It’s difficult to explain to those who do not have anxiety what it’s truly like for those of us who do. Most folks know what it’s like to feel anxious. Butterflies in your stomach, your heart racing, maybe your palms get sweaty – a general feeling of anticipation that makes you feel unsettled in the moment.

Generalized anxiety disorder is different. For me, it is an undercurrent of that anxious feeling paired with an incessant narrative in a voice that is my own and isn’t – one which is quick to think of the worst case scenario for any occurrence, which tells me that the things I know and feel in my heart are to be questioned. My anxiety is very pronounced when I am in the car and someone else is driving; I feel a sense of impending doom with every merge, every uncontrolled left turn. The narrative in my mind tells me that at any second, another vehicle or a slip of the driver’s attention will bring an end to everything I know and love. When I travel to the land currently known as California, the place of my birth and where I spent most of my life, I am constantly on edge waiting for “the big one” to hit – the giant earthquake that I spent my childhood hearing about and preparing for with earthquake drills. I will be standing on a hilltop looking down & around at a beautiful vista, and in my mind’s eye I see the earth around me undulating, the trees swaying, buildings crumbling. All while at the same time, feeling gratitude and love for the beauty of the world around me.

Anxiety is not an invited feeling. It arrives even when you feel peace, happiness, safety. Yes, anxiety can be triggered by certain unwelcome events, but it also shows up when nothing has specifically triggered it. Those of us with anxiety can feel it when we’re on vacation, when we’re enjoying a birthday celebration, when we’re at a family gathering. It is often unrelated to our physical environment. The thing that those with anxiety have to learn to navigate, and those without anxiety have to learn to accept, is that anxiety is not a reflection of reality. The inner dialogue doesn’t care if you are physically safe, if you are surrounded by loved ones, if you are in a beautiful place. It can be kept at bay by self affirmations and supportive words from your loved ones, but when it’s really bad it can make it difficult to believe yourself and others about what is reality. It often doesn’t make any sense, and that’s what makes it difficult for those who don’t have anxiety to understand and empathize with those of us who do.

One of the best and only examples that I have seen of anxiety in media is on Issa Rae’s Insecure. I’m not sure if it’s intentional, but it feels as though it must be. There are multiple ways that the show depicts characters’ anxiety and anxious thoughts & feelings. One way is with flash forwards – scenes that seem real to start, then become very exaggerated versions of reality before flashing back to Issa’s character in the present, who was imagining the worst case scenario in a conversation she is anticipating or an action she is considering. This is a great example of what it’s like, to imagine a reality completely different from the one we know, where all of our worst fears come to fruition.

Another way is through cinematography – they frame a shot of a character so that the center of the frame is not their face, but instead a blank space that is meant to represent all of their unstated thoughts. This technique depicts why those of us with anxiety can seem to lack presence when we are around others, because so much of our mental capacity is spent on the inner dialogue of things we are too afraid to say out loud.

My anxiety is very different from my otherwise very logical and process-oriented brain. I will hear an odd sound in the night and my anxiety will convince me that it’s an intruder come to destroy everything I know and love, before I realize that it’s just the deep snores of my dog, or the ceiling fan, or the wind. What is often said and written about anxiety is that your brain and your body don’t know the difference between a real and a perceived threat. I have found that to be very much true. In those moments where I am convinced that a strange sound is death knocking at my door, my heart is racing, my jaw is clenched, my entire body is stiff waiting for the next sound that will confirm that the threat is real. Even after realizing that there is no threat, it can take several more minutes for my heart to stop racing, and for my mind and muscles to relax enough to let sleep take over.

I’ve seen recent posts on social media that claim that anxiety is beneficial, a survival instinct that we have refined over millennia, which can keep the anxious one safe or sound the alarm when something feels “off.” My anxiety has certainly helped me in some ways. It made me a great student and test taker, as I would cope with my anxiety by reading incessantly and consuming every piece of learning material accessible to me, so that by the time I sat down for a test I felt confident in my knowledge. My anxiety makes me a great employee – I am constantly thinking that I’ve missed something or forgotten something, so my organizational systems are robust and effective. I am good at thinking ahead to all of the possibilities for a given project, pilot, or organizational change, and trying to understand how other people might be affected. My anxiety makes me detail-oriented, thorough, and direct – traits which are for the most part rewarded in U.S. workplaces.

Beneficial, though? I would give up my anxiety in a second if I could. My anxiety disturbs my peace and impacts my relationships. It makes it difficult for me to build new relationships, to be present, to be confident. I am constantly working on being better at these things and confronting my anxiety, because it tells me that I am not worthy or deserving of others’ time and attention.

My anxiety is the main reason why I started therapy a couple of years ago. I finally recognized and labeled my anxiety, and began cognitive behavioral therapy, a common treatment for anxiety. I talk with my therapist about my anxiety, how it’s affecting my life, and I learn ways to manage and work with it. I try to maintain a meditation practice, and though I’m not very good at it, I at least have that in my toolbox to turn to in moments when I am feeling overwhelmed by my anxiety. I am getting better at recognizing my anxiety, interrupting the narrative, and letting go of the fear. I know that there are medications that I can take to treat my anxiety, but I prefer to learn how to manage it on my own, and I am grateful that my anxiety is very rarely debilitating. Writing is another way that I manage my anxiety. When I write I come back to myself, I tap into the voice in my head that is my own.

After recognizing and accepting my anxiety, then learning ways to work with and through it, I am feeling ready to move onto exploring the root causes of my anxiety. Understanding where my generalized anxiety disorder came from, and doing the work to heal my inner child, is the next great adventure on my mental health journey. I know that there isn’t a cure for my anxiety, and have accepted that this is a part of who I am. But I am determined to live my life joyfully and fearlessly, and to stop letting my anxiety control my actions, my time, and the way I see myself.