Anxiety Momster

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

Tag: Panic disorder

  • I Didn’t Want to Be Seen — But I Needed to Be Heard

    I Didn’t Want to Be Seen — But I Needed to Be Heard

    There are days where I don’t even recognize myself.

    Not because of how I look, but because of how tightly I’m holding on — to my breath, to my chest, to my thoughts.
    Not screaming.
    Not crying.
    Just trying to survive whatever this is.

    That’s what anxiety feels like sometimes. It’s quiet.
    It doesn’t always show up like a meltdown.
    Sometimes it’s the stillness before it hits.
    Sometimes it’s the way your body curls inward, like it’s trying to keep your soul from slipping out.

    I’ve had moments where I froze in public — chest tightening, ears ringing, heart pounding in a way no one else could hear. And I kept standing there like everything was fine.

    But it wasn’t.

    And here’s the part that hurts —
    I felt ashamed for it.
    Ashamed for having a moment.
    Ashamed that I couldn’t “get it together.”
    Ashamed that I didn’t even know what triggered it.

    But that shame? That’s the lie anxiety tells us.

    You are not weak for freezing.
    You are not dramatic for struggling.
    You are not a burden for needing time, space, or breath.

    You are human.
    And if you’re like me — a mom, a partner, someone who “has to be strong” for everyone else — you might feel like you’re not allowed to fall apart.

    But I’m giving you permission right now:
    You are allowed to not be okay.
    You are allowed to have moments.
    You are allowed to come undone without losing your worth.

    I still have days where I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread.
    But I remind myself: even the thread is holy.
    Even the breath I take between panic and peace is a victory.

    So if no one else told you today —
    You are doing enough.
    You are not alone.
    And you don’t have to explain what your anxiety looks like to anyone.

    Some of the strongest people are the ones silently fighting battles no one sees.

    I see you.
    And you are not invisible here.

    💬 Tell Me…

    What does anxiety look like for you?
    Drop it in the comments — or message me if you need a safe space to talk. You don’t have to carry it alone. 💜

  • 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.

  • A Day in the Life of a Hypochondriac

    A Day in the Life of a Hypochondriac

    📍 Trigger Warning & Disclaimer

    Trigger Warning: This post discusses health anxiety, panic attacks, and intrusive thoughts. If these topics are triggering for you, please take care while reading.
    Disclaimer: I’m not a mental health professional. This post is based on my personal experiences with health anxiety and hypochondria. If you’re struggling, please reach out to a licensed therapist or healthcare provider.

    Let me take you through what it’s really like.

    It’s 6:00 AM. My alarm goes off, and before my feet even hit the floor, I’m already scanning my body.

    • Did I feel a flutter in my chest?
    • Why does my head feel weird—kind of heavy, kind of floaty?
    • Is my jaw tight? Is that a sign of something?

    By 6:50 AM, I’m moving fast. Getting the kids dressed, finding missing shoes, packing bags, and making sure everyone’s out the door to my mom’s house next door so she can cook them breakfast. My husband’s up too—he works from home like me—and we’re both in that early-morning, tired hustle.

    But inside, I’m already spiraling.
    That random flutter in my chest—
    That sudden, weird head feeling like I’m about to pass out—
    That tension in my jaw—
    It all feels like something big, something scary.

    Mid-Morning: The Spiral Gets Louder

    I sit down at my desk, trying to focus on work, but it’s like my body won’t let me.

    I feel a flutter in my chest.
    My head feels like it’s full of pressure—heavy, foggy, off.
    My jaw aches on one side, and my arms feel weak.

    The thoughts hit fast and hard:

    • What if I’m having a heart attack?
    • What if I’m having a stroke?
    • What if I black out while I’m working and no one notices?
    • What if this is the time something really happens?

    I try to breathe through it, but the fear is so loud. Every little symptom feels like a warning sign, and my brain refuses to believe it’s “just anxiety.”

    Afternoon: Holding It Together (Barely)

    I check on the kids at my mom’s, give them hugs, try to smile and act normal, but my mind is still screaming:

    • That flutter again.
    • That dizzy, off-balance feeling in my head.
    • That tension in my shoulder blade.

    I sit back down at my desk, and the cycle starts again.

    • Is this the start of a heart attack?
    • Am I going to have a stroke at 35?
    • What if I’m about to collapse in front of the kids?

    I work, but I’m barely holding it together. The fear is always there, waiting.

    Evening: The Crash

    By the time the day is over, I’m done.

    Not from the work itself.
    Not from the kids.
    But from the fight—the constant, exhausting battle with my own mind.

    The flutters in my chest are still there.
    The weird head feelings are still there.
    The fear is always there.

    I sit down and try to unwind, but the panic lurks in the back of my mind:

    • What if I don’t wake up tomorrow?
    • What if I have a heart attack in my sleep?
    • What if this is the night it all goes wrong?

    This is my reality. This is a day in the life of a hypochondriac.

    And if you’re living this too—
    If you’re exhausted from the fight—
    If you feel like you’re barely making it through each day—
    I see you.

    You’re not alone.
    We’re still here.
    We’re still breathing.
    And that’s enough for today.

  • The Fear That Lives With Me

    The Fear That Lives With Me

    🛑 Trigger Warning: This post contains candid reflections on anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and health-related fear.
    📝 Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional. Everything shared is based on my personal experiences living with anxiety. Always consult a licensed professional for medical advice or treatment.

    There’s a fear that never really leaves. It doesn’t knock before it shows up — it just moves in, stretches out, and makes itself at home in my chest. Sometimes, it’s quiet. Other times, it screams.

    Living with anxiety means carrying an invisible weight every day. It’s waking up wondering, “What if today is the day something bad happens?” It’s the constant body scanning, the racing thoughts, the overthinking, the what-ifs that spiral until they become worst-case scenarios.

    It’s not just being scared. It’s feeling hijacked by fear that doesn’t match the moment.

    I could be sitting at my desk, answering emails — and suddenly, my heart flutters. My brain screams: “Is this a heart attack?”
    I could feel a random ache, a weird tingle, a single skipped heartbeat — and suddenly I’m Googling symptoms like my life depends on it.

    And the worst part? I know it’s probably anxiety.
    I know I’ve had these symptoms before.
    But that little voice always whispers, “What if this time it’s not?”

    This fear lives with me.
    It walks beside me when I’m with my kids.
    It rides along when I go to the store.
    It lays next to me when I try to sleep.
    And even when I’m having a good day… it peeks around the corner, just to remind me it’s still there.

    But I keep going.
    Even with the fear.
    Even when my hands shake and my heart races and my thoughts scream danger.
    Because I’ve survived every anxious moment so far.
    And that means something.

    If you’re living with this kind of fear too — you’re not weak. You’re not broken. You’re surviving a battle most people can’t see.
    And damn it, that’s strength.

  • The Silent Panic in the Middle of a Family Gathering

    The Silent Panic in the Middle of a Family Gathering

    📍 Trigger Warning & Disclaimer

    Trigger Warning: This post discusses personal experiences with anxiety, panic attacks, and mental health struggles that may be sensitive or triggering for some readers. Please take care of yourself while reading.
    Disclaimer: I’m not a mental health professional. This post is based on my own experiences. Please reach out to a licensed therapist or healthcare provider for professional support.

    You ever been surrounded by people—your people—and feel like you’re barely holding it together?

    Yeah, that’s me.

    I could be sitting there, smiling, nodding, trying to act like I’m present, but inside? I’m a mess. My heart’s racing, my stomach feels like it’s flipping, my skin is hot and clammy, and I’m fighting the urge to bolt out the door.

    But I stay, because I don’t want to ruin the moment. I don’t want to be “the one” who always has something going on. The one who has to leave early. The one who’s not okay.

    I sit there and pretend like everything’s fine, like I’m listening to the conversation when really, I’m trying to remember how to breathe. My mind is racing with thoughts like:

    • “Am I about to pass out?”
    • “Do they notice something’s wrong?”
    • “If I stand up, will I faint?”
    • “What if this is a heart attack?”

    I hate that I feel like this. It makes me feel weak—like I should be able to control this, but I can’t. And the guilt? It eats me alive.

    Because I should be laughing with my family, not silently spiraling in my own head.

    But here’s the truth I’m learning:
    Anxiety doesn’t give a damn where you are. It doesn’t care if it’s a birthday party, a holiday dinner, or a random Tuesday night at home. It shows up when it wants to, and it takes over.

    What I’m also learning is that it’s okay to feel it. It’s okay to step outside for some air, to sit quietly for a moment, to not be the life of the party.

    I’m not broken. I’m not weak. I’m just someone living with anxiety—and doing the best I fucking can.

    And if you’ve ever felt this too, I see you. You’re not alone.

    Let’s promise each other this:
    Next time we’re in the middle of a family gathering, and that silent panic creeps in, we won’t beat ourselves up. We’ll breathe. We’ll let it pass. We’ll do what we need to do—and we’ll remind ourselves that we’re still worthy of love, laughter, and a seat at the table.

  • Everyday Exposure: What It Takes Just to Function with Anxiety

    Everyday Exposure: What It Takes Just to Function with Anxiety

    Trigger Warning: This post discusses panic attacks, agoraphobia, and exposure struggles.
    Disclaimer: This is based on personal experience. It is not medical advice.

    You’d be surprised what counts as “brave” when you live with anxiety.
    For some people, exposure therapy means skydiving or confronting trauma.

    For me?
    It’s stepping outside.
    It’s getting in the shower.
    It’s riding in a car.
    It’s sitting in a waiting room.

    These aren’t simple daily tasks — they’re triggers. And I face them over and over again just to live.

    🚿 Showers Aren’t Simple

    Most people shower to feel refreshed.
    Me? I sometimes panic in the water.
    Something about the echo, the steam, the stillness — it turns into a trap for my thoughts.

    So my husband showers with me.
    Not because I can’t shower alone… but because it makes me feel safer.
    Because being alone with my body and my breath can send me spiraling.

    🚗 Driving Isn’t Freedom — It’s Fear

    I don’t drive.
    I panic if I’m in a car alone.
    Not because I don’t know how — but because anxiety convinces me I won’t make it.

    My husband drives me everywhere.
    To appointments. To stores. Even just to get food.
    He goes into the buildings with me. Waits in the car if needed.
    Because I still haven’t fully learned how to face the outside world alone.

    Not yet.

    🧠 This Is Exposure Therapy — Just My Version

    I’m not doing grand public speaking events or therapy role-plays.
    I’m trying to go outside without shaking.
    To ride in the car without checking my pulse.
    To exist in the world even when everything inside says “danger.”

    So I prepare.

    • I bring water
    • I bring a calming object or oil
    • I wear soft clothes
    • I breathe slowly
    • I keep my husband nearby
    • I repeat: “I’m safe. This is just a feeling.”

    💜 What I’m Working Toward

    I want independence.
    I want to go to appointments without a shadow.
    I want to feel safe in the world again.

    But right now?
    The fact that I still try every day — even in small ways — means something.

    • If I ride with him and not alone? Still brave.
    • If I leave the house at all? Still healing.
    • If I panic but keep going? Still winning.

    🖤 If This Is You Too…

    Please know: You are not weak.
    You are not lazy.
    You are not “too dependent.”

    You are surviving something most people wouldn’t understand.
    And you’re doing it one breath, one ride, one shower at a time.

  • My Smartwatch Fed My Anxiety More Than It Helped

    My Smartwatch Fed My Anxiety More Than It Helped

    My Truth About BP Monitors, Pulse Ox, and Data Overload

    Let me say this first:
    Smart tech is amazing.
    It gives us power, access, data, and awareness we never had before.
    But if you live with anxiety — especially health anxiety — it can also become a trap.

    I’ve worn the smartwatches.
    Used the pulse ox.
    Tracked my blood pressure at home.
    Monitored sleep, steps, stress levels, glucose spikes, and heart rate dips.

    And while all of that can be helpful… it can also feed the fear.

    ⚡ The Blessing Part:

    • My smart watch helped me notice my heart rate patterns during panic
    • My BP monitor taught me that my pressure rises during stress — but also goes back down
    • My oximeter gave me peace during COVID waves when I needed to confirm I was okay
    • My apps helped me track patterns, especially for sugar, iron, and anxiety triggers
    • I’ve been able to show real data to my doctor instead of saying “I just don’t feel right”

    Without this tech, I’d feel blind sometimes.
    But with it? I feel seen. Measurable. Trackable. Explainable.

    Until… I spiral.

    😩 And Then Comes the Curse…

    • Checking my heart rate every 5 minutes because I “felt something”
    • Freaking out over a BP reading that was slightly high after crying
    • Obsessing over a pulse ox drop that was 97% instead of 99%
    • Constantly comparing today’s numbers to yesterday’s and trying to predict danger
    • Googling every result like it’s the end of the world

    Because anxiety doesn’t see data — it sees danger.

    And when smart tech becomes an obsession instead of a tool… it can ruin your peace.

    🧠 Smart Doesn’t Always Mean Safe (Mentally)

    There were days I couldn’t stop checking.
    I’d take my BP four times in an hour.
    Watch my HR on my wrist in real-time like it was a countdown to doom.
    I wasn’t being cautious — I was chasing control.

    And it stole more peace than it gave me.

    💜 What I’m Learning Now

    • Use the tools — but don’t live by them
    • One reading doesn’t mean crisis
    • My body can have spikes, drops, weird rhythms — and still be OK
    • My brain loves patterns, but not all patterns are meaningful
    • Sometimes the healthiest thing I can do… is take the watch off

    Smart tech isn’t the enemy.
    But for someone with anxiety, it has to be used mindfully, not obsessively.

    🖤 If You’re Here Too…

    If you’ve ever sat in silence watching your Fitbit like it holds your fate — I see you.
    If you’ve Googled a 95% oxygen reading like it was a death sentence — me too.
    If you’ve both thanked and hated your gadgets in the same day — you’re not alone.

    You’re not overreacting. You’re trying to feel safe.

    Just remember: You are not your numbers.
    And peace sometimes starts when we look less, not more.

  • 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.

  • Today Was a High Functioning Anxiety Day—But I Still Showed Up

    Today Was a High Functioning Anxiety Day—But I Still Showed Up

    ⚠️ Trigger Warning: This post discusses health anxiety, panic, and fear around daily tasks.
    📌 Disclaimer: This blog shares personal experiences and is not intended to replace professional medical advice.

    Today was a high functioning anxiety day.

    That means I still did things—I got out of bed, I worked from home, I showered—but it felt like dragging myself through quicksand the whole time.

    I woke up already in panic mode.
    My chest felt off.
    My thoughts were racing.
    And the first thing I did?
    Check my heart rate. Again. And again. And again.

    Scared to Shower, But I Didn’t Want to Be Alone

    Even something as “simple” as a shower felt scary today.
    What if I got lightheaded?
    What if I panicked with no one nearby?

    So I asked my husband to shower with me. Not to fix me, just to be there.
    And he was.

    That’s what surviving looks like sometimes.

    I Still Worked—But It Wasn’t Easy

    I work from home, and I logged in like always.
    But today? I took a lot of breaks.
    I had to step away to breathe, to cry, to calm myself down.

    Every ping, every message, every task felt heavier than usual.
    But I did it. Slowly. Anxiously.
    And that still counts.

    This is what a high functioning anxiety day looks like for me:
    Smiling on the outside.
    Fighting for calm on the inside.

    I’m Not Lazy. I’m Overwhelmed.

    Some people will never understand this kind of anxiety.
    But if you’re reading this, I know you do.

    You know what it’s like to be afraid of your own body.
    To second-guess every twinge, every tight breath, every heart flutter.
    To survive an entire day without anyone knowing you were in panic mode the whole time.

    If today was that kind of day for you too—this post is for you.

    You’re not dramatic.
    You’re not weak.
    You’re just doing your best with a brain that never shuts up.

  • 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

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