Certain things you know so well that you almost forget they are not a universal part of being human, and for me, anxiety has always been one of those things. I have had it my entire life, for as long as I can remember, and because it has been there for so long, I have had to learn the difference between being a little worried about something and that deeper, more consuming feeling that takes over your entire body and makes even ordinary life feel much harder than it looks from the outside.
Anxiety is difficult to explain to someone who does not experience it because it is not simply being nervous or worrying too much. It can feel like your brain has decided that there is danger somewhere nearby even when you cannot see it, identify it, or logically explain why you feel threatened. Your body reacts before your mind has had the chance to catch up, your heart can start beating faster, your chest can feel tight, your stomach can turn, your muscles become tense, and suddenly you are intensely aware of yourself, your surroundings and every possible thing that could go wrong. There is this strange feeling of being unable to fully relax into the moment because some part of you is constantly scanning the room, the conversation, the future, your own thoughts, looking for the next problem.
For me, anxiety has never been just about one particular thing. It can attach itself to almost anything, depending on what is happening in my life and what my mind happens to be focused on at that moment. It can be worrying about something that happened yesterday, something that might happen tomorrow, something I said five minutes ago, something someone else said that I interpreted in the wrong way, or a completely hypothetical situation that has never happened and probably never will. That is one of the most exhausting parts of anxiety, because you can know intellectually that your fear is disproportionate and still feel it physically as if it were completely justified.
There have been times when I have wished I could simply tell my brain to stop and have it listen to me. I can reason with myself, tell myself that everything is fine, remind myself that I have survived difficult situations before, and understand perfectly well that my thoughts are not necessarily facts, but anxiety does not always respond to logic. When your nervous system is activated, knowing that you are safe and feeling safe can be two completely different things.
I think that is one of the biggest misunderstandings about anxiety. People who have never experienced it can look at someone who is anxious and think, "But there is nothing to be afraid of," as though pointing out the absence of danger will immediately make the feeling disappear. I understand why someone might say that, because from the outside it seems reasonable, but anxiety is not always responding to what is actually happening. It can be responding to what the brain believes could happen.
And where does anxiety come from?
There is no single answer because anxiety can have many causes, and for many people it is probably a combination of different things rather than one neat explanation. Genetics can play a role, temperament can play a role, childhood experiences and prolonged stress can shape the nervous system, trauma can contribute to an increased sense of danger, and difficult relationships, instability, major life changes, chronic stress or other mental and physical health factors can all influence how someone experiences anxiety. Some people seem naturally more sensitive to stimulation and uncertainty, while others develop anxiety after years of living in circumstances where they did not feel emotionally or physically secure.
I also think it is important to stop treating anxiety as a character flaw. An anxious person is not weak, dramatic, difficult or incapable of handling life simply because their nervous system reacts differently. We live in a culture that often celebrates people who appear calm, confident and completely in control, while there is much less understanding for what it takes to function when your own mind can make ordinary situations feel enormous.
And this brings me to something I wish more people understood, especially when they love someone who struggles with anxiety.
If you love someone with anxiety, your role is not to fix them, dismiss them, or become frustrated with them for reacting in ways you do not immediately understand. Your role is to learn how to respond in ways that make them feel safe, seen, and less alone.
One of the most important things you can do is stay calm yourself. Anxiety is contagious in the sense that panic often escalates when it is met with impatience, irritation, or dismissal. Saying things like, “There is nothing to worry about, stop thinking about it,” may come from a good place, but it often makes the person feel misunderstood or even ashamed of their reaction. A more supportive response is something like, “I can see that this feels really overwhelming for you right now. I’m here with you.”
That kind of presence does not erase anxiety, but it reduces isolation. And for someone in that state, not feeling alone can matter more than anything else.
It is also important not to mock, minimise, or shame their fears. Even if something seems irrational to you, the emotional experience is real to them. Rolling your eyes, becoming angry, or telling them they are overreacting can deepen their distress and make it harder for them to trust you with what they are feeling in the future.
At the same time, supporting someone with anxiety does not mean agreeing with every anxious thought or reinforcing every fear. There is a difference between validation and feeding the anxiety. Endless reassurance loops can sometimes strengthen the cycle rather than calm it. A healthier approach is gentle grounding: reminding them of what is real and present without getting lost in every possible scenario. Something like, “I hear that your mind is going to worst-case scenarios, but right now we are safe, and we can handle things as they come,” can be more stabilising than debating every fear in detail.
Patience is also essential. Anxiety can temporarily reduce a person’s capacity to function in ways they normally can. Decisions may feel harder, communication may become more difficult, and avoidance may increase. This does not mean the person is choosing to be difficult or that they do not care. It means their nervous system is overwhelmed.
It can be easy to take this personally, especially in close relationships. You might feel rejected, shut out, or confused. But often what you are seeing is not a reflection of how they feel about you, but a reflection of how much internal noise they are trying to manage.
For me, anxiety can feel like being trapped between wanting to participate in life and wanting to hide from it. I can want to go somewhere and simultaneously dread going. I can want to talk to someone and then overthink the conversation before it even happens. I can know that I should relax and still feel like my body has forgotten how. There is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from constantly trying to manage your own thoughts, because even when nothing is happening externally, internally you can feel like you have been running all day.
Living with anxiety for so many years has also taught me that I cannot wait until I feel completely fearless before I live my life. If I did that, there would be far too many things I would never do. Anxiety can make you believe that you need to feel ready before you take the next step, when in reality, sometimes you take the step while still feeling uncomfortable and discover afterward that you were capable of handling more than your anxious brain predicted.
I have also learned that I need to be kinder to myself about the fact that this is something I carry. I spent years wishing I could simply be different, calmer, less sensitive, less afraid, less affected by things, and there is something incredibly exhausting about constantly being at war with your own mind. I do not want anxiety to define me, but I also do not want to spend the rest of my life hating myself every time it appears.
Maybe this is also something important for loved ones to remember: the goal is not to eliminate anxiety through pressure or frustration, but to create an environment where it feels safer and more manageable.
If you love someone with anxiety, please remember that you do not have to understand exactly what is happening inside their head to be gentle with them. Sometimes the most loving thing you can offer is not an explanation, a solution or another piece of advice, but your calm presence and the feeling that they do not have to face that moment alone.
Anxiety may have been part of my life for as long as I can remember, but it is not the entirety of my life, and I am trying to remember that there is a difference. I can have anxiety and still have dreams, relationships, opinions, ambitions, beautiful days, terrible days, ridiculous moments, plans for the future and a life that is much bigger than the fear that occasionally takes up too much space inside my head.
Thankful for your presence, Neja
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