When Anxiety Tries to Win—and Doesn’t

So far anxiety has had its claws dug into me every single day this week.

This afternoon, it came on so fiercely that I almost gave in. I almost let myself retreat to my bedroom, sink into the bed, pull the blanket over my head, and surrender to the darkness. It would have been easy. So very easy.

I had therapy yesterday, and the entire session I was anxious. I can always tell when I’m anxious during therapy because I ramble on and on to that lady. Forty-five straight minutes of rambling. Somehow, though, I managed to tell her about my anxiety attacks and where I’ve realized they’re coming from. She gave me the usual tips and tricks to calm myself down.

And as we all know, those tips and tricks only work if you actually use them.

A lot of times, I don’t. I couldn’t even tell you why.

But today I put on my shoes, grabbed the dog’s leash, and went for a walk. I knew the sunlight and the breeze against my cheeks would help. And they did. I walked for 25 minutes of my hour lunch break and felt amazing.

That is… until I turned back into my driveway and walked through the front door.

The anxiety was right back.

Right now, work feels heavy and unknown. I begged God for this job for two years because I believed it would be easy. I thought I could handle it without struggle. That hasn’t been the case at all. This position is pushing me and stretching me in ways I wasn’t prepared for, and I feel foolish for ever thinking it wouldn’t be hard.

But my mother once told me that despite raising four girls, she ain’t raise no pussies.

So here I am, y’all. Choosing to take this challenge head-on.

I made a list. I gathered a game plan. I decided that this job can either break me or prepare me for my next move. And I know one thing for certain: I’m not easily broken.

Today, I’m celebrating something small but significant. I was aware of my triggers. I made a conscious choice not to spiral. Instead of disappearing into a deep hole of depression and self-pity, I got up. I got out the door. I took the walk. I breathed. I grounded myself.

And when I came home, I didn’t sink back into that feeling and wear it like a second skin. I thought about it, but I didn’t.

I did more breathing. I made a cup of peppermint tea. And I stood in my kitchen, twerking to the Detroit mixes playlist I’ve been working on. Because sometimes survival looks like movement, music, and refusing to let anxiety have the last word.

Today, anxiety didn’t win. And I’m proud of that.

What’s one small thing you’ve done lately to take care of yourself, even when it felt hard?

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