Dear Anxiety,
You’ve seen me at my lowest.
You’ve watched me collapse under the weight of fear.
You’ve seen the nights I couldn’t sleep, the mornings I couldn’t move, the days I thought I couldn’t survive.
And yet — here I am.
Still breathing.
Still fighting.
Still standing.
You underestimate me.
You think that because I feel fear, I am fear.
You think that because I cry, I am broken.
You think that because I stumble, I’ll never rise.
But every tear, every panic attack, every hard moment I’ve survived has made me stronger.
Not because they didn’t hurt —
but because they did, and I’m still here anyway.
I am not weak because of you.
I am stronger because of everything you’ve thrown at me.
I have scars, yes.
But scars mean healing.
Scars mean survival.
Scars mean I fought through it.
And I will keep fighting.
Not because it’s easy.
But because I know I deserve the life you keep trying to steal from me.
I am stronger than you think, Anxiety.
And I’m just getting started.
— 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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