There’s an unpredictability to anxiety that can catch me off guard. You’d think that after years of dealing with it, I’d have some sort of signal before it hits. The circumstances may change, the people around me may differ, but the sensation remains constant.
I was merely eight years old when I first recognized its presence. I had sneaked downstairs to watch my older siblings view the original Friday the 13th movie. At that age, I didn’t fully grasp that it was all fictional. That night, I was overtaken by terrifying thoughts—thoughts of someone harming me. Later, I woke up drenched in sweat, feeling a storm brewing inside me. My heart raced, my stomach twisted in knots, and I struggled to breathe. I wanted to call for my parents, but fear had me paralyzed.
At that moment, I had no clue that I was experiencing my very first anxiety attack.
Anxiety has been a companion in my life for as long as I can recall. My initial major triggers were earthquakes. I would lie awake, mentally rehearsing my escape plan in case one struck while I slept. I was told they sound like a train before the shaking begins, so every little noise sent me into panic mode. Though I knew rationally there was no earthquake happening, my anxiety invariably took over.
As I matured, my anxiety grew increasingly crippling. I fixated on car accidents, plane crashes, home invasions, and a host of other fears. Social anxiety, generalized anxiety, test anxiety, compulsive behaviors—each one intertwined, and I wasn’t sure which one emerged first. Everyday tasks became daunting as I navigated them through a lens of worry, taking longer to complete them, and often repeating myself for reassurance.
Then came a pivotal moment when I finally voiced my struggles. I was 40 years old, sitting in a doctor’s office, answering a series of diagnostic questions. It was then that I realized just how deeply anxiety permeated my life when I saw the majority of my answers marked with “yes.”
The doctor asked me to describe my feelings and how they affected my daily life. I struggled to articulate the suffocating thoughts that consumed me. I wanted to shout, “Have you seen my nails?!”—there was hardly anything left of them. The energy surging through me was so intense that I often resorted to picking and chewing my nails to find some relief.
In that moment, I couldn’t articulate the chaos spinning in my mind. I simply told her that my anxiety was debilitating, that it frightened me, and that I feared it would never leave. She reassured me that with a proper treatment plan, I could regain control. Control—what anxiety often takes from me. Perhaps the solution lies in learning to relinquish some of that control.
I understand that my worries may appear irrational. Words like illogical and emotional often describe the turmoil in my head. Sometimes, I wish I could simply pause everything. I recognize my need for constant reassurance; I often feel the urge to apologize to those around me for my repetitive need to hear that everything will be alright.
I know that being with me can be a challenge, and I have empathy for those who love me. My reactions may seem extreme, yet they feel very real to me. The exhaustion can be overwhelming, and although my body longs for relaxation, sleep often eludes me.
While I can’t predict if or when this will all dissipate, I do know that there are days when anxiety doesn’t dominate my life. On those days, I notice a recurrent theme: I choose hope. When I lead with my heart, my body calms, breathing becomes easier, my thoughts clear, and I genuinely smile. I’ve come to realize that my journey can be infused with hope, and anxiety does not have to define me.
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In summary, while anxiety remains a significant part of my life, embracing hope has helped me navigate my journey. By leading with my heart, I’m learning to coexist with my anxiety rather than let it dictate who I am.
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