Anxiety Momster

Surviving Anxiety One Breath, One Breakdown, One Blog at a Time”

Category: Motherhood

  • Parenting With Chronic Conditions: How I Survive the Hard Days Without Falling Apart

    Parenting With Chronic Conditions: How I Survive the Hard Days Without Falling Apart

    Trigger Warning:

    This post talks about chronic symptoms, stress, anxiety, and the struggles of parenting while unwell.

    Disclaimer:

    I’m not a medical professional. This post shares personal experiences and tips that help me. Always talk to your doctor before making changes to your health routine.

    Let me just say it straight:
    Trying to parent while dealing with chronic conditions should count as an Olympic sport.
    I swear I’d have a gold medal by now, probably two.

    Because it’s not just being tired or having a bad day.
    It’s waking up with a tight chest, a blood sugar rollercoaster, a head that feels too heavy, and still hearing,
    “Mom, what’s for breakfast?”
    before your eyes even fully open.

    And somehow… you keep going.

    Not because it’s easy, but because there’s literally no other choice.

    The Invisible Battle Nobody Sees

    If you know, you know.

    People see you grocery shopping with kids like,
    “Oh wow, you’ve got your hands full!”
    and you smile, but inside you’re thinking:

    “If only you knew I’m low-key trying not to pass out in aisle five while also calculating carbs for dinner and praying this weird shoulder pinch isn’t something fatal.”

    It’s wild — the amount of mental gymnastics you do just to keep life moving.

    And the worst part?
    Most of it is silent.
    Invisible.
    Hidden under that “I’m fine” shield we’ve learned to wear because telling the truth feels like too much explaining.

    The Mental Load Hits Harder Than the Symptoms

    Let’s be honest — anxiety loves to join the party.
    It’s like your chronic condition says, “Let me cause a little chaos,”
    and anxiety comes in behind it like,
    “Bet. I’ll make it ten times worse.”

    And suddenly a little chest ache isn’t “just a chest ache.”
    It’s your brain whispering,
    “What if…?”
    until your whole nervous system goes into witness protection mode.

    Meanwhile your kids are arguing about who stole whose snack, someone’s tablet is dead, someone else is hungry again, and you’re trying to breathe through it like a monk even though your heart is doing jumping jacks.

    It’s A LOT.
    And yet—you keep showing up.

    Every. Single. Day.

    What Actually Helps (and doesn’t make me want to scream)

    Listen. I’m not here to pretend I have a perfectly color-coded routine with mason jars and yoga mats.
    This is what real survival looks like for me:

    💜 Micro-rests.

    Five minutes. In silence.
    Sometimes on the floor, the bathroom, the car—whatever.
    It resets my whole nervous system.

    💜 Simplifying breakfast.

    My body does MUCH better without a sugar bomb first thing in the morning.
    Eggs, oatmeal, and yogurt — my holy trinity.

    💜 Hydration first, fear later.

    I drink water and take my meds before letting my anxiety scroll through imaginary symptoms.

    💜 “Couch school.”

    Yes, we homeschool from the couch sometimes.
    Documentaries. Reading. Drawing.
    Learning doesn’t stop just because my body said, “Girl, sit down.”

    💜 Not pretending to be superwoman.

    If I need help?
    I take it.
    Is dinner easy?
    It’s easy.
    Rotisserie chicken has saved more families than therapy, honestly.

    One Thing I Wish More People Understood

    Parenting with chronic conditions isn’t weakness.
    It’s grit.
    It’s resilience.
    It’s the kind of strength that doesn’t look pretty—it looks tired and shaky and still trying.

    The kind of strength that sits through symptoms, fear, and fatigue…
    and still gets up to comfort a crying kid at 3 AM.

    The kind that keeps showing up even when your body is begging for a timeout.

    You don’t get enough credit for that.
    None of us do.

    A Little Story I Don’t Tell Often

    There was one day — not even that long ago — when my symptoms scared me so bad I had to sit on the edge of the bed just to steady my breathing.
    My chest felt tight, my anxiety was loud, and I swore something was wrong.

    And right in the middle of that moment, my child walked in and said,
    “Mom, can you help me with this?”
    Holding homework.

    And somehow, even while terrified, I helped.
    My hands were shaking, but I helped.

    Later that night, I realized something:
    Our kids don’t need the healthiest version of us.
    They need the present version of us.
    The trying version.
    The “I’m still here even though today was heavy” version.

    And that version—you—is already enough.

    If You’re Doing This Too, Here’s What I Want You to Know

    You’re not dramatic.
    You’re not weak.
    You’re not failing.
    You’re navigating life with an extra layer of difficulty that most people will never understand.

    And you’re still raising a family.
    Still showing up.
    Still trying to heal.
    Still fighting for better days.

    That’s strength most people won’t ever have.

    Parenting with chronic conditions doesn’t make you less.
    It makes you dangerous — in the best way.
    Because anyone who can survive their own body and raise kids is built different.

    Soft mic-drop. 💜

  • When the Calm Breaks: Parenting Through a Panic Storm

    When the Calm Breaks: Parenting Through a Panic Storm

    Trigger Warning: Panic, Anxiety, Mental Health
    Disclaimer: This is a personal reflection and not medical advice.

    This morning I woke up on empty.
    Not physically. I slept maybe four hours but emotionally, spiritually, mentally… I was drained before the day even started.

    Anxiety hit fast.
    No trigger. No warning. Just that rush in my chest, that nervous buzzing in my stomach like something awful was about to happen. My first instinct? Cry. Scream. Hide. I wanted to escape my own skin.

    But I didn’t shut down completely.

    I tried.
    God, I tried.

    I prayed.
    I stayed under the weighted blanket, telling myself over and over, “You’re okay. This is just anxiety. You’ve felt this before. You will not die.”

    I wanted to take something to calm down, but fear crept in: What if it makes things worse? What if my body reacts?
    So instead, I leaned into what I could do.

    My mom helped the kids this morning.
    My husband stepped in. Not just physically, but emotionally.

    He sat with me.
    He massaged my shoulders and my back, slow and gentle just enough pressure to remind me I was still here, still safe. He offered distractions:
    “Want to play a game?”
    “Wanna scroll and find something funny?”
    “Try this it’s lemon. The sour might shock your senses.”

    And it did help not all at once, but enough to interrupt the spiral.

    I still felt shaky. Still felt like I couldn’t breathe deep. Still felt that heavy, horrible “what if” voice whispering that something was wrong with me.
    But I kept trying.

    I drank water.
    I got up to pee even though I didn’t want to move.
    I talked. I cried. I let him hold me.
    And even though I didn’t feel instantly better, I reminded myself that surviving the storm is enough.

    Anxiety doesn’t care if you have kids.
    It doesn’t care if you had a good day yesterday.
    It doesn’t care if your life is finally starting to feel like it’s in order.

    But I do.

    I care.
    About healing. About showing up. About doing whatever it takes to not let this monster win.

    So today, if you’re reading this under your own weighted blanket, if you’re gripping your chest trying to figure out if it’s anxiety or something worse I want you to know:

    You’re not failing.
    You’re fighting.
    And that matters.

    Even when it doesn’t feel like progress it is.

    You got out of bed. You asked for help. You’re reading this.

    That’s effort.
    That’s resilience.
    That’s you, still here.

  • I’m Not Okay — And That’s Okay Too

    Trigger warning: Mental health, anxiety, panic, and emotional overwhelm.
    Disclaimer: I’m not a medical professional. I’m just a real mom, talking through real moments, trying to survive the chaos one breath at a time.

    Let’s not sugarcoat it:
    I’m not okay.

    I’m not “a little tired.”
    I’m not “just stressed.”
    I’m not “overthinking.”
    I’m drowning in my thoughts while trying to keep five kids alive, hold down two jobs, manage bills we can barely pay, fight the urge to light another cigarette, and survive a world that feels like it’s falling apart every damn day.

    And somehow, I’m still expected to function. Smile. Clock in. Teach. Cook. Comfort. Hold it together. Be the calm one.

    But today, I need to say it out loud — I am not okay.
    And guess what? That’s okay, too.

    This isn’t weakness. This is survival.

    We live in a world where moms are expected to be therapists, teachers, chefs, chauffeurs, nurses, and emotional punching bags — all while pretending we’re “fine.”

    We’re told to take deep breaths and do yoga while our nervous systems are fried and our hearts race over every twitch, headache, or spike in the news.

    We scroll past headlines about war, disease, death, and tragedy — and then still have to flip pancakes like nothing’s wrong.

    That’s not balance.
    That’s emotional whiplash.

    Anxiety doesn’t ask permission to show up.

    Some days, it creeps in quietly.
    Other days, it crashes down like a damn freight train.

    And when you’re already running on fumes, it doesn’t take much — a weird chest sensation, a twitch in your eye, a loud noise from the kids, a late bill, a stupid social media post — to send you into fight-or-flight mode.

    I’ve had moments where I was afraid to sleep.
    Afraid to eat.
    Afraid to be left alone with my own mind.

    And still, I show up.
    Worn-out. Glued together with caffeine and prayers. But I show up.

    So here’s what I’m learning:

    • You don’t have to be “okay” to be worthy of love.
    • You don’t need to be perfect to deserve rest.
    • Crying in the bathroom between tasks does not make you weak — it makes you human.
    • Saying “I can’t handle this right now” is not quitting.
    • Needing help, needing space, needing quiet — that is valid.

    If you’re in a season where your brain feels loud and your body feels heavy — I see you.

    Maybe you’re grieving peace you never really had.
    Maybe your nervous system is tired of surviving on adrenaline.
    Maybe you’re just over it and too damn tired to fake your way through another “I’m fine.”

    I get it.
    And I promise you this:
    You’re not crazy. You’re not weak. You’re not broken.
    You are carrying more than anyone realizes — and still showing up in ways you don’t give yourself credit for.

    So let this be your permission slip:

    To not be okay.
    To sit in the mess for a minute.
    To not chase perfection.
    To not apologize for being human.

    You are doing your best — and that is enough today.

    💬 Let’s talk:

    Have you had one of those “I’m not okay” days lately?
    What do you wish someone would say to you in that moment?

    Drop it in the comments or DM me.
    Let’s stop pretending and start healing — together.

  • What Anxiety Has Stolen From Me — And What I’m Taking Back

    What Anxiety Has Stolen From Me — And What I’m Taking Back

    Trigger Warning: This post discusses anxiety, panic attacks, emotional overwhelm, and personal loss.
    Disclaimer: This post is based on personal experience and is not a substitute for professional medical or mental health advice.

    🖤 The Truth?

    Anxiety has taken so much from me.

    I don’t say that for pity. I say it because it’s real. It’s honest. And if you’re reading this, maybe you feel it too.

    I’ve lost time — so much time — worrying about things that never happened.
    I’ve missed out on joy because I was too focused on what could go wrong.
    I’ve watched moments pass while I was stuck in my head, spiraling.
    I’ve spent nights awake, heart pounding, body buzzing, afraid of sleep itself.
    I’ve said no to plans I really wanted to say yes to — all because anxiety told me I wasn’t safe.

    😔 What It Stole from Me…

    • Sleep: Long nights of checking my pulse, Googling symptoms, trying to breathe through imaginary danger.
    • Peace: My mind never seemed to shut off. Even in silence, it was loud.
    • Confidence: I started questioning everything I felt. Every pain. Every twitch. Every emotion.
    • Moments with My Kids: I was there, but I wasn’t. I was trapped in a storm while smiling through it.
    • Joy: Even on good days, anxiety made me suspicious of the peace. Like I wasn’t allowed to feel okay for too long.

    It took my presence. It made me feel broken.
    It made me think I’d always be like this.

    💪 But Here’s What I’m Taking Back:

    I’m taking back my power.
    I’m reclaiming my voice.
    I’m choosing to track it, name it, and still live through it.

    No, I’m not magically cured.
    No, I don’t always feel brave.
    But I’ve learned to face it with softness and fight it with truth.

    I breathe when it tells me to panic.
    I speak out loud when it makes me feel crazy.
    I show up for myself, even if it’s messy and tired and trembling.

    And I’ve started to feel little pieces of myself come back.

    🌱 Reclaiming My Life Looks Like:

    • Writing these words. Sharing what I’ve lived.
    • Making tools for others who feel like I do.
    • Taking deep breaths that don’t feel forced.
    • Laughing with my kids and actually feeling it.
    • Saying, “I had a hard day,” without shame.
    • Letting joy in — and letting it stay a while.

    I might not be who I was before anxiety. But I’m building someone even stronger.

    Someone real. Someone healing.

    🖤 If You’ve Lost Yourself to Anxiety Too…

    I see you. I AM you.

    And I want you to know: it’s not too late to get pieces of you back.
    Even if it’s slow. Even if it’s one breath at a time.

    You’re not weak. You’re surviving a war no one else sees.

    And you are worth every moment of peace you’re trying to find.

  • Supporting Loved Ones with Anxiety: What to Say and Avoid

    Supporting Loved Ones with Anxiety: What to Say and Avoid

    A Guide for Family and Friends Who Want to Support Without Hurting

    If you love someone who struggles with anxiety — whether it’s your child, partner, sibling, friend, or coworker — I want to thank you for even clicking on this post. That means you care. And caring is the first step.

    But support isn’t always easy, especially if you don’t fully understand what anxiety feels like from the inside. Sometimes, even well-meaning words can hurt.

    So let’s break it down — here’s what not to say, and what you can say instead.

    ❌ What Not to Say to Someone with Anxiety

    These phrases may come from a good place, but they often do more harm than good:

    “Just calm down.”

    If we could, we would. Anxiety isn’t a choice. It’s a physiological and emotional reaction we can’t just shut off like a light switch.

    “It’s all in your head.”

    This one stings. Yes, anxiety starts in the brain, but the symptoms are real. Chest tightness, racing heart, nausea, dizziness — it’s not imaginary.

    “You’re overreacting.”

    This phrase invalidates what the person is feeling. What seems small to you feels huge to us in the moment. It’s not about logic — it’s about panic and fear taking over.

    “You need to stop thinking so much.”

    Easier said than done. People with anxiety often can’t control the flood of thoughts. It’s not about overthinking — it’s about being stuck in survival mode.

    “Other people have it worse.”

    Comparison helps no one. Pain is pain. Dismissing someone’s struggle because others are struggling more doesn’t make anyone feel better — it makes them feel guilty on top of anxious.

    ✅ What You Can Say That Helps

    “I’m here for you. What do you need right now?”

    This is gold. It centers the person and gives them space to ask for what would help most in the moment — even if it’s just silence or sitting with them.

    “I know this feels scary, but you’re safe right now.”

    Reassurance is powerful — without dismissing the feeling. This tells us we’re not crazy for feeling scared, but gently reminds us we’re not in danger.

    “Let’s breathe together.”

    Sometimes, we just need someone to guide us through it. Matching breathing is one of the most supportive things you can do.

    “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

    Remind them that you’re in their corner — that they’re not a burden, and that their anxiety doesn’t push you away.

    💜 How to Be a Supportive Ally to Someone With Anxiety

    • Learn their triggers and ask how to avoid them.
    • Offer calm, not solutions. We don’t always want advice — we want presence.
    • Check in regularly, not just when we’re panicking.
    • Don’t make it about you. (Ex: “I don’t know what to do when you’re like this.” Instead, say: “I want to understand.”)
    • Normalize mental health conversations in everyday life.

    🙏 Final Thought: Show Up, Even When It’s Uncomfortable

    Supporting someone with anxiety isn’t about fixing them.
    It’s about sitting beside them while they feel broken — and reminding them they’re not.

    Your words have power.
    Your presence is healing.
    And sometimes, the most helpful thing you can say is simply:

    “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

    — Shanice, Anxiety Momster

    💜 Want to Help a Loved One Even More?

    Grab my free Peace Over Panic Journal + Anxiety Tracker — it’s the perfect gift to share with someone who’s struggling.

    👉 Download it here
    Includes guided check-ins, breathing logs, coping tools, and space to reflect — whether you’re the one experiencing anxiety or someone supporting them.

  • Breaking Down the ‘Strong Mom’ Stereotype

    Breaking Down the ‘Strong Mom’ Stereotype

    Challenging the Unrealistic Expectations That Are Breaking Us

    ⚠️ Trigger Warning: This post contains honest reflections on mental health, motherhood, emotional burnout, and breaking societal expectations.
    📌 Disclaimer: I am not a mental health professional. This is a personal reflection based on my lived experience. Please seek professional help if you’re struggling.

    Every time someone tells me, “You’re so strong,” I flinch a little inside.
    Not because I’m ungrateful.
    But because sometimes, I don’t want to be strong.
    Sometimes, I’m barely holding it together.

    And yet — moms like me, especially those of us managing anxiety, health conditions, and motherhood — get labeled “strong” like it’s a badge we’re supposed to wear with pride.

    But what if I told you that label is crushing us?

    The “Strong Mom” Stereotype Is a Lie

    Here’s what I know:

    • Strong moms cry in the bathroom while the food is cooking
    • Strong moms carry health anxiety and still show up for work and their kids
    • Strong moms sit in ER parking lots wondering if they’re dying or just panicking
    • Strong moms teach their children to breathe while trying not to fall apart themselves

    But the world only sees the outside.
    The clean house, the packed lunches, the calm voice.
    They don’t see the heart racing, the trembling hands, the exhaustion behind the eyes.

    I’ve lived this. I live it every day.

    I take my meds.
    I monitor my blood sugar.
    I fight through low iron, kidney issues, and the constant worry that something worse is lurking.

    And while I’m fighting all of that, I’m also homeschooling, cleaning, working, and trying to be emotionally available to five kids.

    So yeah — I’m “strong.”

    But I’m also human.
    And I shouldn’t have to hide the human parts just to be accepted.

    What We Really Need

    We don’t need to be strong all the time.
    We need support. Grace. Room to fall apart.
    We need people to stop saying “you’ve got this” and start asking, “How can I help?”

    We need to normalize:

    • Crying in front of our kids
    • Saying “I need a break” without guilt
    • Asking for help
    • Not always being okay

    Because strength isn’t about never breaking down — it’s about being honest when you do.

    Letting Go of the Myth

    If you’re a mom reading this and you feel the weight of that “strong” label — I want you to know something:

    You don’t have to carry it alone.
    You can be real. You can be raw.
    You can be soft and struggling and still be a good mom.
    You can fall apart and still be worthy of love.

    Strong isn’t the goal.
    Whole, supported, and safe — that’s what we deserve.

    — Shanice, Anxiety Momster

    💬 Want to Keep the Conversation Going?

    Grab my free Peace Over Panic Digital Journal + Tracker — built for women like us who carry too much and need a soft place to land.

    👉 Download it here
    Includes daily check-ins, mood logs, affirmations, and room to just be human.

  • A Heartfelt Letter to Anxious Moms for Mother’s Day

    A Heartfelt Letter to Anxious Moms for Mother’s Day

    A Peaceful Letter to Anxious Moms on Mother’s Day

    ⚠️ Trigger Warning: This post gently touches on anxiety, motherhood, and emotional vulnerability.
    📌 Disclaimer: I’m not a mental health professional — just a mom sharing her heart.

    Somewhere right now, a mom is holding a cup of cold coffee, mentally making five lists while wiping away tears she hasn’t told anyone about.

    And if that mom is you — this is your reminder:
    💜 You’re doing more than enough.
    💜 You’re already worthy.
    💜 And you deserve peace today, too.

    💐 Today, Let’s Pause

    Mother’s Day isn’t just about perfect pictures or gift bags with fancy bows.
    It’s about moments like:

    • Quiet breathing before the house wakes up
    • Tiny hands hugging you tighter than usual
    • Letting yourself rest without guilt
    • Laughing even though you cried last night

    🌿 You’re Still a Good Mom If…

    • You need breaks
    • You say “not right now”
    • You don’t love every moment
    • You’re healing while parenting
    • You cry and show up anyway

    Anxiety doesn’t erase your love.
    It just makes you more intentional about holding on to the good.

    💌 A Love Letter to Moms Like Us

    To the mom with the full heart and tired spirit —
    I see you.

    You are the safe place.
    The breath of calm during the storm.
    The reason someone feels deeply loved.

    And even on the days when you don’t feel “together”…
    your presence is still a gift.

    🧘‍♀️ A Simple Practice for Today:

    Take 3 deep breaths.
    Hand on your heart.
    Say:

    “I am enough. Right now. Just as I am.”
    “I don’t have to do it all today.”
    “I deserve peace, too.”

    💜 Wishing You a Gentle, Peaceful Mother’s Day

    If today feels joyful — soak it up.
    If today feels hard — breathe through it.
    Either way, you are loved, seen, and appreciated.

    Happy Mother’s Day 💐
    From one anxious mom to another.

    — Shanice, Anxiety Momster

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