Anxiety Momster

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

Tag: mindfulness

  • 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: Even on My Hardest Days, I Show Up

    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

  • Dear Anxiety: I Am Stronger Than You Think

    Dear Anxiety,

    You’ve seen me at my lowest.
    You’ve watched me collapse under the weight of fear.
    You’ve seen the nights I couldn’t sleep, the mornings I couldn’t move, the days I thought I couldn’t survive.

    And yet — here I am.

    Still breathing.
    Still fighting.
    Still standing.

    You underestimate me.
    You think that because I feel fear, I am fear.
    You think that because I cry, I am broken.
    You think that because I stumble, I’ll never rise.

    But every tear, every panic attack, every hard moment I’ve survived has made me stronger.

    Not because they didn’t hurt —
    but because they did, and I’m still here anyway.

    I am not weak because of you.
    I am stronger because of everything you’ve thrown at me.

    I have scars, yes.
    But scars mean healing.
    Scars mean survival.
    Scars mean I fought through it.

    And I will keep fighting.
    Not because it’s easy.
    But because I know I deserve the life you keep trying to steal from me.

    I am stronger than you think, Anxiety.
    And I’m just getting started.

    — 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: Today, You Won — But I’m Still Here

    Dear Anxiety,

    Today, you won.
    You pulled me under before I even had a chance to catch my breath.
    You tightened your grip around my chest and flooded my mind with fear.
    You made every small task feel impossible, every breath feel heavy.

    Today, you convinced me I wasn’t safe, even though nothing around me had changed.
    You made my own body feel foreign, threatening, fragile.
    You tricked me into doubting myself — again.

    And you know what?
    I’m not going to pretend you didn’t get the better of me today.
    You did.

    I canceled plans.
    I cried in the bathroom.
    I second-guessed every heartbeat, every thought, every moment.

    But here’s what you didn’t take:
    I’m still here.

    You won the battle today,
    but you didn’t break me.
    You didn’t erase me.
    You didn’t take away the part of me that’s stubborn enough to get back up tomorrow.

    You are loud, Anxiety.
    You are heavy.
    You are relentless.

    But so am I.

    One bad day doesn’t define me.
    One hard moment doesn’t erase all the progress I’ve made.
    One lost battle doesn’t mean I’ve lost the war.

    I’m still breathing.
    I’m still standing.
    I’m still fighting.

    You may have won today.
    But I’m not done.

    Not even close.

    — 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: You Are Not My Truth

    Dear Anxiety,

    You speak with such authority sometimes.
    Like you know me better than I know myself.
    Like your fear-filled stories are facts.
    Like your panic-driven warnings are the ultimate truth.

    But they’re not.

    You are not my truth.

    You are fear.
    You are worst-case-scenarios.
    You are doubt dressed up as protection.

    You tell me my body isn’t safe — but my body is stronger than you know.
    You tell me I can’t handle hard things — but I already have, over and over again.
    You tell me I’m broken — but healing is happening, even in ways I can’t always see.

    You are loud.
    You are convincing.
    But you are not right.

    I don’t have to believe every thought you send swirling through my mind.
    I don’t have to obey every warning you scream into my chest.

    I can listen.
    I can notice.
    But I don’t have to agree.

    I am learning to tell the difference between you and me.

    You are not my truth.

    I am.

    And my truth is this:
    I am capable.
    I am resilient.
    I am healing.

    And no matter how loud you get,
    my truth will always be louder.

    — 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: Some Days, I Just Need to Cry

    Dear Anxiety,

    Some days, fighting you feels too heavy.
    Some days, carrying all this fear, all this tension, all this weight — feels like too much.

    And on those days, I don’t want advice.
    I don’t want affirmations.
    I don’t want to hear how strong I am.

    I just need to cry.

    Not because I’m weak.
    Not because I’m giving up.
    But because crying is a release that my body, my heart, and my soul sometimes desperately need.

    I don’t owe you constant strength, Anxiety.
    I don’t owe you constant toughness.
    I don’t have to be a warrior every single second.

    Some days, I’m just a human who’s tired.
    Who’s scared.
    Who’s overwhelmed.

    And today, I let myself cry.
    Without shame.
    Without judgment.
    Without apology.

    Because healing doesn’t always look brave.
    Sometimes it just looks like tears falling quietly in the dark —
    and still waking up tomorrow to try again.

    I’m not weak for crying.
    I’m strong because I let myself feel.

    And no matter how many tears fall,
    you still don’t break me.

    — Shanice

  • Dear Anxiety: I Miss Who I Used to Be

    Dear Anxiety,

    Sometimes, late at night, when the world is quiet and my mind won’t stop spinning,
    I think about the person I was before you took over.
    The girl who laughed without second-guessing it.
    The woman who made plans without fear creeping in.
    The version of me who didn’t feel broken all the time.

    I miss her.

    I miss waking up without immediately checking my body for signs of danger.
    I miss trusting a good day without questioning if it’s “too good to be true.”
    I miss feeling free in ways that now feel foreign to me.

    You changed me, Anxiety.
    You made me cautious, scared, small.
    You made me doubt my own body, my own mind, my own instincts.

    And there’s a part of me that still grieves for who I used to be.
    For the easy smiles.
    For the carefree moments.
    For the peace I didn’t even know I had back then.

    But here’s something you didn’t take:
    My ability to grow.
    My stubborn hope.
    My strength to rebuild — even if it looks different now.

    Maybe I’ll never be exactly who I used to be.
    Maybe I’m not supposed to be.
    Maybe the girl I miss made room for the woman who fights every single day to stay standing.

    Maybe that’s the point.

    So yeah, I miss her sometimes.
    But I’m learning to love who I’m becoming too.
    Even if it’s messy.
    Even if it’s hard.
    Even if I carry scars.

    I’m still here.
    And you don’t get to write the ending of my story.

    I do.

    — 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: Healing Doesn’t Look Like I Thought It Would

    Dear Anxiety,

    When I first started trying to heal, I thought it would be a straight line.
    I thought I’d hit milestones, check off boxes, and eventually leave you behind like a bad memory.

    But healing with you isn’t neat.
    It’s messy.
    It’s confusing.
    It’s two steps forward, three steps back, and sometimes just sitting still and surviving.

    Some days, I feel strong.
    Other days, I feel like the same scared, exhausted person I was at my worst.

    Healing doesn’t mean you’re gone.
    It means I’m learning how to live without letting you control every part of me.

    I thought healing would feel like a victory parade.
    Instead, it feels like a quiet, stubborn decision I make over and over again:
    I will not give up on myself.

    Even when you scream.
    Even when fear clouds my mind.
    Even when doubt seeps in.

    Healing isn’t loud.
    It isn’t obvious.
    Sometimes it’s as small as breathing through one more panic wave.
    Sometimes it’s celebrating the moments you didn’t completely ruin.

    And that’s enough for me.

    I’m healing.
    Messy, imperfect, beautiful healing.

    You don’t get to take that from me.

    — Shanice

  • 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. 🖤

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