Anxiety Momster

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

Tag: self-care

  • 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 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. 🖤

  • Dear Anxiety: You Don’t Get to Steal My Joy

    Dear Anxiety,

    You have stolen enough from me.
    Moments that should have been filled with laughter — you filled with fear.
    Milestones that should have felt like victories — you shadowed with doubt.
    Ordinary days that could have been peaceful — you twisted into battles.

    You tried to make me believe that being happy was dangerous.
    That if I smiled too big or laughed too loud, something bad would happen.
    You trained me to brace for impact even when nothing was wrong.

    But I’m starting to see you for what you really are:
    You’re a thief.
    You sneak in quietly, tiptoeing into my good moments, and whisper “what if” until the joy fades away.

    Not anymore.

    I’m reclaiming my moments — messy, imperfect, beautiful moments.
    I’m letting myself feel joy even if my hands are still a little shaky.
    I’m letting myself laugh even if fear is waiting around the corner.
    I’m letting myself live even when you tell me it’s not safe to.

    Because joy is not something I have to earn by worrying enough.
    Joy is not something you get to dangle in front of me like a trick.

    Joy is mine.
    It always has been.
    It always will be.

    You might still show up, uninvited and unwanted.
    You might still try to plant seeds of fear in the middle of my happiness.
    But I’m not giving you the power to steal from me anymore.

    I choose to protect my joy.
    I choose to celebrate my good days without apology.
    I choose to believe that I deserve peace — even when you’re screaming that I don’t.

    You don’t get to win.
    Not today.
    Not tomorrow.
    Not ever.

    — 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.

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