My Spicy Brain: Living with Anxiety - My Journey Toward Owning It
When I was younger, no one talked about mental health—or about how we could be kinder to ourselves. I thought I had it all together. I even spent much of my young adult life in therapy, working through childhood traumas. Isn’t that often the case for many of us?
Still, my first real confrontation with anxiety caught me completely off guard.
The Routine That Wore Me Down
It was September 2007, and at the time, I was commuting weekly to the Bay Area for work. Sometimes that meant a single long day: first flight out in the morning, meetings all day, then the last flight home. Other times, it meant a whole week on site.
The routine was grueling. The first flight of the day meant setting my alarm for 4 a.m., stumbling through the dark, and reaching the airport by 5:30. I’d shuffle through security in a fog, my body already tired before the day even began. By the time I got to the office, it felt like I had already lived half a day.
If I stayed overnight, the hotel beds were stiff, the kind that never let your body fully relax. Sleep never came easy, and I’d start the next morning behind. Meals weren’t much better—when I didn’t rent a car (which was often, unless I was there for several days), I was limited to whatever food was within walking distance of the office or the hotel. Usually that meant quick takeout: salty, greasy, convenient, but never nourishing.
And then there were the late-night return flights. Landing back in town late in the evening, only to wake up early the next morning to do it all again.
At the time, I told myself I didn’t mind. This was just work. This was just life.
But my body thought otherwise.
I’ll never forget what my therapist later told me: “Your body is like a sponge—it can only hold onto so much before it starts leaking.” Looking back, I realize that my sponge was soaked through, and I had ignored every drop that spilled over.
The Panic Attack
It happened on a drive home from the airport, just like so many other nights. Nothing unusual was happening. No near-miss with another car. No one following me. Nothing to fear on the outside.
And yet, inside, I felt a wave of panic. It was as if my body suddenly decided it was in danger, though my mind couldn’t explain why.
First came the fear—that vague, generalized kind of fear where you don’t even know what you’re afraid of. Then my heart started to race. I noticed my breathing getting shallow, quick. My arms began to tingle with numbness, and my fingers clamped so tightly around the steering wheel that they started cramping.
I realized I couldn’t straighten my hands. When I reached for my phone, I had to dial 911 with my knuckles because my fingers wouldn’t work.
That’s how I ended up pulled over on the side of the freeway, terrified, thinking I might be dying.
It was cold that night, but I kept the windows open because my car doors locked automatically. The rush of air made me shiver, but it also gave me something real to focus on. When the paramedics and firemen arrived, they climbed into the car with me—two paramedics and one fireman—and began taking my vitals. They were calm, kind, and steady, exactly what I needed in that moment when I was unraveling.
I still joke when I retell the story: three firemen in my car! Do I remember what they looked like? Not at all. But still—three firemen. At least one funny detail came out of an otherwise terrifying experience.
The paramedics told me I had experienced a panic attack. They advised me to follow up with my doctor or urgent care to discuss treatment options. That night, my boyfriend picked me up from the hospital, confused and not entirely understanding what had just happened. But the truth was, neither did I.
The Aftermath
The weeks that followed were harder than the panic attack itself.
Everything became a trigger. Traffic, long meetings, sitting in the car for too long—it all set me off. For the next three months, I had to adjust my entire life. I left work early to avoid rush hour. On the way home, I sometimes had to stop three or four times—pulling over, walking circles around a parking lot, trying to catch my breath before I could drive again.
What surprised me most was how normal things suddenly felt unsafe. Sitting through a meeting, getting stuck in traffic, even just being in the car—all the ordinary parts of my day now carried the threat of panic.
Thankfully, my boss was incredibly understanding. He let me adjust my schedule and make up work from home. That flexibility gave me space to start healing. But inside, I wrestled with frustration and shame. Why was my body betraying me like this? Why did life suddenly feel so fragile?
Learning to Cope
Therapy became my anchor. My therapist guided me through coping strategies, reframed how I understood what was happening in my body, and reminded me that recovery wouldn’t be instant.
I tried grounding exercises, even when they felt silly at first. I experimented with journaling and peppermint oil and learned that movement helped more than I expected. Slowly, I started building a toolkit that made me feel less powerless.
Even now, years later, I still wrestle with anxiety. With hormone changes in midlife, it sometimes feels like my anxiety has “leveled up.” I forget the tools I’ve learned, and the overwhelm can hit hard.
But here’s the difference today: I no longer feel alone. Friends have opened up about their own struggles, and together we’ve built a small circle of support. I’ve learned that vulnerability creates connection, and community makes the weight of anxiety just a little lighter.
What Helps Me Manage Anxiety
Over the years, I’ve collected grounding practices and supportive tools that make a real difference when anxiety starts to creep in:
1. The 5-4-3-2-1 Grounding Method
Five things you can see
Four things you can feel
Three things you can hear
Two things you can smell
One thing you can taste
This pulls me back into the present moment when my thoughts start to spiral.
2. Deep Breathing
Placing a hand on my chest and another on my stomach helps me focus on deep, steady breaths instead of shallow ones.
3. Movement
A short walk, stretching, or shaking out my arms and legs helps release anxious energy.
4. Comfort Objects
Weighted blanket, lavender pillow spray, noise-canceling headphones—these small anchors remind me I’m safe.
5. Journaling
Even messy scribbles and incomplete sentences can clear space in my mind.
6. Connection
Texting or calling a trusted friend who “gets it” lightens the load instantly.
7. Tapping (EFT – Emotional Freedom Technique)
Tapping on pressure points while acknowledging how I feel helps reset my nervous system.
A Final Note
Mental health still doesn’t get the attention it deserves, but it is being spoken about more openly than when I was younger. That gives me hope.
I’ve come to accept this truth: I am not my anxiety—but I do own it. It’s a part of my story, not the whole of who I am. And if sharing my journey and the tools that help me can make even one person feel less alone, then that’s worth every word.
