How I Curb my Anxiety by Going Topless (Well, Almost)

I know how this title sounds — a cheap hook to snag a quickie glance, an attention-grabbing stunt for the visual voyeur. However, I stand by it because sometimes I go nearly topless to deal with stress.

For most, wearing a sports bra, sans tank top, at the gym is nothing — part of the exercise culture, the uniform of the fit (or fit wannabe). However, raised in an ultra-conservative religion, where exposing one’s shoulders (especially a woman’s) was especially egregious, for me, mainly going topless is harrowing at best.

I am a stress case and always have been and probably always will be. When I was a baby, my mother would watch me in my crib, my fingers pumping and grasping the air like a miniature milk maid going for a world record. I don’t know why I was so stressed back then.

Many theories have come and gone, as have countless counseling sessions, pills, specialty teas, and twisted yogi practices to curb my anxiety. I have analyzed and gotten data overload in the name of a panic fix, leaving me wondering if I need to embrace the insanity and go full-blown triggered happy?

It’s counterintuitive. Most anxious people stay away from anything stress-causing. They don’t trust elevators, so they take the stairs. They fear being late, and they show up 15 minutes early. They’re uncomfortable in their always quaking skin — well, they don’t pull off their Lulu Lemons for more exposure, right? Maybe they should!

Whenever I feel the tightening in my chest, some overzealous ticking doom clock inside me, whenever I can’t keep my fingernails out of my mouth, I know it’s time to get triggered and go topless.

It’s terrifying! In just my sports bra and exercise pants, I force myself out of my house, clutching my exercise bag to my chest. I start the car. I slip on my sunglasses, the black pair that covers ¾ of my face. I drive to the gym and make a beeline to the front counter, my membership card ready to scan. I stare straight ahead without eye contact or an acknowledging smile at a fellow gym rat.

I stash my stuff in the nearest locker and speed into the always too big, always too crowded main area. I mount the elliptical machine donning yoga pants, socks, shoes, air pods, a sports bra, and nothing else.

Why do I do it? Because it’s scary!

Because, within 60 minutes from gym arrival to gym exit, I have triumphed! I have done a terrifying thing and survived! My anxiety is replaced by endorphins, courage, and strength. I’m no longer stressed out by some uncontrollable, invisible monster anymore. I can breathe! I can give my fears a break. I can provide my fingernails a moment!

Although I don’t do it all the time, I do it often enough to trust what I get out of it. So, to anyone born scared — do something scary a few times and see what happens. You may be surprised and delighted that nothing earth-shattering does!