The Weight of Worry: Living with an Anxious Mind

I wake up already tired. Before I even open my eyes, my mind is running

—spinning through everything I need to do today, everything I said yesterday, everything that could go wrong tomorrow. Did I say something stupid in that conversation? Did I lock the door last night? What if something bad happens today?

It’s like my brain is a computer with too many tabs open, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t close any of them. They just reload, over and over.

I try to get through the day like everyone else, but my mind makes everything harder. A simple email takes twice as long because I reread it a dozen times, terrified I’ll say the wrong thing. A casual conversation feels like walking a tightrope—analyzing every word, every facial expression, searching for signs that I’ve messed up. Even when nothing is actually wrong, my body acts like it is. My heart races, my chest tightens, my stomach twists itself into knots.

And then there’s the exhaustion. Managing anxiety is like carrying a heavy weight that no one else can see. It’s a full-time job—constantly calming myself down, reassuring myself that I’m not being ridiculous, forcing myself to do things that should be easy. By the end of the day, I am drained. But even when I finally get into bed, sleep doesn’t come easily. My brain is still reviewing, replaying, worrying.

I know my fears aren’t always logical. I know I’m overthinking. But knowing doesn’t make it stop. And that’s the hardest part—how invisible it all is. On the outside, I look fine. I smile, I laugh, I get things done. But inside, I am constantly battling my own thoughts, trying to quiet the storm.

Some days are better than others. Some days, I can breathe. But anxiety is always there, waiting for a quiet moment to creep back in. And that is exhausting.