Wrestling Anxiety
When we listen to the need beneath anxiety, it becomes something we can move with instead of fight against.
I’ve lived with anxiety for most of my life. For a long time, I believed it was something to resist, something to suppress, manage, or outgrow. That belief created a wrestle within, rooted in the sense that anxiety was bad and didn’t belong. Only later did I begin to understand that the real struggle wasn’t anxiety itself, but the way I fought against it.
Anxiety is deeply uncomfortable to be with. For me, it shows up in my chest, my jaw, and throat. My breath becomes shallow, my heartbeat rises, my gut coils, and my hands fidget.
What I didn’t realize at the time was how my response to these sensations shaped their intensity. In trying to oppose them, push them away, or force a different experience, they only intensified, getting stuck in the body. Any peace I grasped at felt temporary, a kind of escape rather than true ease.
It makes sense. Anxiety is rooted in fear. Beneath it is a felt sense of fright that can be confronting to notice. A blanket of peace might feel easier to reach for, but what the system truly needs is safety, a felt sense that it is okay to stay with what is happening.
So the question shifted. How do I feel safe enough to be with anxiety? The answer was not bubble-wrapping myself or eradicating discomfort. It was about holding space for anxiety to exist while resourcing my system in ways that feel grounding. In this space, anxiety began to reveal its value. It points to what I am afraid of and to the parts of me with unmet needs. It became an invitation to relate to myself with compassion and curiosity.
What I am discovering now is that meeting these needs is deeply personal. What supports one system may not support another. But the essence of the process is universal: resourcing myself to embody okayness, a felt sense that I can be with this and I am not in danger. From this place, I can receive this part of me with compassion. Softness, not suppression, leads to resilience and openness.
Nothing is bad. Every emotion, every sensation has a place. By resourcing myself, I can stay with inner turmoil until, step by step, it eases. And easing does not mean eradicating. It means learning to flow, to flex with the experience.
I have been exploring a baseline of resources that feel supportive in this flow, like external and internal orienting, gentle movement, tracking, and self-touch. Yours might look entirely different. What matters is that they help you stay present and grounded, not that they produce perfection or quick relief.
Over time, anxiety becomes less of a threat and more of an ally. It teaches me to cultivate grace for my limits, my fears, and the full spectrum of emotions that move through me. This is the essence of capacity building, not by erasing discomfort, but by learning to stay, breathe, and bend with it again and again.
I’m curious, next time anxiety shows up, are you able to simply notice it? Where does it live in your body? What is it trying to say? Is it ok to notice without trying to change it? To offer a little presence and curiosity, and see what shifts?
