Dear Anxiety,

You try to tell me that bad days erase all the progress I’ve made.
That if I have one breakdown, one panic attack, one wave of fear — I’m back at square one.

But you’re wrong.

Even on my hardest days,
I show up.

Even when my chest is tight and my mind is racing,
I still breathe.
I still move.
I still live.

It might not look pretty.
It might not look brave.
Sometimes it’s just getting dressed.
Sometimes it’s just answering a text.
Sometimes it’s just making it through another hour.

But it’s showing up —
and that’s enough.

You don’t get to define strength by how loud or visible it is.
You don’t get to decide what counts.

I decide.
And every shaky breath, every tear-streaked smile, every tiny choice to keep going counts.

You can make the days hard.
You can make the nights long.
But you cannot make me disappear.

I am here.
Even when it’s hard.
Especially when it’s hard.

— Shanice

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