What My Anxiety Taught Me About Control

For the longest time, I believed that control was the key to peace. If I could organize every minute, double-check every plan, rehearse every conversation in my head, I thought I could somehow avoid the crushing weight of panic that lingered just below the surface. Anxiety, to me, was a failure—a loss of grip on the world I so desperately wanted to manage.

But anxiety has a cruel way of humbling you.

It started small. Stomach knots before social events. Trouble sleeping the night before a work presentation. But soon, it wasn’t just “nerves.” It became waking up with a racing heart for no reason, rehearsing every sentence I might say that day. It was canceling plans last-minute because I couldn’t stop shaking. It was standing in the cereal aisle frozen, suddenly convinced something was horribly wrong, even though everything looked fine.

At first, I fought back with more control. I downloaded productivity apps. I made color-coded schedules. I journaled obsessively—if I could just figure it out, I thought, I’d be okay.

But it didn’t work. It made it worse.

Anxiety, I learned, isn’t always about what's happening. It’s about what could happen. It thrives in uncertainty. And the more I tried to control every detail of my life, the more sensitive I became to every small disruption.

Science Behind the Spiral

According to neuroscientists, anxiety involves the overactivation of the amygdala, the brain’s threat detection center. It’s your “fight or flight” alarm. But in people with anxiety, that alarm is hypersensitive. It rings even when there’s no fire.

A 2016 study from Stanford found that anxious individuals showed increased connectivity between the amygdala and areas of the brain responsible for executive function and attention. That means: when you're anxious, you're constantly scanning for problems—even if none exist.

No wonder I was exhausted. My brain was trying to control everything to prevent anything.

A Moment That Changed Me

One evening, I was helping my younger cousin with her homework. She’s ten—fearless, messy, and honest in the way only kids can be. She noticed how I kept checking my phone and my watch, fidgeting, distracted.

“Why are you always trying to be somewhere else?” she asked.

I didn’t have an answer. That simple question cut through everything.

That night, I realized I wasn’t really living my life—I was managing it. Like a project. Like damage control. I was missing out on presence in my effort to avoid pain.

A Local Lesson in Letting Go

I live near a small coastal town where the weather changes constantly. Sunshine at noon, a storm by three. Locals have a saying: “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.”

I used to hate it. I wanted to know the plan. But the people here have adapted. Farmers delay harvest by instinct, fishermen check the winds and adjust. They don’t fight the change—they work with it.

Watching that, it hit me: what if anxiety isn’t the enemy—but the signal? What if it’s not about controlling the storm, but learning how to anchor myself when it hits?

What I’ve Learned

Here’s what I know now:

1.Control is an illusion. Even the best plans fall apart. Accepting that doesn’t mean giving up; it means being open to adapt.

2.Anxiety isn’t weakness. It’s an overprotective guard dog. Barking too much, yes—but trying to keep me safe.

3.Mindfulness works. Not in the Instagram-aesthetic kind of way, but in the real sense of pausing, breathing, noticing. Meditation helped me see thoughts as thoughts, not truths.

4.Talking helps. Therapy gave me language for things I didn’t even know I felt. Naming the fear often shrinks it.

5.Letting go is powerful. The moment I stopped trying to control everything, I began to regain control over something—my response.

If You’re Struggling

Maybe you feel it too—the weight, the panic, the mental gymnastics of trying to hold your life together like a delicate tower of cards. If so, let me say this:

You don’t have to earn rest.

You don’t have to predict every outcome to be safe.

You are not broken—you’re overloaded.

Try this: the next time you feel the spiral, don’t ask “How do I fix this?” Ask, “What do I need to feel safe right now?”

Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is to stop grasping—and just be.

That’s what my anxiety taught me about control: the tighter I held on, the more I lost myself. But in the letting go, I found a steadier ground.

Not certainty. But peace.