Anxiety Momster

Tag: writing

  • 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.

  • Conquering Anxiety: A Workbook for Empowerment

    Conquering Anxiety: A Workbook for Empowerment

    ⚠️ Trigger Warning: This post discusses mental health and anxiety-related thoughts that may be distressing to some readers. Please proceed with care.

    📌 Disclaimer: I am not a licensed therapist or medical provider. I share personal experiences, tools, and reflections that have helped me manage anxiety. Always consult a professional for medical or mental health guidance.

    Some days, anxiety whispers.
    Other days, it screams.

    Mine has said things like:
    “You’re not a good mom.”
    “You’re falling apart.”
    “Everyone’s tired of you.”

    Sound familiar?
    Yeah… I thought so.

    I created this workbook because anxiety’s voice had taken up too much damn space in my head — and I needed a way to fight back. A way to talk louder. A way to come home to myself.

    That’s where “You vs. Anxiety” was born.

    It starts with just one page — the one I’m sharing with you today.
    A page that says: “I see you. I hear what anxiety says. But here’s what I say back.”

    ✨ Preview Page: “Anxiety Says…”

    This isn’t just a worksheet. It’s a shift.
    From fear to truth. From panic to power.

    🖤 View the free preview page here when you subscribe

    You’re not broken. You’re not weak. You’re just someone who’s been fighting battles no one else can see.
    And now — you’re learning how to fight differently.

    The full workbook is coming soon. For now, I hope this first page reminds you of who the hell you are underneath all the noise.

    We’re not aiming for perfect here — just peace.

    — Anxiety Momster

  • 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

  • Dear Anxiety, Stop Making Me Afraid to Live

    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

  • Dear Anxiety: I Forgive Myself for the Bad Days

    Dear Anxiety,

    For a long time, I hated myself for the days you won.
    The days I couldn’t get out of bed.
    The days I canceled plans.
    The days I cried and shook and felt like a burden to everyone around me.

    I carried so much shame.
    I thought every bad day meant I was failing.
    That if I was strong enough, I wouldn’t feel this way.

    But that’s not true.

    Bad days aren’t failures.
    They’re part of healing.
    They’re part of living.

    So today, I’m choosing forgiveness.

    I forgive myself for the days I was too tired to fight.
    I forgive myself for the panic attacks, the canceled plans, the missed moments.
    I forgive myself for surviving the best way I knew how at the time.

    You don’t get to weaponize my past against me anymore.

    Every hard day I lived through is a testament to my strength — not my weakness.

    I am allowed to have bad days.
    I am allowed to be human.
    I am allowed to forgive myself.

    I am proud of how far I’ve come, even if the road was messy.

    And I’m not carrying shame with me anymore.

    — Shanice

  • 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