Living With Anxiety, Not Defined by It

As my recent blogs have focused on anxiety in children and teens, I thought I’d take a moment to share something more personal—my own lived experience. Because anxiety isn’t just a clinical topic for me. It’s a part of my story.

Childhood Anxiety, Before I Had a Name for It

I’ve lived with anxiety for most of my life. I just didn’t always know what it was.

Looking back, I can see how it showed up even in childhood—but it wasn’t until middle school that I began to recognize it for what it was. I moved a lot as a kid, and each “first day” at a new school felt like walking into a storm without an umbrella. My heart would race. My stomach would twist. Everything in me wanted to turn and run, but of course, I had to push through.

Performance Pressure, Perfectionism, and Panic

Later came ballet—something I truly loved. I poured my heart into it. But before every performance, no matter how many times I had danced before, my body would betray me. I’d shake with fear. My hands would sweat, my chest tighten.

Yet as soon as I stepped onto the stage and the music started, something amazing happened: I found my flow. The fear melted away. For those few minutes, I was free.

But anxiety didn’t stop there. It followed me into the classroom.

• Timed essays? Absolute nightmare.

• Testing? Forget it. The fear of getting answers wrong—or worse, not being “good enough”—was overwhelming.

That’s when I really started noticing the connection between anxiety and perfectionism. And honestly, ballet probably planted some of those seeds, too. The constant striving, the pressure to get it “just right.”

The Overthinking Spiral and the Weight of Motherhood

It wasn’t just about school or performances—it was everywhere. I overthought everything. Replayed conversations in my head. Worried about what people thought of me. And as I grew older, that anxiety followed me into motherhood.

Nothing prepares you for those newborn days—the ones when your baby cries and you’ve tried everything. You’re sleep-deprived, your hormones are all over the place, and you start to wonder: What if something is wrong? What if I’m doing everything wrong?

That worry became gut-wrenching fear the day my youngest split his head open… in the children's area of a bookstore, of all places. It felt like my world cracked open. The “what ifs” spiraled fast.

And then came the anxiety of parenting—times two. Their anxiety triggered my own. The pressure to raise “happy” and “healthy” kids when you’re still trying to hold yourself together? It’s a lot. And of course, relationships added another layer. If a friend didn’t text me back for a few days, I’d spiral—Did I say something wrong? Is she mad at me?

Can anyone relate?

The MRI That Changed Everything

Then came my first MRI—and my first true panic attack. I went alone, without music, without any mental or emotional prep. Lying still in that narrow tube, I was convinced I was going to die. My perfectionist brain kicked in: You can’t fail an MRI. Don’t move. Don’t mess this up.

The more I tried to stay still, the more my body betrayed me.

That moment unlocked something new: regular panic attacks. And as a therapist and a woman of faith, I told myself I could beat it. I didn’t need medication. I just needed to pray harder. Work harder. Get tougher. Right?

Wrong.

When I Finally Said Yes to Help

It was my husband—seeing me in that constant state of fear, knowing he couldn’t fix it—who finally looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Please… just try the medication.”

That moment changed everything.

It wasn’t overnight. It took time. Trial and error. But eventually, I found the right one. And suddenly, all the grounding tools I had learned, all the breathing exercises, the prayers—they started to work.

My brain could come back online. My body no longer felt like it was fighting for survival every second. I could sit in stillness without panic. I could truly feel peace again—and know it was real.

What I Know Now

Medication didn’t erase my anxiety, but it gave me back the reins.

It reminded me that while anxiety may be part of my story, it doesn’t get to write the ending. I do.

💛 If You’re Struggling, Here’s What I Want You to Know:

• You’re not broken.

• You’re not alone.

• Anxiety is sneaky and shape-shifting, but it can be managed.

• You are not weak if you need help, medication, therapy—or all three.

• You’re allowed to rewrite the story your anxious brain tries to tell you.

• And most of all: You’re doing so much better than you think.

Maybe you can relate to parts of my story. Maybe anxiety has found its way into your life, too—through school, relationships, motherhood, health scares, or those quiet moments when everything feels like too much.

If so, please know you’re not alone. And you don’t have to carry it all by yourself.

🌿 Ready for Support?

Therapy can be an incredibly powerful step—whether you're just starting to understand your anxiety or you've been battling it for years. It’s one of the greatest gifts I’ve given myself and one I now help others experience in my own practice.

In my next blog, I’ll be sharing practical tools that have helped me and many of my clients not just cope, but heal.

There is a way through. And I’d be honored to walk that journey with you.

💬 If you need someone to talk to, reach out to a counselor or trusted mentor. We’re here for you at Creative Family Counseling & Coaching.

💌 Know someone who needs to read this? Share it with a friend—you never know who might be silently struggling.