Ever since I was a child, I’ve carried a lingering sense of unease, worry, and discomfort—one I wrote off as just “feeling anxious” sometimes. Something not serious enough to matter. It led me into negative self-talk and harsh self-criticism because I couldn’t simply “snap out of it.”
When I started therapy, I spoke at length about my long-standing depression and the post-traumatic stress tied to trauma I knew all too well. But when it came to that persistent “feeling,” I always downplayed its impact on my functioning: “I was simply anxious.”
It wasn’t until earlier this year, after researching generalized anxiety, that I finally asked my therapist if she thought I was living with an anxiety disorder. She told me diagnoses aren’t as important as managing the symptoms I’d been grappling with—but based on what I’d shared, she agreed that generalized anxiety fit what I’d been experiencing for so long.
In that moment, it felt like a mountain lifted from my shoulders. I took the deepest exhale and thought, “I haven’t been making it up!” While I agree that managing symptoms matters, for me, having language for what I’d been gaslighting myself about for most of my life—giving it a name—changed everything. Now I can finally chart a path forward. One rooted in more kindness and compassion toward myself. There is nothing fundamentally wrong with me.
Based on your experience with a diagnosis and/or symptoms, how would you describe the difference between feeling anxious and living with an anxiety disorder?
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