Am I learning to recognize and diffuse anxiety or am I just denying my feelings until they erupt?

First I just want to say I'm writing in bed in my bedroom. I got home from work about ten minutes ago and I'm in pjs in bed.

This is a big deal for some reason. Sometime back in my early programming it was drilled into me that bed is for nighttime and illness sleeping only. Napping on the couch during the day might be allowed (it has its own strict rules). But just chillin' and napping in one's actual bed in daylight is . . . I don't know. Not just lazy. Criminally indulgent.

Behavior one would associate with the flawed heroine in a Southern drama (think Tennessee Williams or William Faulkner characters).

I don't remember anyone explicitly explaining this. It's just a fact I gleaned from how the grownups talked about one another.

But it's just before 4:30 pm. I'm in bed. I love it. I love my bed, my bedroom. I mean, I live alone (not counting the wee demon), so it's not like I need a sanctuary separate from the rest of the house.

Anyway. It's weird the absolute rules we create in our heads. And fun in a really dementedly awesome way to subvert those rules. The ultimate rebellion. Maybe.

Which isn't too far off of today's actual theme: how do I tell if I'm making progress with my anxiety or burying the burnout until I can't hide it anymore? Am I growing or regressing. Evolving or repressing?

This last week was tough. For reasons that wouldn't make sense to anyone else even if I spent so long explaining that I broke Wix. I didn't sleep well any night. I woke up in dread. I barely made it through Thursday.

I followed various meditations when I woke up in the night and couldn't get back to sleeping because of the hamster wheel in my head. I practiced mindfulness exercises when I became overwhelmed at work and in the car.

I brought myself back from the brink multiple times this week.

I should be really proud of myself. I'm catching the early signs and switching tracks before a complete derailment. No twisted, screaming metal and burning bodies. yay, me.

But am I? I'm afraid I'm maybe achieving new heights of wallpapering over my problems. Of just bringing the water down from a boil to a simmer without actually get the pot off of the burner.

We won't even get into how I'm torturing metaphors.

So how can I tell? I want to believe I'm getting better, but I'm conditioned to believe I'm weak and that things only ever get worse. I need an unbiased outside observer. So if anyone stumbles into this blog and makes it this far into the post -- help.