When Anxiety Takes Over: The Elephant on My Chest

Sometimes, a storm brews heavy over my soul - a storm named anxiety.

And today, the clouds rolled in early.

It’s not just panic. Not just nerves.

It’s physical. Loud. Uninvited.

It shows up in my body like a sickness I never asked for.

My stomach turns - queasy, like a flu that snuck in through the back door.

My chest tightens - an invisible elephant planted squarely on my lungs.

My head throbs - a dull ache that whispers, You’re not okay today.

When I say, “My anxiety is taking over,” people often ask, “What’s wrong?”

The truth?

Nothing.

Or maybe… everything.

Maybe it’s the opening night of Reese’s last high school play.

Maybe it’s deciding what to cook for dinner.

Maybe it’s a hundred silent worries stacked like bricks in my chest,

each one too small to name but too heavy to ignore.

I don’t always know the why.

But I always know the when.

I know when the storm rolls in.

I feel it.

I live in it.

And I ride it out - one breath at a time.

Sometimes I breathe through it.

Sometimes I cry.

Sometimes I lie in bed until the exhaustion wins.

And sometimes - like today - I take the medication that helps carry me through.

And you know what? That’s okay. That’s exactly what it’s there for.

Writing helps too.

Lately, I’ve been writing more than ever. I’ve got enough blog drafts to last me for weeks.

Maybe that means my anxiety’s been high.

Or maybe, just maybe, it means I’ve finally learned how to refocus it.

To turn the noise into words.

To make the chaos mean something.

At one point today, when it felt like too much, I sat down and wrote this.

Just to quiet the storm.

Just to feel like I still had a little control over something.

And this will pass.

It always does.

I just have to breathe through it,

sleep through it,

and now…

write my way through it.