Learning to Float: A Journey Through the Waves of Anxiety

I used to believe that strength meant silence. That the only way to deal with anxiety was to ignore it, hide it, and press forward as if nothing was wrong. But anxiety doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t care about your calendar or your intentions. It arrives uninvited, like a sudden tide pulling you under just when you thought the shore was near.

For much of my life, I felt like I was drowning in invisible waters. I couldn’t always name what was happening, but I could feel it: the tightness in my chest, the restless nights, the racing thoughts that refused to let go. Sometimes it felt like a storm that came without warning. Other times, it was a slow, creeping current that pulled me further and further from myself.

There was a time when I thought I wouldn't survive it. That I was broken. That maybe I wasn’t strong enough.

But then something shifted.

It didn’t happen all at once. There was no dramatic turning point. No miracle moment. It began, quite simply, when I admitted to myself that I was struggling. That I was tired of pretending. That I needed to breathe again.

That was the beginning of everything.

The first step to healing was accepting that I couldn’t control the waves. Life would always bring uncertainty. There would always be pressure, disappointment, sadness, and moments of overwhelming fear. I realized I had two choices: I could keep fighting the current, exhausting myself with resistance, or I could learn to float. To trust that the storm would pass, and that I could survive it.

So I started talking.

To a friend. To a therapist. To myself.

The moment I gave my anxiety a name, it lost some of its power. I began to understand it—not as a flaw, but as a part of me. A signal. A story my body was trying to tell me. And with that understanding came a little bit of peace.

I started to recognize the early signs. The tightening chest. The racing heart. The urge to withdraw. And instead of pushing it away, I met it like an old acquaintance. Not welcome, but familiar.

In those moments, I reminded myself to breathe. To take things one second at a time. One inhale. One exhale. I’d close my eyes and imagine the ocean. Not the one that used to scare me, but the one I loved as a child. The gentle waves. The sound of seagulls. The warmth of the sun on my skin. That memory became my anchor.

And slowly, I began to swim.

Not perfectly. Not every day. But enough to know I wasn’t drowning anymore.

The truth is, anxiety hasn’t disappeared from my life. It still visits, sometimes quietly, other times loudly. But it no longer controls me. I’ve learned how to move through it. To feel it without fear. To sit with it without shame.

Some days, I wake up and the sea is calm. On those days, I feel light. Free. Capable of anything.

Other days, I feel the familiar pull. But I don’t panic like I used to. I stretch my arms, kick my feet, and remind myself: I’ve been here before. I know how to swim.

There’s power in knowing you’ve survived your worst days. That you’ve faced the waves and found your breath anyway. It doesn’t make you invincible—but it makes you resilient.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that you don’t have to swim alone.

We’re all in the water together, some of us further from shore, some of us just beginning to float. When we share our stories, we offer each other lifelines. We remind each other that there is hope, even in the deepest waters.

If you’re reading this and you’ve felt the storm, I want you to know this:

You are not broken. You are not weak. You are not alone.

You are learning, just like the rest of us.

And that, in itself, is brave.

I still have days when I struggle. When the world feels too loud and my thoughts feel too heavy. But those days don’t define me. What defines me is that I keep going. I keep swimming. I keep showing up for myself.

And that’s what I want for you, too.

Moral of the Story:

Anxiety may never fully go away, but it doesn’t have to control your life. By facing it, understanding it, and accepting support, you can learn to navigate the waves. The goal isn’t to never feel fear—the goal is to keep swimming through it.