Mindful Minion

Anxiety has been my baseline for as long as I can remember.

Not always the dramatic kind. Not always panic attacks or visible breakdowns. Most of the time, it exists quietly in the background ~ woven into the way I think, the way I react, and the way I move through life.

Sometimes I wake up anxious before anything has even happened. Before I check my phone. Before I speak to anyone. Before the day has even started.

It’s just there.

A constant feeling that something is about to go wrong.

And sometimes there isn’t even a specific reason. It’s just an overall feeling that follows me everywhere. Some days it’s manageable. Other days it becomes so overwhelming that I can’t focus on anything at all. I can’t work properly, study properly, enjoy hobbies, watch movies, read books, or even complete simple errands without my brain spiraling into every possible worst-case scenario at once.

My mind treats every possibility like an emergency.

I think about death. Illnesses. Losing people I love. Relationships falling apart. Failing in life. Making the wrong decisions. Missing warning signs. Ruining opportunities. Being abandoned. Being rejected.

Even when things are objectively okay, my brain still searches for danger.

And honestly, living like that is exhausting.

I also spend way too much time living inside “what could have been.”

The what-ifs.
The would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.
The imaginary versions of reality I created in my own head.

Things are supposed to go this way.
I’m supposed to be this kind of person.
They’re supposed to act this way.
Relationships are supposed to feel a certain way.
Life is supposed to look a certain way.

And whenever reality deviates from the version I already planned out in my mind, my brain struggles to process it.

I think that’s part of why uncertainty feels so unbearable to me. I become too attached to idealized expectations, imagined outcomes, and specific narratives about how things should unfold. So when life inevitably becomes messy, unpredictable, or disappointing, it feels almost emotionally catastrophic.

Not because the situation itself is always that terrible ~ but because reality failed to match the version I had already rehearsed in my head.

One of the hardest parts about anxiety is how much it distorts relationships. I become hypersensitive to changes in tone, energy, timing, expression ~ tiny things most people probably would not even notice. My brain turns uncertainty into danger almost instantly.

If someone pulls away slightly, I assume abandonment.
If something feels too good, I prepare myself for it to collapse.
If I feel happy, I immediately become afraid of losing that happiness.

I don’t know how to simply let good things exist without preparing for their destruction.

And sometimes that fear makes me act in ways that do more damage than the thing I was originally afraid of.

I overthink.
I become emotionally reactive.
I try too hard to control situations.
I say things out of fear.
I push people away before they can leave on their own.

At this point, I’ve basically mastered the art of ruining things before they ruin me.

It would almost be funny if it weren’t so self-destructive.

One of the worst parts is that my anxiety does not just stop at fear ~ it turns into overcorrection.

Sometimes I overthink a situation so much that I start trying to control or “fix” it before anything has even actually gone wrong. And when I feel like I’ve already messed something up, I panic and try even harder to course-correct everything afterward.

I overexplain.
I overanalyze.
I overcompensate.
I try to force clarity, reassurance, certainty.

And ironically, the more desperately I try to fix things, the worse I make them.

Then I become anxious about the fact that I’m anxious. I become hyperaware of my own behavior, my own emotions, my own reactions, and it turns into this exhausting cycle of trying to manage myself, manage the situation, manage other people’s perceptions of me, and somehow control the narrative of everything all at once.

Which, realistically, is impossible.

I cannot control other people’s thoughts.
I cannot control how people feel about me.
I cannot control every outcome.
And I definitely cannot think my way into permanent certainty.

But anxiety convinces me that if I just analyze things hard enough, explain myself well enough, or prepare enough for every possible outcome, maybe I can prevent pain before it happens.

Except life does not work like that.

At some point, all of that overcorrection just becomes another form of self-destruction ~ exhausting for me and overwhelming for the people around me.

I’ve self-sabotaged relationships, friendships, work opportunities, and connections with genuinely good people because I did not know how to manage my own anxiety inside those situations. I always felt like things were doomed from the beginning, so instead of relaxing into the moment, I tried to over-control everything.

And the more emotionally overwhelmed I became, the more I hated myself afterward.

That is probably the ugliest part of anxiety for me ~ not just the fear itself, but the shame that follows it.

I hate the version of myself that becomes too emotional, too controlling, too reactive, too negative. I hate losing control over my emotions because control is something I desperately cling to in every area of my life.

I think that’s also why I struggle so much with perfectionism and black-and-white thinking.

I set impossible standards for myself and then mentally destroy myself when I fail to meet them. If something is not perfect, I unconsciously feel like I have ruined everything. I struggle to accept progress because my brain constantly demands perfection, certainty, guarantees, control.

But life does not work like that.

People are unpredictable.
Situations are unpredictable.
Feelings are unpredictable.
The future is unpredictable.

And no amount of worrying can change that.

I’ve tried therapy. Medication. Distractions. Keeping myself constantly busy so I never have to sit alone with my own thoughts. Some things helped temporarily. Some things did not. But I think one of the biggest realizations I’ve had recently is that a huge part of my suffering comes from trying to control things that were never fully in my control to begin with.

Other people’s behavior.
Outcomes.
Timing.
The future.
Life itself.

I can’t control any of it.

And maybe the healthier approach is learning to let things unfold the way they are supposed to unfold instead of trying to force certainty out of uncertainty.

If something is meant for me, it will happen.
If it is not meant for me, no amount of worrying will change that.

I cannot control people into loving me correctly.
I cannot control situations into becoming perfect.
I cannot control fate.
I cannot control every possible risk in life.

At some point, I have to let things be.

And strangely enough, the less tightly I grip everything, the lighter I feel.

Because when my brain is not constantly consumed by fear, catastrophizing, and overanalysis, I actually have the mental bandwidth to process life in a healthier way. I can think more clearly. I can make better decisions. I can enjoy the present moment instead of mentally living inside disasters that have not happened yet.

I think I also need to stop overanalyzing every emotion, every interaction, every word, every shift in energy. Sometimes things are not that deep. Sometimes people are just people. Sometimes bad moods are just bad moods. Not every silence is rejection. Not every change means abandonment.

And honestly, constantly spreading my attention across a thousand fears has only made me feel mentally stretched, exhausted, and disconnected from myself.

So now I’m trying to turn inward instead.

To focus more on my own goals.
My own growth.
My own inner world.

To stop giving so much energy to things that do not truly matter or directly contribute to the life I want to build.

Because the truth is, the more consumed I become with controlling everything around me, the less connected I become to myself.

And maybe peace is not about eliminating anxiety completely.

Maybe it’s about learning to pause before fear takes over.
Learning to ground myself in reality instead of possibilities.
Learning to let things happen without trying to control every outcome.
Learning that uncertainty is part of being alive.

I still struggle with anxiety.
Probably more than most people realize.

But I think I’m slowly learning that not every thought deserves my attention, not every fear deserves my energy, and not every uncomfortable feeling is a sign that something terrible is about to happen.

Sometimes the best thing I can do is breathe, let go a little, and allow life to unfold on its own.

And honestly, the less fucks you give about things you cannot control, the more room you have to actually live.