Treating Anxiety;
It’s an odd thing, working in this field where you’re constantly attuned to the struggles of others- it’s impossible to avoid seeing the reflections of your own experience in their pain.
Over the years, I’ve learned to separate my own emotions from those of my clients, but there are moments, when I sit across from someone, that I feel the familiar twinge of recognition.
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Anxiety is a complex beast. I know, because I’ve experienced it, too. I’ve sat in the discomfort, watched as my thoughts spiraled, and felt my chest tighten with the weight of a thousand "what-ifs."
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Nothing could prepare me for the day I felt the suffocating weight of anxiety creeping into my own life. Like many, I felt defeated, controlled, and trapped. For me, it was the racing thoughts, the tightness in my chest, the sudden sense of dread that felt like a physical weight pressing on my lungs. It started small—an uncomfortable thought here, a bit of worry there—but soon, it built, and I found myself in a cycle of anxiety that felt endless. It ran rampant in my mind.
I learned that anxiety didn’t care that I had knowledge and expertise, it had its own language that I had yet to learn.
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But there’s something I’ve learned from my own healing:
Recovery from anxiety isn’t about eliminating it, it’s about accepting that it exists.
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As I sit across from clients and hear them describe their overwhelming thoughts, it resonates with me so much I can feel it like a shiver on my skin.
& In those moments, I’m reminded that we, as therapists, are not immune to the experiences we help others navigate.
We, too, are human.
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In my work with clients, I talk a lot about mindfulness—about sitting with the discomfort instead of avoiding it. But when the anxiety is yours, it’s much harder to practice what you preach.
During those moments when my anxiety resurfaces, I remind myself that avoidance would only make things worse. I can’t run from it. Instead, I’m forced to practice what I teach my clients: stay present with the feeling.
Because feelings are temporary. They come… and they go... If I can just sit with the discomfort, it will pass. It always does.
Anxiety isn’t a wall I have to scale or destroy. It’s an invitation to observe, to notice, and to find stillness in the midst of chaos. The more I tolerate that discomfort, the less power it has over me. This practice helped me to reclaim my space– not just in the therapy room, but within myself.
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My anxiety is not my enemy. It’s a messenger—a signal that something needs attention, that I’m out of alignment or overwhelmed. It was created to protect me so if only I can learn how to channel those messages and respond accordingly.
Anxiety isn’t something to eradicate, it’s something to befriend– to understand, work with, and embrace.
This shift in perspective changed my life. Anxiety was no longer a force that needed to be fought; instead, it became a reminder to slow down, check in with myself, and ground into my body.
Recovery from anxiety is an ongoing process of learning, growing, and adjusting. Some days are better than others. There are moments when the old familiar feelings arise—when my chest tightens or my mind races—but I no longer panic, I listen to it. I ask it curiously:
What is it trying to tell me? What is my body signaling? How can I use this experience to learn more about myself?
Anxiety is my teacher, reminding me to slow down, settle in, and listen.
