What My Anxiety Was Trying to Tell Me

After five years of fear and control, I took a flight to Istanbul — and landed somewhere much deeper. This is what my anxiety was trying to tell me.

On May 17th, I sat on a plane, and after more than five years of fear, avoidance, and trying to control every detail, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a very long time: joy.

Not the forced kind. Not the kind you fake while scanning your body for symptoms.

Real, quiet joy.

It surprised me.

I wasn’t rehearsing every possible emergency in my head.

I was just… there.

Present.

As I looked out the window, I felt I wasn’t just flying to Istanbul.

I was finally flying somewhere deeper.

This story didn’t begin today. It began years ago, while I was working in Ukraine with the OSCE mission.

Part of the job was crossing the so-called contact line between the two sides—driving for hours without stops, breaks, or exits.

There was just silence, tension, and the clear message: you are not in control here.

And my body heard that message loud and clear. It remembered.

At first, I thought I was fine. But slowly, that helplessness began to grow roots inside me.

It showed up as an obsessive need to plan every route, sit only in aisle seats, avoid long rides with others, and stay home.

And eventually… it became something else.

A quiet, exhausting, all-consuming anxiety.

For over three years, my nervous system lived in a kind of secret war.

I smiled. I worked. I functioned.

But beneath it all, I was constantly negotiating with fear:

What if I need to get out? What if I can’t?

What if I need the bathroom? What if I panic in front of someone? What if I make a scene?

It became easier to avoid.

Avoid travel. Avoid people. Avoid any situation I couldn't fully control.

Some days, even a walk to the corner store felt monumental.

I was scared of the world.

But more than anything, I was scared of my own body — what it might do, how it might betray me.

Even more so, I was exhausted from pretending to be okay.

Sometimes I tried to talk about it.

But people don’t always understand anxiety when it’s quiet.

When it doesn’t look like hysteria. But rather like a fake act of “being responsible.” Or “she’s just being sensitive.”

I had performed so well that only a few noticed I was drowning.

It took me a long time to realise that my anxiety wasn’t just random fear.

That she was a message. Message from my soul through my body.

It was my body begging me to listen.

It showed me where my boundaries had been ignored — not just by others, but by me.

It showed me how much I was trying to be in charge of everything because, deep down, I didn’t feel safe anywhere.

Not even inside my own skin.

And only then, little by little, something inside me shifted.

I started listening.

Not to my thoughts, which were loud and dramatic —

But to my breath.

To the quiet voice underneath the fear that kept saying:

“There’s nothing to control. Only to trust.”

That’s when change started to happen.

Through quiet moments, I learned I didn’t need to escape my body — I needed to return to it. And slowly, very slowly, I began to hear that voice louder, and take up space in my own life again.

So when I boarded that plane, I didn’t just come with extra tissues, water, and calming pills.

I came with the trust that my body will support me.

And most importantly, I came to the realisation that:

We never have control.

Not over the planes, routes, or our lives.

But we do have something else.

We have a choice.

We have the ability to love ourselves, no matter where we are in life.

If you are reading this, and you’ve ever felt like your anxiety controls your life…

If you’ve avoided trips, cancelled plans, or quietly panicked through something that looked “normal” from the outside —

I see you.

I was you.

And I want to tell you:

Your anxiety is not your enemy.

It is a messenger.

Let it speak.

Let it guide you home — to yourself.

If this resonated, you’re welcome to share it or leave a note. You’re not alone here.