What It’s Really Like to Live with Severe Anxiety
The quiet war beneath the surface and the strength it takes to survive it.
People often think anxiety is just worrying too much. That it’s being nervous before a big moment or overthinking things a little more than most. But those of us who live with severe anxiety know it’s far more than that.
It’s not just a thought. It’s a full-body experience.
It’s your heart racing when there’s no danger. It’s not being able to breathe properly in the middle of the supermarket. It’s shaking hands, tight chest, tunnel vision. It’s canceling plans you were looking forward to because your body feels like it’s under attack.
It’s trying to function in a world that doesn't pause for your panic.
It’s Not in Your Head - It’s in Your Whole Being
My anxiety doesn’t knock. It barges in uninvited.
Sometimes it’s quiet, like a low hum in the background of my day. Other times it’s loud and violent—leaving me curled up, unable to move, convinced that something terrible is about to happen, even when nothing’s wrong.
It hijacks my thoughts.
It convinces me that I’ve said the wrong thing. That I’ve let someone down. That I’m failing. That I’m too much. Or not enough.
It whispers lies with such certainty that they feel like truth.
And the most exhausting part?
I know it’s anxiety.
I know it’s lying.
And yet—I can’t always stop believing it.
The Impact: It Touches Every Corner of Your Life
Severe anxiety doesn’t just affect your mood. It affects your relationships, your work, your physical health, and your self-trust.
It makes you second-guess your decisions—even the small ones.
It makes you avoid things you love because the fear is louder than the desire.
It makes you cancel, withdraw, isolate.
It keeps you awake at night with thoughts racing so fast, you can’t catch a single one.
It affects parenting. Studying. Socialising. Even resting.
Sometimes, doing nothing feels like a failure too.
You Start to Hide It—Because You’re Tired of Explaining
The truth is, anxiety is invisible until it isn’t.
So for a long time, I smiled through it. I nodded when people said, “You don’t seem anxious.”
I tried to pass for functional, even when I was breaking on the inside.
Because explaining what it’s like—to live with fear in your bones and still show up for life—is exhausting.
And sometimes, you wonder if people will still believe you if you’re “high-functioning.”
But no matter how well you hide it, severe anxiety is not a choice. It’s not a mood you can snap out of. It’s a storm you manage, every single day.
What Helps (And What Doesn’t)
People often ask, What helps? And honestly, the answer depends on the day.
What doesn’t help is being told:
“Just relax.”
“It’s all in your head.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“You worry too much.”
We know. We’ve heard it all. And we’ve said it to ourselves more times than we can count.
What helps is safety.
Gentleness.
Understanding.
Sometimes, it’s grounding techniques.
Sometimes, it’s medication.
Sometimes, it’s talking to someone who won’t try to fix you—just sit with you.
Sometimes, it’s turning off your phone. Or crying. Or lying down with a weighted blanket and just surviving the hour.
It’s different for all of us.
But what always helps, even a little, is knowing we’re not alone in it.
The Guilt That Comes With It
What people don’t always see is the guilt.
The guilt of being “unreliable.”
The guilt of needing to cancel—again.
The guilt of not showing up fully for your kids, your job, your friends.
The guilt of not being able to “cope like everyone else.”
You feel like a burden. Even when people reassure you you’re not.
You question your worth.
You compare your “invisible” struggle to other people’s highlight reels.
And you end up exhausted—not just from the anxiety itself, but from all the hiding, the guilt, the pretending.
But Here’s What I Know Now
You are not weak.
You are not broken.
You are not a failure.
You are someone who wakes up and faces a battle that most people can’t see—and you face it every single day.
That takes courage.
That takes strength.
That takes resilience most people will never understand.
You are trying. And that is enough.
Some days, trying looks like getting out of bed.
Other days, it looks like setting boundaries, asking for help, choosing rest.
Whatever your version of “trying” looks like today—let it be enough.
If You’re Living With Severe Anxiety
I want you to know this:
You’re not alone in this.
You don’t have to explain yourself to be worthy of compassion.
You are allowed to rest.
You are allowed to slow down.
You are allowed to take care of your nervous system.
And you are allowed to exist—even when you’re not okay.
Because you’re not here to prove your worth through productivity or perfection.
You’re here to live.
Even if that living is soft. Quiet. Messy.
Even if it looks different from what you thought it would be.
You’re here. And that matters.
Gentle Tools for Managing Severe Anxiety
Everyone’s experience with anxiety is different, and so is what helps.
Here’s a list—not of quick fixes, but of gentle practices and tools that may support you on difficult days. Take what feels right. Leave what doesn’t. Let this be soft.
1. Grounding Techniques
When your thoughts are racing or you feel detached from your body, grounding can help bring you back to the present moment.
5-4-3-2-1 technique (Name 5 things you see, 4 you can touch, 3 you hear, 2 you smell, 1 you taste)
Placing your bare feet on the ground or holding an object in your hand and focusing on its texture
Splashing cold water on your face or holding ice
2. Breathwork
Your breath is always with you—and it can be your anchor.
Try a simple pattern like inhaling for 4, holding for 4, exhaling for 6
Box breathing: Inhale 4, hold 4, exhale 4, hold 4
Whispering “I’m safe” on each exhale
3. Creating Safe Spaces
Build a physical or emotional space where you feel soothed and safe.
A corner with soft lighting, a blanket, and a favorite book
A playlist that calms you (or even one that helps you cry)
An encouraging note to yourself saved in your phone for panic moments
4. Supportive People
Identify at least one person who doesn’t try to fix you, but simply listens
Don’t be afraid to say, “I don’t need advice—I just need someone with me right now”
5. Rest Without Guilt
Permission to nap. Permission to pause.
Anxiety is exhausting. Rest is resistance to the pressure to “perform” all the time
You don’t have to earn rest—you deserve it
6. Nature and Movement
A gentle walk, even just to the end of your street
Watching trees sway or listening to birds
Stretching slowly in the morning or before bed
7. Naming the Feeling
“I feel anxious” instead of “I am anxious”
Separating the emotion from your identity helps soften its grip
8. Journaling the Storm
Write without editing yourself. Let the fear spill out
Sometimes what’s tangled in your mind becomes clearer once it’s on paper
9. Therapy or Medication (If Available to You)
There is no shame in needing professional help.
Therapy can provide insight, tools, and support. Medication can offer relief.
You are not weak for needing help—you are brave for seeking it
10. Self-Kindness
Speak to yourself the way you’d speak to someone you love
If all you did today was survive, that is enough
Healing takes time. So does unlearning the belief that you must always be okay
Final Note
You are not failing because you’re struggling.
You’re not broken because you feel this way.
You are a human being living through something incredibly difficult—with courage, with tenderness, with heart.
And that’s something to be deeply proud of.
With love,
Salwa
💌 If this hit home, don’t just scroll past it.
I write for people who are tired of pretending they’re fine.
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But if it helped you, let it be known.
Reading this felt like someone finally translated the silent storm I’ve been carrying into a language that doesn’t gaslight me.
The part about knowing it’s anxiety and still believing it—that right there. It’s like arguing with a fire alarm that won’t stop screaming, even though the toast isn’t even burnt.
Thank you for naming the exhaustion, the guilt, the strength it takes just to show up. This wasn’t just comforting—it was a mirror held up with compassion instead of judgment. I’m bookmarking this for the days when “trying” just means breathing through it.
You didn’t just write about anxiety—you created a soft place to land.
This sounds like grief that comes not just with the loss of a loved one but with the weight of the responsibilities that were not yours prior to the loss, but have been heaped upon you since that loss.
Keep writing… you are putting feelings into words for many who know not how to express those feelings.