Dear Anxiety,
Some days, no matter how hard I try, your voice is louder than anything else.
You wrap your hands around my mind and squeeze until all I can hear is the worst-case scenario.
You shout over the good things, drown out the small wins, smother the sparks of hope I try so hard to hold onto.
You tell me danger is everywhere.
You tell me I’m one breath away from disaster.
You make my body feel like a battlefield even when I’m sitting in a safe, quiet room.
Today was one of those days.
Today, your fear felt bigger than my dreams.
Louder than my logic.
Heavier than my hope.
But here’s what you didn’t realize:
Even when you were roaring inside my head, something quieter survived.
A tiny, stubborn flicker of hope stayed lit.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t flashy.
It was just there — steady, patient, refusing to be extinguished by your chaos.
And that flicker?
That is mine.
Not yours.
You can scream.
You can threaten.
You can flood my body with fear and make my hands shake and my chest ache — but you cannot have my hope.
Even if it’s small.
Even if it’s hidden behind tired eyes and heavy breaths.
It still belongs to me.
And I will protect it with everything I have.
Because every day that I hold onto even a sliver of hope…
Is a day you don’t win.
I’m still here.
I’m still breathing.
I’m still fighting.
You are loud, Anxiety.
But I am louder.
— Shanice
These are my real, raw letters to my anxiety.
Some days, it wins. Some days, I fight back.
Either way, these words are proof that I’m still here, still breathing, still trying.
If you’re fighting too, you’re not alone. 🖤
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