And then there’s the part of us that is so attached to physical perfection that life without it feels worthless.
It’s systemic and so ingrained in our society that I was in my late thirties before my own ableism became apparent.
You’ve probably seen the clip circulating social media of the Spice Girls being weighed on TV in the nineties. Or, Britney Spears being asked about her breasts by a male presenter. We have grown-up with a spotlight placed on our bodies, especially as women. We have seen the (at best) sympathy and (at worst) ridicule of people who are ‘other’.
My personal conditioning will be different to yours’ but I’m sure there are commonalities:
Because, I was raised in a time when people with disability were invisible.
Because, when my dad was paralysed from cancer when I was a teenager, it felt like we were alone and adrift on an island.
Because, when I was a child and my grandad died of cancer, we were taught to fear the Big C—a monster in society.
Because for my generation—and my parent’s generation—any kind of physical ailment felt unsurmountable. Dare I say, shameful.
Because, like many parents, I was told that, ‘as long as your baby is healthy, that’s all that matters.’
Because, we don’t believe that people who handle illness well are actually happy. We think they’re in denial, ‘it hasn’t hit them yet’ or it’s an act.
Because, I’ve heard people gossip about someone’s diagnosis … and I’ve partaken in it.
Because, in the new-age spiritual space, often the goal is to manifest a “cure” for a physical ailment, rather than to live a full, enlightened life with it.
As with many mental ailments, health anxiety is a self-protection mechanism but it does the job very poorly. For an entire generation, a fear of developing a physical ailment is actually causing a mental health condition. It is also stopping us from realising the resilience of our bodies, and the magic of modern medicine.
Recently, I was listening to an incredible podcast with the poet, Andrea Gibson. Diagnosed with incurable cancer, they were offered the chance to take part in a medical trial. At first, they said no because a side effect of the drug can be blurred eyesight. Then they check themselves: would you really rather die than continue to live with impaired vision? It was ableism holding me back, admitted Andrea. As I write this, they are part of the medical trial—and it is saving their life.
Who is Special Now?
When it comes to shifting my ingrained ableism, my children have been a tonic, as have their friends with disability. They acknowledge their friend’s disability without sympathy and simply love being in their presence. Watching my three-year-old enjoy a playdate with her friend who is non-verbal, deaf and blind, is a joy to watch; watching them adapt how they play together and enjoy each other’s company.
Likewise, my friend, Melanie Dimmitt shares incredible resources about life with disability, including her book Special, which was inspired by her son, Arlo, who was born with quadriplegic Cerebral Palsy (and is a joyful spirit).
I also love the work of Paul Castle who refers to himself as a ‘blind artist’, and content creator, Molly Burke. In the past, my health anxiety has manifested in a fear of losing my vision (linked to my late husband who went blind in one eye from a brain tumour). It’s incredibly healing for me to see these creators thrive in life, alongside a disability not in spite of it.
For me, a game-changer came during my gratitude practise. Because of all the reasons I’ve outlined above, we can use people with disability as a pawn to feel better about ourselves (‘I’m grateful because I’m not facing that diagnosis’). Any comparison, however, is based on assumption on what life would be like living with that condition.
Six months ago, I decide to stop using comparison in my gratitude practise, especially when it comes to my body image or physical condition. I can be grateful for my health, my wealth, my energy and my relationships, but never compared to another person or an earlier version of myself.
When I was injured six months ago was I really less happy than I am now? Or, did I make myself less happy because my ableism told me that I was less valuable? In that case, was it my physical injury which made me unhappy, or my own toxic prejudice?
When it comes to health anxiety, getting support and help early is imperative. I recommend the online Health Anxiety Program by This Way Up and seeking the help of a mental health professional. But, we cannot ignore our own ingrained prejudice and the impact it has on our mental vulnerabilities.
We talk about how the nineties did a number on our body image, but how has ableism impacted how safe we feel in our bodies? It’s not as comfortable as blaming COVID-19 for health anxiety, but it is how we can stop the contagion.
I’d love to hear what you think below.
x Amy