Why Your Anxiety Makes Sense

If you have been living with anxiety for a while, chances are you have spent a significant amount of time wondering how to make it stop.

Maybe your mind gets caught in loops that you can’t seem to get out of. You replay conversations on your drive home, wondering if you said something wrong or whether someone might be upset with you. You lie awake thinking through tomorrow’s responsibilities, hoping that if you can plan well enough, you’ll finally be able to relax. Your mind jumps ahead to everything that could go wrong, even though another part of you knows you are probably worrying more than you need to.

For some of us, anxiety doesn’t feel like endless thoughts. It feels like carrying a constant sense of dread, as if waiting for something bad to happen, or the other shoe to drop. You wake up already feeling behind. There are emails to answer, children to care for, appointments to make, work to finish, and somehow you are supposed to keep up with the house, your relationships, and your own well-being too. Even when you have crossed things off your list, it rarely feels like enough.

Sometimes anxiety is quieter than people expect. It can look like saying yes when you are already feeling overwhelmed because you don’t want to disappoint anyone. It can look like checking your phone one more time before bed because your mind won’t let the day end and inadvertently scrolling for an hour instead of getting rest. It can look like finally sitting down to rest only to feel guilty that you are not doing something more productive.

I have heard people describe these experiences in so many different ways:

• “I can’t catch a break.”
• “I’m always waiting for something bad to happen.”
• “I feel like I’m failing at everything.”
• “I don’t know why I can’t just relax.”
• “I worry that people are upset with me.”
• “I remember who I used to be, but I don’t feel like that person anymore.”

The words are different, but underneath them I often hear the same painful question: “What’s wrong with me?”

By the time someone asks that question, they have often spent months or years trying to feel better and criticizing themselves for not being able to “just stop the negative thoughts,” “be more positive,” or “get over it.”

I understand why people reach that conclusion. Anxiety is exhausting. It can make it difficult to enjoy the people you love, stay present at work, sleep through the night, or feel like yourself. It can leave you questioning your own judgment and wondering why everyday life seems harder for you than it does for everyone else.

One of the things I have noticed over the years is that starting with “What’s wrong with me?” rarely brings people the relief they are looking for. The question itself assumes that anxiety is evidence that something inside you is broken. I have come to think there is a different question that is often much more useful:

“How does this make sense?”

Instead of immediately treating anxiety as an enemy to fight, we can become curious about it. We can begin asking what our minds and bodies might be reacting to, what they have learned over time, and what they may be working so hard to protect us from. That doesn’t mean anxiety is helpful or that we should simply accept living with it forever. It means we start from the possibility that there may be a reason it’s here, information it is trying to convey to us. This curiosity gives us a very different starting point to begin.

Why Does My Mind Keep Doing This?

When I talk about anxiety this way, people sometimes wonder why their minds and bodies would keep doing something that feels so exhausting. If worrying, planning, checking, or staying on high alert is making life harder, why wouldn’t our brains eventually realize that and stop?

I find it helpful to remember that our minds and bodies are always learning from our experiences. From very early in life, we take in information about the world around us and begin figuring out what helps us feel safe, connected, and accepted.

As children, we are dependent on the people around us, so belonging isn’t simply something we want. We truly need it to survive. We notice what gets a positive response and what doesn’t. We learn what happens when someone is disappointed or angry, whether it’s okay to make mistakes, express our feelings, ask for what we need, or say no. This is how we adapt to our environment.

Maybe you learned to pay close attention to everyone else’s moods because knowing what was happening around you helped you feel prepared to cope with constant unpredictability. Maybe you became the one who kept the peace or tried not to add any more stress to the family by learning how to suppress your own needs. Maybe doing well and getting things “right” gave you a sense of security and approval.

We don’t consciously decide to develop these patterns. Most of the time, we don’t even realize we are learning them. We discover what seems to work, and eventually it becomes part of how we move through the world.

Years later, the circumstances may be completely different, but some of those patterns can still feel surprisingly urgent. You might know intellectually that it’s okay for someone to be disappointed in you, while still feeling a rush of anxiety when you need to say no. You might know that one mistake at work doesn’t mean you are incompetent but find yourself replaying it all evening.

When we look only at what is happening today, these reactions can feel confusing. Why am I making such a big deal out of this? I know everything is okay. Our reactions aren’t based only on what we consciously know today. They are also shaped by what our minds and bodies have learned over time, much of which is subconscious or feels “automatic.”

One of the things I find most hopeful is that our minds and bodies are often doing exactly what they learned to do. Once we begin to understand why, we can also begin teaching them something new.

That doesn’t mean we need to search our past for an explanation for every anxious thought, or that every difficult feeling comes from childhood. Sometimes life really is overwhelming. Sometimes there is too much on your plate, you are not getting enough rest or support, or you are dealing with uncertainty that would make almost anyone anxious.

The point is not to find a psychological explanation for everything you feel. It is to become curious enough to notice what is happening before immediately assuming that your reaction says something bad about you.

Why Can’t I Stop Thinking About It?

One of the things I hear most often from people struggling with anxiety is some version of, “I just want my brain to stop.” They know they have already thought about the situation, and continuing to go over the same thoughts, images, and feelings probably isn’t going to make them feel any better — and yet their mind keeps returning to the same place.

When this goes on for long enough, people often become frustrated with themselves. They try to shut the thoughts down, stay busy, scroll through their phones, watch TV, or find another way to distract themselves. Sometimes that gives a little relief, but before long the thoughts find their way back in.

What if we tried to shift the question from “How do I make these thoughts stop?” to something more nuanced, like “What is my mind trying to figure out here?”

Trying to see our anxiety through a different lens can open new possibilities. Your mind isn’t necessarily repeating itself because it’s malfunctioning. It may be repeating itself because it hasn’t found the sense of safety or certainty it is looking for yet. Remember, our minds are always working to keep us safe, alive, and connected. We adapt in whatever way necessary by always learning, assessing, and making meaning of our circumstances. Shifting our perspective in that way can help us see our anxiety as working so hard to find a way to prevent something bad from happening. Even when we know that there is no real threat, parts of us have detected something that feels very unsafe.

Once we get there, we are having a different conversation. We are no longer fighting with a mind that won’t stop thinking. We are beginning to understand the fear underneath all that effort. The fear is sounding the alarm to keep us safe from whatever the perceived threat might be.

Understanding the fear doesn’t mean we have to obey it. We don’t necessarily need to check again, think through the conversation one more time, or prepare for another five possible scenarios. Instead, we can begin asking what we actually need.

Sometimes we need more information or a concrete plan. Sometimes we need support because the circumstances we are facing really are difficult. Sometimes we need reassurance and can begin learning how to offer some of that reassurance to ourselves. Learning that we can be okay without having every answer is very different from forcing ourselves to stop worrying. One asks us to fight ourselves; the other helps us slowly build trust in ourselves.

Why Can’t I Relax Even When Nothing Is Wrong?

Sometimes anxiety isn’t a thought you can point to. There isn’t necessarily one thing you are worried about or one problem you are trying to solve. You just can’t seem to settle.

For many of the women I work with, this becomes especially noticeable during seasons when they are carrying a tremendous amount of responsibility. They are managing work, children, relationships, appointments, meals, school schedules, family needs, and the endless stream of small decisions that keep everyday life moving.

Sometimes the most accurate explanation for feeling overwhelmed is simply that there is too much to hold. I think that’s important to say because we don’t want to turn every difficult feeling into something we need to analyze about ourselves. Sometimes anxiety is telling us something very real about our current circumstances. We may need more help, fewer demands, clearer boundaries, more sleep, or someone else to carry part of the load.

Sometimes there is another layer. Even when an opportunity to rest finally appears, we may find that we don’t quite know how to take it.

Maybe you have become so accustomed to being the person who notices what everyone needs that turning your attention toward yourself feels unfamiliar. Maybe you have spent years measuring a good day by how much you accomplished, so doing nothing brings up guilt rather than relief. Or maybe staying busy has become such a familiar state that slowing down leaves room for thoughts and feelings you have been able to keep at a distance while moving.

If your mind and body have spent a long time expecting you to stay alert, productive, available, or prepared, they may not immediately recognize a quiet afternoon as an invitation to let go. That doesn’t mean you’re incapable of resting. It may simply mean that rest is something you must become reacquainted with.

Perhaps, before asking “Why can’t I relax?” we can become curious and begin asking what makes relaxing difficult. Is there genuinely too much on your plate right now? Do you feel guilty when your needs take priority? Does slowing down bring up thoughts or feelings you’d rather not have to sit with? Do you worry that if you stop paying attention, something will fall apart?

The point isn’t to turn relaxation into another task to master or another thing you’re supposed to be doing correctly. It’s to understand what happens inside you when you stop.

If I Understand All of This, Why Do I Still Feel Anxious?

Sometimes people come into therapy already knowing quite a lot about themselves. They understand that they grew up feeling responsible for other people’s emotions. They know they put too much pressure on themselves. They recognize that their fear of disappointing someone is probably connected to earlier relationships. They may have spent years thinking about these patterns, reading about them, talking about them, and trying to change them.

Despite all this work and understanding, they can’t seem to be able to change their reactions.

Someone’s tone changes and immediately you wonder if they are upset with you. You make a mistake and feel a rush of shame before you have even had time to think about what happened. Your child is having a meltdown and suddenly you’re overwhelmed too, even though you know exactly what you are “supposed” to do. You tell yourself it’s okay to rest, but your body still feels restless when you sit down.

This can be incredibly frustrating because you may feel like you should know better by now. This is one of the places where I think people can become especially discouraged. They understand the pattern, so they assume they should be able to think their way out of it. When that doesn’t work, it becomes more evidence that they are somehow failing.

Knowing something and feeling it are not always the same thing. We don’t learn about safety, relationships, belonging, or ourselves only through conscious thought. We learn through experience. Our minds and bodies remember what happened before, what seemed to keep us safe, what brought connection, and what led to pain.

If a reaction wasn’t learned through reasoning alone, reasoning alone may not be enough to change it. Sometimes the work is less about finding a better argument and more about helping our minds and bodies take in something new.

This is one reason I use EMDR in my work. When earlier experiences continue to feel emotionally present even though we know they are over, EMDR can help us work with some of the learning that became attached to those experiences. The goal isn’t to erase what happened or convince ourselves that it didn’t matter. It’s to help the past feel more like the past, so that we have more freedom to respond to what is actually happening today.

I don’t think this happens only through a specific therapy technique. It also happens through the experience of therapy itself.

One of the things I find most meaningful about this work is watching what can happen when someone who has spent years judging themselves begins to experience something different. Instead of being told they are too sensitive, they are understood. Instead of being told they shouldn’t feel the way they do, we become curious about why they feel that way. Instead of needing to perform, explain, or get everything right, there is room for them to simply show up as they are.

I don’t think that shift happens because someone tells us we should love ourselves more. For someone who has spent years being hard on themselves, that can feel like one more thing they are failing to do.

It happens gradually. We begin noticing the judgment instead of automatically believing it. We recognize an old pattern without deciding it defines who we are. We become curious about what we need instead of immediately asking what everyone else needs from us. We start trusting our own reactions, feelings, and judgment a little more.

Over time, there can be more room for something underneath all the anxiety, expectations, and “shoulds” to emerge. Not a new or improved version of you, but more of who you already are.

Coming Home to Yourself

One of the things I have watched happen over and over in therapy is that as people become less consumed with judging and fighting themselves, they begin discovering parts of themselves that have been harder to hear underneath all the anxiety.

They find that they can be strong without holding everything together. They can be loving without taking responsibility for everyone else’s happiness. They can care deeply about their children without being perfect mothers. They can have needs, limits, preferences, anger, sadness, and uncertainty and still be worthy of love and belonging.

Sometimes people discover parts of themselves they didn’t even know were there: strength, confidence, playfulness, tenderness, courage. Other times, they reconnect with parts of themselves they remember but haven’t felt in a long time.

This is what I’ve come to think of as coming home to yourself.

It isn’t about finding some perfect, untouched version of who you were before anxiety, trauma, motherhood, loss, or life changed you. Those experiences become part of us. It isn’t about getting rid of every anxious thought or never doubting yourself again. It’s about knowing yourself well enough that anxiety, expectations, and all of the “shoulds” no longer get to speak for all of you.

Maybe healing doesn’t begin with finally getting rid of the parts of yourself you have been fighting for years. Maybe it begins when you understand them well enough that you no longer have to fight yourself at all.

From there, you can begin finding your way home.

If your anxiety has been asking for your attention and you’d like a supportive place to make sense of it, I’d be honored to help. Reach out for a free consultation and let’s begin, with curiosity instead of judgment.