What I Wish My Friends Knew About My Anxiety…
This is one of those stories that’s hard to put into words. Maybe it’s difficult because a part of me still wrestles with shame when it comes to anxiety. When it’s quiet, when it’s not pressing on my chest, I almost convince myself it’s not really part of my life at all. And then, suddenly, it creeps back in. I dislike it deeply, but sometimes I don’t know how to reset my brain on command. And when I can’t, here comes the shame—right on cue.
It’s shame, my friends, because I don’t want to be the one who doesn’t have it all together. I don’t want to be the one who feels fragile or stuck.
That’s the hardest part when anxiety shows up. It feels like I’m standing still in the middle of the world while everyone else is walking confidently in one direction. And there I am—frozen—unable to figure out how to move my feet at all. It’s frustrating and humiliating, especially because most of the time there isn’t anything truly terrible happening in my life. Everything looks fine on the outside. Yet I’m watching everyone else move forward while I can’t even lift my left foot.
I wish you knew that part of me, because that part is heavy.
And there are a few other things I need you to know too.
When anxiety hits—when any of us are in that place—we don’t need lists. Not lists of what we’ve done wrong or right, not reminders of how capable we are, not critiques, not pep talks. We simply need to be told that we are okay and that we are loved. Those moments are not the time for debates about life, friendships, or big changes. Trust me, when anxiety takes over, I will dig my heels in deeper than ever. That doesn’t help me move—it only keeps me stuck, spinning in irrational circles.
It’s not stubbornness.
It’s control.
That’s the most important thing I want you to understand. When anxiety rears its head, it’s because I feel like control over my life is slipping away. Everything might look perfect on the outside, but something—some trigger—has flipped a switch. Suddenly, normal things feel catastrophic. Dirty dishes become a mountain. Laundry turns into a tsunami. Fighting kids feel like the start of a world war. Bills sound like a stock market crash. Relationship issues feel like the end of having friends at all.
Does that make sense?
Even though you can clearly see there isn’t a mountain of dishes or a tsunami of laundry or a global crisis waiting to happen, in that moment, that’s what the world feels like to me.
Overwhelming.
So please, have grace.
A whole lot of grace.
Because when the anxiety passes and my vision clears, I can see the truth again. That’s also when shame tries to attach itself to my identity. This is where you come in, my friend. You can love me in that space. You can help with the dishes, the laundry, the kids—whatever needs doing. You can simply show up.
Don’t try to fix me. Don’t tell me nothing is wrong. Don’t say it’s all in my head or that I’m crazy.
Just show up.
Just love.
Just be there.
Just be my friend.
I promise I will do the same for you. That’s what real friendship looks like—loving each other through the highs and the lows. And for some of us, that love shows up most on anxiety-filled days. That is true friendship. That is real love.
So thank you. If you’ve stuck around all these years, you also know the rest of me—the fun me. The one who laughs, loves life, and gets dishes done efficiently. Like the ocean, my heart ebbs and flows. Maybe less wildly than it once did. Maybe I understand my triggers better now. But sometimes I still break. Sometimes I still fall apart. And sometimes, I just need your hand.
Thank you, my friend.
