A raw look at living with chronic anxiety, PTSD, and the power of sticking with therapy — even when progress feels painfully slow.
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Nearly every morning, when I wake up feeling good, my brain acts like a thermostat — clicking on the moment it senses something’s “off.” Only instead of adjusting temperature, it flips a switch: Something’s wrong. You should be worried.
And just like that, anxiety starts to simmer. It sits behind my ribs, tightens my jaw, and fogs up my thinking. Damn, I’m anxious again. Will this ever go away?
I swear, when Mother Nature wired my nervous system, she added a “worry wart” button. Somewhere between conception and birth, that button — better known as the amygdala — jammed in fight/flight/freeze mode.
What’s that meant for me? A lifetime of getting steamrolled by anxiety’s tricks.
Here we are in 2025, and I’m still running anxious at a near-constant 7. I overthink so much, it’s a wonder I can function at all.
My anxious story may have started in the womb, but my decision to push back didn’t come until my mid-thirties. And now, at 49, I’m still fighting. Still dancing with the devil that is anxiety. Proof? My last therapy session brought something up I’d never considered before.
My psychologist, who I’ve been seeing for years, asked, “Jonathan, when was the last time you can remember feeling good?”
“I can’t recall,” I said….. (Read More)
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