Anxiety Momster

Category: Dear Anxiety

  • Dear Anxiety, Stop Making Me Afraid to Live

    Dear Anxiety,

    You showed up again today.

    Right when I was trying to eat.
    Right when I was laughing with my kids.
    Right when I felt a tiny moment of peace—you snuck in and ruined it.

    You made my chest feel tight.
    You made my head buzz.
    You made me question if I was about to die, or just spiral again.

    And the worst part?
    You made me scared to trust my own body.

    I can’t even enjoy food without wondering if it’s going to make me sick.
    I can’t sit in silence without hearing my heart beat too loud.
    I can’t tell the difference between a panic attack and a health scare anymore—and that’s what terrifies me the most.

    You’ve stolen so much from me.

    Moments. Memories. Energy.
    My confidence. My joy. My damn peace.

    But you know what?

    I’m still showing up.

    I’m still writing this.
    I still got out of bed.
    I still laughed today—nervously, maybe—but it still counts.

    I’m learning how to track you.
    To name you.
    To strip you of your power every time I put words to what you’re doing to me.

    So no, I’m not cured.
    I still check my blood sugar more than I should.
    I still wonder if this headache is something worse.
    I still panic when I feel pressure in my chest.

    But now?
    I write through it.
    I track it.
    I talk back to you.

    And every time I do, you lose a little more grip.

    Sincerely,
    The girl you thought you could silence.
    —Shanice

  • Dear Anxiety: I Forgive Myself for the Bad Days

    Dear Anxiety,

    For a long time, I hated myself for the days you won.
    The days I couldn’t get out of bed.
    The days I canceled plans.
    The days I cried and shook and felt like a burden to everyone around me.

    I carried so much shame.
    I thought every bad day meant I was failing.
    That if I was strong enough, I wouldn’t feel this way.

    But that’s not true.

    Bad days aren’t failures.
    They’re part of healing.
    They’re part of living.

    So today, I’m choosing forgiveness.

    I forgive myself for the days I was too tired to fight.
    I forgive myself for the panic attacks, the canceled plans, the missed moments.
    I forgive myself for surviving the best way I knew how at the time.

    You don’t get to weaponize my past against me anymore.

    Every hard day I lived through is a testament to my strength — not my weakness.

    I am allowed to have bad days.
    I am allowed to be human.
    I am allowed to forgive myself.

    I am proud of how far I’ve come, even if the road was messy.

    And I’m not carrying shame with me anymore.

    — Shanice

  • Dear Anxiety: I’m Done Hiding From You

    Dear Anxiety,

    For a long time, I tried to hide you.
    Pretend you weren’t there.
    Smile through the panic.
    Laugh through the fear.
    Nod through the moments where my body was screaming inside.

    I thought if I just stayed quiet, if I just kept pretending, you’d leave me alone.

    But you didn’t.

    Hiding didn’t make you disappear.
    It only made me disappear.
    Piece by piece, I lost parts of myself trying to make you less noticeable to the world.

    Not anymore.

    I’m done hiding from you.
    I’m done pretending to be okay when I’m crumbling inside.
    I’m done acting like you’re not heavy when some days you’re too much to carry alone.

    I will not be ashamed of my struggle.
    I will not let silence be your weapon.

    Talking about you doesn’t make me weak.
    Admitting my fear doesn’t make me broken.
    Sharing my battles doesn’t make me less.

    It makes me free.

    You don’t get to make me hide anymore.

    I am showing up.
    I am speaking out.
    I am standing tall — even with the weight of you still trying to drag me down.

    I’m done hiding.
    You don’t get that power anymore.

    — Shanice

  • Dear Anxiety: You Can Roar, But I Will Rise

    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

    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. 🖤

  • Dear Anxiety: I’m Learning to Live Alongside You

    Dear Anxiety,

    For a long time, I thought the goal was to get rid of you completely.
    To silence you.
    To fight you into nonexistence.

    And maybe that’s still the dream —
    But I’m starting to realize something:
    Maybe healing doesn’t always mean making you disappear.
    Maybe it means learning to live alongside you without letting you run the show.

    I don’t like you.
    I don’t welcome you.
    But I’m learning that I don’t have to fear you the way I used to.

    You can show up, pounding at the door of my mind,
    but I don’t have to let you move in and rearrange my whole life every time.

    I can feel the fear without letting it decide for me.
    I can notice the panic without spiraling every single time.
    I can acknowledge your voice without letting it become my truth.

    Living with you isn’t easy.
    There are days you still knock the wind out of me.
    There are moments I still feel like I’m back at square one.
    But I’m not.

    Every breath I take without letting you take over — that’s progress.
    Every moment I choose to keep going despite the fear — that’s strength.
    Every small decision I make for me and not for you — that’s healing.

    I’m not perfect at this.
    Some days, I still stumble.
    Some days, you still scream louder than I’d like to admit.

    But I’m not running from you anymore.
    I’m learning how to live.
    I’m learning how to stay.
    I’m learning how to be me — even with you standing in the background.

    You don’t get to erase my life.
    Not anymore.

    I’m taking it back.
    One shaky, stubborn, beautiful step at a time.

    — 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. 🖤

  • Dear Anxiety: When Fear Feels Louder Than Hope

    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. 🖤

  • Dear Anxiety: I’m Tired of Fighting You

    Every day with anxiety feels different. Some days it whispers. Some days it screams.
    I’m writing these letters to speak back to it — to take my power back, one word at a time.
    Here’s today’s letter.

    Trigger Warning:
    This post discusses real emotions related to anxiety and may be triggering for some readers. Please take care while reading.

    Disclaimer:
    I am not a medical professional. I share my personal journey with anxiety in hopes of connecting with others who may feel the same. Please reach out to a healthcare provider for medical advice.

    Dear Anxiety,

    I’m tired.
    I’m tired of waking up already feeling like I’m losing a battle I never agreed to fight.
    I’m tired of second-guessing every sensation, every thought, every breath.
    I’m tired of pretending I’m fine when my insides are screaming for help.

    I have tried to reason with you.
    I have tried to ignore you.
    I have tried to fight you.
    And yet, you still show up — uninvited, unwanted, unapologetic.

    You steal my peace on days that should have been beautiful.
    You make me fear things I logically know are safe.
    You make my own body feel like a stranger, a threat.
    You have turned simple moments into mountains I must climb just to survive.

    And worst of all — you make me doubt myself.
    You whisper lies in my ear that I’m weak.
    That I’ll never get better.
    That I’m broken beyond repair.

    But here’s the thing:
    Even when I’m tired, I’m still here.
    Even when it feels unbearable, I’m still breathing.
    Even when I want to give up, some tiny part of me fights back — and that part is stronger than you.

    I don’t have all the answers yet.
    Some days, I’m just surviving.
    Some days, I’m angry.
    Some days, I’m scared.
    But every day I wake up, I’m still in the fight.
    And that makes me brave in ways you’ll never understand.

    So, dear Anxiety —
    You don’t win today.
    Not because I’m fearless.
    But because I’m choosing to show up anyway.
    And that’s something you can never take from me.

    — Shanice

    If you’re fighting your own invisible battles today, know this: you are not weak for feeling tired. You are strong because you keep going. And you are never, ever alone

    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.