Anxiety Has a Voice Here’s How I Learned to Talk Back
The Day I Realized I Wasn’t My Fear I Was Its Challenger
Anxiety Has a Voice — Here’s How I Learned to Talk Back
The Day I Realized I Wasn’t My Fear, I Was Its Challenger
The voice of anxiety doesn’t always scream.
Sometimes, it whispers —
Soft enough that you barely notice it’s there,
Until it becomes the loudest thing in the room.
It often comes dressed in logic:
“Better not speak up — you might embarrass yourself.”
“Don't go — you'll regret it.”
“They're staring. Something’s wrong with you.”
For the longest time, I thought that voice was me.
After all, it spoke in my tone, my language, my rhythm.
But it wasn’t me. It was fear pretending to protect me.
It was anxiety. And it had learned to sound like home.
The First Time It Spoke Loud Enough to Be Heard
My anxiety didn’t arrive suddenly.
It crept in over the years —
A little unease before school presentations,
A skipped party because “I didn’t feel like it.”
A racing heart when someone asked me a question I didn’t expect.
At first, I called it “being shy.”
Then “just tired.”
Then “normal.”
Until it wasn’t.
One day, I stood in line for coffee, and out of nowhere, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My hands shook. My throat closed. My chest ached as though it had forgotten how to expand. The barista called my name and I nearly bolted.
That was my first panic attack.
I went home, locked my bedroom door, and cried into my pillow — not just from fear, but from confusion.
Where had this come from?
Why me?
When Anxiety Becomes a Roommate
Over the next few months, anxiety stopped being an occasional visitor and became a full-time roommate. It followed me everywhere. To the grocery store. On the bus. Even while brushing my teeth.
It turned my thoughts into battlegrounds.
“Did I sound stupid?”
“Why haven’t they texted back?”
“What if I faint in front of everyone?”
“What if I die and nobody finds me in time?”
I became exhausted from the constant inner commentary — a second voice analyzing, criticizing, predicting doom. Friends started noticing my withdrawal. I started skipping out on plans and making excuses. But I wasn’t lazy or disinterested. I was tired of pretending I was okay.
My Turning Point
It wasn’t dramatic. There was no epiphany on a mountain top.
I was sitting on my bed one night, curled up in the dark, crying after cancelling on yet another gathering. My phone buzzed with texts like, “We missed you!” and “Everything okay?”
But I didn’t know how to say:
“I’m scared of everything, and I don’t know why.”
I opened a blank note on my phone and typed:
> “Anxiety is stealing my life. I want it back.”
That line hit me so hard I started sobbing again — not from fear this time, but from grief. I was grieving the person I was supposed to be, the life I wanted to live, the moments I had missed.
That night, I didn’t just want to feel better. I wanted to fight.
Giving Anxiety a Name
My therapist — yes, I started therapy — asked me a strange question.
> “If anxiety were a person, what would they look and sound like?”
At first, I laughed. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized something important:
Anxiety wasn’t me — it was a voice I had learned to listen to. It was a scared version of myself, frozen in old trauma, stuck in worst-case scenarios.
So I named it. I gave it a shape. I wrote letters to it. I started to talk to it like an annoying co-worker who always panicked at the slightest inconvenience.
And slowly, I began to talk back.
Talking Back Sounds Like This:
“You think I’ll embarrass myself? I’ve survived worse.”
“You say they’re judging me? Let them. That’s not my business.”
“You think I’ll fail? Great — that’s how I grow.”
I didn’t need anxiety to vanish to reclaim my life.
I just needed to stop agreeing with it.
Each time I talked back, it got smaller.
Each time I did something scared, I reminded my body that I was safe.
Each time I stayed, spoke, showed up — even trembling — I proved anxiety wrong.
Life With the Voice — But Without Its Control
Anxiety still visits. It’s probably here now, whispering things like,
“No one will read this,” or
“You’re oversharing.”
But now, I smile at it like an old friend who doesn’t know when to leave.
Because it doesn’t get to drive anymore.
I do.
I go to dinners now. I take walks without checking my pulse. I speak on camera. I cry when I need to — but I don’t hide anymore.
I’m not fearless. I’m just no longer silent.
If You’re Reading This…
…and anxiety is gripping your throat, fogging your mind, shaking your bones —
Please know: you are not broken. You are not alone. You are not weak.
You are simply a human, trying to unlearn fear disguised as protection.
Start small.
Name the voice.
Challenge it.
Talk back — even if your voice trembles.
One day, that trembling voice will roar.
And anxiety will finally listen.
About the Creator
Muhammad ali
i write every story has a heartbeat
Every article starts with a story. I follow the thread and write what matters.
I write story-driven articles that cut through the noise. Clear. Sharp truths. No fluff.
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