There's a certain kind of exhaustion that comes from living with anxiety that can be difficult to put into words.
Maybe you know it as the feeling of waking up at three in the morning, your body trembling, trying to make sense of what you're feeling when only moments ago you were asleep. Maybe it's the amount of time you spend in your head before walking into a room, going somewhere unfamiliar, or having a conversation with someone you love. Or maybe it's the way you find yourself searching for a moment of peace in the very places you should be able to rest.
Sometimes, you know exactly where your anxiety comes from. You can make sense of it, understand what triggered it, and recognize how it connects to something you've experienced. Other times, you can't seem to understand why you're feeling the way you do.
And even when you can, knowing why you're anxious doesn't always make it any easier to sit with what you're feeling. You can remind yourself that you're safe while feeling anything but safe in your own body.
And that can be an incredibly lonely experience.
There may be things you've wanted to do, places you've wanted to go, and moments you've wanted to be present for, only to find yourself overwhelmed by the very things you wish you could enjoy. You've watched other people move through experiences with an ease that you wish came as naturally to you.
And when someone tells you that you're overthinking, that everything is fine, or that you just need to relax, there may be a part of you that wishes they understood how desperately you want to do exactly that.
Because you want to enjoy those moments, too. You want to be present with the people you love. You want to lay your head down at night without wondering what the next few hours might bring.
You want to feel at peace within yourself.
But somewhere along the way, living with anxiety may have also begun to change how you feel about who you are. Maybe you've started apologizing for needing reassurance, holding back when you feel overwhelmed, or questioning whether the people you love are growing tired of you. Maybe you've become so accustomed to feeling disappointed in yourself that you've forgotten how much strength it has taken to move through some of your hardest days.
And perhaps what you've needed in those moments hasn't been someone to help you make sense of your anxiety, but someone willing to sit beside you in it. Someone whose presence allows you to soften, even if just for a moment. Someone who reminds you that you don't have to feel okay to be loved.
For some, anxiety is connected to experiences in which safety, trust, or connection were taken away. Your mind may know that those experiences are behind you, while your body still carries the weight of what it once endured. For others, understanding where anxiety comes from may be a much less familiar experience.
But you don't have to understand the entirety of your pain to begin treating yourself with gentleness.
There is room to be curious about what you feel without criticizing yourself for feeling it. There is room to explore the experiences that have shaped you without expecting yourself to have all the answers. And there is room to give yourself grace on the days when simply moving through the day takes more out of you than anyone else realizes.
I hope that, somewhere along the way, you begin to recognize your strength without expecting yourself to be strong all the time. That you allow yourself to need comfort without feeling guilty for needing it. And that you begin to see yourself as someone worthy of love, happiness, safety, and connection, not only in the moments when you feel okay, but in the moments when you don't.
You are just as deserving of peace on the days you cannot seem to find it.
