Professor Annelise G-B

Photography by Ben Curry

If you’re reading this letter, it’s not your fault.

I’ve dreamed of being a scientist or a teacher (or both) ever since I can remember. But I was also a very anxious child. My mom, a librarian, bought me the Kevin Henkes book “Wemberly Worries” to help cope. But nothing worked—I still worried. Adults generally gave two reactions to my worrying: dismissing it as something shameful that could be turned off, or treating it as a quirk or eccentricity to be tolerated.

When I was in 7th grade I moved 650 miles south from my home and started at a school that was more advanced than my old school. Math and science did not come naturally to begin with, so my way to cope was through brute force—putting in very long hours—and fear—or fabricating a sense of panic that there would be terrible consequences if I didn’t keep up. I don’t know how it happened, but sometime between 7th grade and college, how much I studied became my identity and how I judged my self-worth. I became skilled at ignoring my body’s signals that I was tired. If I could convince myself that my dream of being a chemistry professor rested on this single moment of studying, I could keep going.

This approach worked, until it didn’t. In college, friends and professors worried about me. I had difficulty not thinking about school, and felt too overwhelmed to keep commitments outside of my classwork. As a graduate student I would often rush through my first round of data analysis, only to have to go back and fix my mistakes later.

Then, the physical symptoms started. In my 3rd year of graduate school I developed serious hip pains. Months later it morphed into inflamed joints that wouldn’t subside. By my 4th year of graduate school, I was diagnosed with an unspecified autoimmune disease. The disease didn’t have a name, but I knew it caused my joints to be inflamed, and that inflammation could seriously and permanently damage my body if uncontrolled.

I had been symptom-free for months, but then the night before I got married, I got a flare out of nowhere, almost certainly induced from all the stress of managing and planning a wedding during graduate school. I lay in bed, my hands, elbows, knees and hips painful and stiff. I could barely move or turn over. I limped down the aisle on my wedding day. When I had to switch my beautiful pink glitter wedding shoes for sneakers I had the sinking realization that my autoimmune disease was probably exacerbated by stress. I blamed my perceived psychological weakness for my physical pain. Sure enough, one year later, I had my hip replaced because the joint deteriorated so badly from the inflammation.

Those 4 years between my graduate school and my current position at CC were physically and emotionally exhausting. I constantly guilted myself for the usual things but now with new professor problems. I took so much longer than my colleagues to prepare for classes, and even with the preparation I made lots of mistakes. This was, of course, all compounded by the stress of an unstable visiting faculty position and being immunocompromised on the Covid-19 job market. But worst of all, there was the feeling that I was fundamentally flawed, and my inability to control my stress levels and my emotions was literally causing my body harm, in real-time.

At one point during my last job, I mentioned to a friend that I thought I might have anxiety. They responded, “You didn’t know you have anxiety? I thought you knew?” Apparently, it was blatantly obvious to everyone but me.

I talked with my therapist who suggested medication, and it helped. She also noted that some of my symptoms may be indicative of ADHD, too, as these symptoms often overlap in women. Later, during my first year at CC, I was formally diagnosed with general anxiety disorder and combined ADHD. Suddenly, all of the things about me had made sense. The worrying, the missing details and then overanalyzing them after the fact, the inability to focus on multiple things at one time… it all came from these two new diagnoses.

I now had an answer. Yes, my worries may have negatively affected my health in ways I can never change back. But, there’s nothing wrong with me, and it’s not my fault. Growing and unlearning coping mechanisms is hard, but having a fuller picture of who I am and why my brain works the way it does is the best tool and comfort I have.

I wouldn’t have gotten here without the intervention of several trusted friends, confidants, and professionals. I recognize I am privileged and lucky to have had the economic and social support that I did along the way.

If you relate to my story, there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s not your fault. And, it’s OK to ask for help. This website is a really good place to start, but I'm here to remind you that your professors are humans and we're here for you, too.

Annelise G-B., Colorado College

Professor, Department of Chemistry & Biochemistry

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