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