Dear Anxiety,

You are loud.
You roar with fear, with panic, with worst-case-scenarios.
You try to drown out everything good, everything peaceful, everything true.

You want me to believe that your voice is the only one that matters.
That your fear defines my future.
That your noise cancels out my dreams.

But you’re wrong.

You can roar.
You can scream.
You can flood my mind with doubt and my body with fear.

But I will rise.

I will rise on the days when breathing feels like a victory.
I will rise on the nights when sleep feels impossible.
I will rise through the racing heart, the shaky hands, the heavy thoughts.

I will rise even when it’s messy.
Even when it’s ugly.
Even when it’s nothing more than a whisper of hope inside a storm.

Because rising isn’t about perfection.
It’s about refusing to stay down.

You can roar as loud as you want.
But you will never silence my will to live, to love, to heal, to hope.

I will rise.
Again.
And again.
And again.

You can count on that.

— Shanice

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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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