When Meditation Made Me More Anxious

I thought meditation was supposed to save me.

I had read about its magic everywhere—from wellness blogs to scientific journals. Inner peace, reduced stress, clarity, self-awareness. It sounded like the answer to all my internal chaos. So I lit a candle, closed my eyes, and tried to breathe deeply.

And I hated every second of it.

My heart raced. My thoughts got louder. Instead of calm, I felt suffocated by my own mind. It was like opening the door to a room I had locked years ago—only to find it overflowing with clutter I didn’t know how to handle. I wasn’t prepared for how much noise could exist in silence.

The Pressure to “Be Zen”

Meditation is marketed like a cure-all. Stressed? Meditate. Anxious? Meditate. Can’t sleep? You get the idea.

But no one really talks about what happens when you’re not ready for what meditation brings up. No one warns you that silence can feel like a mirror you weren’t planning to look into. I felt ashamed for not finding peace in it, like I was doing it wrong or that something was broken inside me.

The apps, the soft music, the soothing voices—they all promised serenity. But my reality was very different: tight chest, spiraling thoughts, and an overwhelming sense of “I should be calmer by now.”

What Was Actually Happening

What I didn’t realize at the time is that meditation doesn't eliminate your thoughts—it helps you see them. And if you’ve spent years running from certain emotions, sitting still with them can feel like emotional whiplash.

Meditation is not always peaceful, especially in the beginning. It’s more like emotional excavation. It brings everything up—the fear, the grief, the unresolved memories—and places them right in front of you. And if you don’t have the tools to hold space for those emotions, it can feel overwhelming.

In my case, I wasn’t anxious because I was meditating wrong. I was anxious because I had never truly sat with myself before.

Breaking the Myth of “Instant Peace”

It took me a while to unlearn the idea that meditation always equals calm. Sometimes it equals chaos, and that’s okay.

What I needed wasn’t to “empty my mind,” but to meet my mind with compassion. That meant allowing the thoughts to come and go without judgment. It meant shortening my sessions to just a few minutes. It meant using breathwork, journaling, or movement to prepare myself before I sat down in silence.

It meant understanding that healing doesn’t always feel like healing.

Creating a Practice That Felt Safe

Eventually, I reshaped my relationship with meditation.

I stopped using it as a performance and started treating it like a conversation.

I let myself fidget, cry, sigh—whatever needed to move through me.

I started grounding myself before sitting down, reminding myself that I was safe, that nothing needed to be fixed or changed in that moment.

The shift was subtle but powerful. I didn’t need to force stillness—I needed to trust it. And more importantly, I needed to let it meet me where I was.

A New Kind of Peace

These days, meditation doesn’t always feel good—and that’s okay.

Sometimes it makes me cry. Sometimes it brings up anger. But now I understand that this, too, is part of the process. Peace isn’t always pretty. Sometimes it begins with discomfort, with facing the noise you’ve tried to mute for years.

Meditation didn’t make me more anxious.

It just introduced me to the parts of myself I had been avoiding.

And maybe… that’s where the healing truly begins.

Meditation didn’t make me more anxious.

Meditation didn’t make me more anxious