Anxiety is a word we often hear, but unless you've lived with it, it’s hard to grasp just how consuming it can be. It's more than just being worried or stressed—it's an all-encompassing feeling that can grip you out of nowhere and hold on tight. I remember a day not too long ago when anxiety wrapped itself around me in a way that was nearly paralyzing.
I was sitting in my car in a grocery store parking lot, the sun setting, casting long shadows across the pavement. What should have been a simple errand felt like an insurmountable task. I had a list in hand—just a few items—but my heart was pounding so hard I could hear it echoing in my ears. My mind was spiraling with “what-ifs.” What if I saw someone I knew and had to make small talk? What if I forgot something crucial on my list and had to come back? What if people were looking at me and could tell I didn’t belong, that something was wrong with me?
These thoughts might sound trivial to some, but for anyone who has dealt with anxiety, they know that anxiety doesn’t play by the rules of logic. It takes small concerns and twists them until they become overwhelming. I sat there for what felt like an eternity, my stomach in knots, a sense of dread pooling in my chest. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, like the walls were closing in on me, even though I was sitting in the wide-open space of a parking lot.
It wasn't about the groceries. It wasn’t about anything specific, really. Anxiety has a way of magnifying the most mundane moments, turning them into mountains that feel impossible to climb. I wanted to get out of the car, to move, to do anything that would make this crushing weight of worry go away, but I couldn’t. I was stuck, held captive by my own mind.
Anxiety is a battle that happens in the silence of our minds, where our thoughts are loudest. It can make us feel isolated, like no one else could possibly understand what we’re going through. It turns the ordinary into the extraordinary—extraordinarily frightening, extraordinarily exhausting. When you're in the midst of it, anxiety can tie your stomach in knots over things that other people wouldn't even think twice about. It can make you worry to the highest degree, over scenarios that may never come to pass. You end up carrying a burden of dread that leaves you feeling drained, both mentally and physically.
I think back to that moment in the car, and it strikes me how many people might be going through something similar right now—feeling overwhelmed by life’s simplest tasks, feeling trapped by fears that don't make sense to anyone else. It’s in these moments that anxiety feels like a thief, stealing your peace, your joy, and sometimes even your hope.
But that day wasn’t the end of the story. In that moment of panic, I took a deep breath. And then another. And another. I closed my eyes and tried to ground myself. I tried to remember that anxiety is a feeling, not a fact. It’s a wave that comes, but waves also recede. I reminded myself that this was a moment—a painful, difficult moment—but just a moment nonetheless. And moments pass.
I started to focus on what I could control: the rhythm of my breath, the texture of the steering wheel, the coolness of the air blowing from the car’s vents. I didn’t feel strong, and I certainly didn’t feel brave, but sometimes courage looks like small steps. Sometimes, it looks like choosing to try, even when everything inside you is screaming to retreat.
I wish I could say that I got out of the car that day and went about my grocery shopping with ease, but that’s not what happened. I stayed in the car for a while, letting the worst of the storm pass. Then, I called a friend. I didn’t try to explain everything; I just needed to hear a familiar voice, to remind myself that I wasn’t alone. That call made the difference. My friend didn’t have all the answers—she didn’t need to. Just knowing someone was there on the other end, ready to listen and remind me I wasn’t losing my mind, was enough.
Anxiety tells us to isolate, to hide, to pretend we’re fine when we’re not. But there’s so much power in reaching out, in saying, “I’m struggling, and I need help.” It doesn’t always solve the problem, but it does remind us that we’re not meant to face these battles alone. There’s a profound healing that comes when we allow others into our brokenness, when we stop trying to fight the silent battle by ourselves.
Anxiety might not disappear overnight. It’s a journey that often involves setbacks and small victories. It requires patience with ourselves, a willingness to seek help, and sometimes a lot of trial and error to find what works. But there is hope. There’s hope in knowing that we don’t have to have it all together, that we can have bad days and still be moving forward. There’s hope in community, in vulnerability, and in knowing that anxiety doesn’t get the final word over our lives.
So, to anyone who is reading this and feeling the weight of anxiety, I want you to know you’re not alone. You are not broken beyond repair. You are seen, you are loved, and there is a way through this. It might be one small step at a time, but every step counts. Every deep breath, every phone call, every time you choose to face the day is a victory. And with each step, we move a little closer to healing, a little closer to hope.