Holding Calm in a Restless Heart

Living with anxiety is something words can barely capture. It’s not just nervousness. It’s not just worry. It’s a full-body experience that hijacks your peace, even on the calmest of days.

If you know me, you’d know I’ve often been “classified” by others as the anxious one — more specifically, a hypochondriac (this term isn't supposed to be used). And honestly, I won’t even deny it. That’s exactly how my anxiety shows up: I obsess over my health. A small ache, a twitch, a bump — and I’m convinced it’s cancer. Or a heart condition. Or something terminal. I’ve been made fun of for exaggerating, for frequent doctor visits like they’re coffee shops, and for having doctors on speed dial.

To the outside world, it might look irrational. But to me, in those moments, it feels real — consuming, overwhelming, inescapable. My mind jumps to the worst-case scenario before I even have a chance to reason with it.

When my husband and I got married, it was the first time he had ever encountered anxiety — through me. He had never experienced it personally, and suddenly, he was living with someone who felt everything more deeply and processed life through the lens of fear. And he’s someone who takes things as they come — deliberate, grounded, present.

I often wonder if I should have prepared him better, explained things more clearly. But how do you explain something you’re still trying to understand yourself? For me, anxiety didn’t suddenly appear — it crept in slowly, gained strength during COVID, and eventually became a part of my everyday existence.

My reality now is one of constant alertness. I don’t just notice things — I hyperfocus on them. A tiny physical sensation becomes my entire world. I spiral into medical articles, imagine the worst outcomes, overanalyze symptoms, and panic. And while a doctor’s reassurance may bring a moment of relief, it never lasts. The cycle resets with the next minor discomfort.

I used to be this way emotionally, too. If someone didn’t respond to my message, I’d imagine all the ways I might have upset them. “Do they not like me anymore? Did I say something wrong?” I’d mentally write the entire rejection story before they even got a chance to reply.

Even now, if I get a work message — especially outside work hours — I feel my heart drop. I can’t think about anything else until I respond. It takes over. We’ve tried many things to manage it. My husband even got me a second phone number so I could silence notifications on weekends or after 7 PM. It helps… a little. But anxiety is sneaky — it always finds new ways in.

The hardest part is how invisible it can be. People often don’t understand that anxiety can manifest physically — racing heart, nausea, sweating, tightness in the chest, dizziness. It’s not just “in your head.” I’ve had moments where I truly thought I was losing consciousness. And still, I’ve been met with laughter, eye-rolls, or worse — dismissal.

Growing up, we didn’t even have the vocabulary for anxiety, let alone the space to express it. But over time, I’ve learned to pay attention to my patterns. I journal. I read. I pause when I start spiraling — though not always successfully.

Recently, we joined a calisthenics class — a bodyweight fitness workout. And every session, I go through the same internal battle:

What if I fall? What if I injure myself? What if I break my neck? What if my husband falls — who will take me to the hospital? I can’t drive. What if I collapse mid-exercise?

I take longer to warm up, to try something new. I need a lot of internal convincing. It’s like my head does its own workout before my body even begins to move. But when I finally do something I feared, it reminds me that anxiety lies. I can still show up. It wasn’t as hard as I imagined.

I used to triple-check locked doors, turn off switches multiple times, and never trust anyone with a task until I did it myself. My husband, though he isn’t a therapist, has slowly learned how to support me. He doesn’t always know what to say, but he listens. He gives me space. He makes me feel safe. He no longer ridicules me. He lets me pour out everything I feel and then reasons with me in a way I can actually hear. And for that, I’m deeply grateful.

I often wonder if I give him the same comfort he gives me. I hope I do. I really, really hope I do.

Here’s the thing: anxiety isn’t a trend or a buzzword. It’s a lived reality. So when someone says they’re anxious, believe them. Don’t downplay it. Don’t use words like “depressed,” “anxious,” or “stressed” casually — because for many people, these aren’t passing states but daily struggles.

And if you’re someone dealing with anxiety — especially health anxiety — I want you to know: you are not alone. You’re not crazy. You’re not being dramatic. You’re simply someone whose mind is trying to protect them in the most intense way it knows how.

Get help. Talk to someone. Journal. Move your body gently. Know your patterns. There is a way through this.

I’m still learning. Some days, it feels like I take two steps forward and one step back. But even that is progress. Healing isn’t loud — it’s quiet, repetitive, and incredibly brave.

Some days, just trying is enough. And today, I’m proud to say I’m trying — every single day — in ways that soothe me. And you can find your way too. :)