Overwhelmed. Heavy. Hopeful.

“It is not possible to control all external events; but if I simply control my mind, what need is there to control other things?” — Śāntideva

This is a quote I find myself returning to often.

I am, by nature, a worrier. A planner. The kind of person who is always bracing for the next catastrophe before the current one has even arrived. My mind can spin fast — faster than reality ever requires.

When I first came across this quote, it reminded me of something I had been learning through Cognitive Behavioral Therapy: not everything is within my control. And trying to control everything is often what fuels the anxiety in the first place.

It brings me back down to reality when my head feels like it’s spiraling. When my body starts reacting to stress I didn’t even realize I was carrying. It reminds me that relief often sits on the other side of acceptance.

I’ve spent years working on myself after battling anxiety, worry, and panic for as long as I can remember.

Growing up, I thought I was just an introvert. Quiet. Reserved.

What I didn’t realize was that I might have been an extrovert trapped inside a body riddled with social anxiety.

I was told, more than once, that “anxiety doesn’t exist.” That you just push through. Stuff your feelings down. Move on. Ignoring was coping.

It wasn’t until I started doing the deep work that I realized I had spent a large part of my life in survival mode.

What Survival Mode Actually Looks Like

The tricky part about survival mode is that you often don’t realize you’re in it.

There’s no alarm going off. No flashing sign.

You just think:

• “This is my personality.”

• “I’m just high-strung.”

• “I overthink — that’s normal.”

• “I’m just independent.”

• “I don’t need anyone.”

But survival mode isn’t a personality trait.

It’s a nervous system that never learned it was safe to relax.

When your brain perceives threat — whether it’s physical danger or emotional rejection — it activates the fight-or-flight response. Adrenaline rises. Cortisol increases. Your body prepares to protect you.

That response is helpful in short bursts.

It becomes exhausting when it never turns off.

For me, survival mode looked like:

• Constantly scanning people and the energy they let off.

• Rehearsing conversations in my head.

• Questioning what others thought of me, worrying I’d be “too much.”

• Struggling to trust people fully, always curious about their intentions.

• Feeling physically tense without knowing why.

• Avoiding vulnerability because it felt uncomfortable.

From the outside, I looked functional. Productive. Disciplined.

Inside, I was bracing.

And when you live braced for long enough, your body eventually reacts — panic attacks, shutdown, irritability, emotional numbness. The system that was trying to protect you becomes the thing that exhausts you.

That realization was uncomfortable.

But it was also freeing.

Because if it wasn’t “just who I am,” it meant it was something I could work on.

Survival mode often feels like control.

But it’s actually fear wearing discipline as a disguise.

A glass can only hold so much water before it overflows.

I hadn’t learned how to express emotions — let alone regulate them. So I stored them. And my body eventually forced me to pay attention.

For the past year and a half, that’s what I’ve been working on.

Regular — and sometimes semi-regular — sessions with my therapist. Using different tools. Learning the language of emotions (the emotion wheel has been incredibly helpful). Journaling. Meditation. Breathing exercises. Looking back at my life instead of avoiding it. Allowing myself to be vulnerable.

And most importantly — not getting in my own way.

The work has not been easy.

Recently, at the end of a therapy session, my therapist asked me to describe how I was feeling in three words.

There was a long pause.

Then I surprised myself.

Overwhelmed.

Heavy.

Hopeful.

Hopeful.

That word caught in my throat.

Because for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was beginning to understand myself. I could see a path forward. I could see relief — even if I wasn’t there yet.

I was uncomfortable. Emotionally drained. Physically tired.

But I was hopeful.

And that mattered.

I’m sharing this not for sympathy — but for connection.

If you feel overwhelmed and heavy right now, you are not alone.

Healing is possible. But it requires participation. It requires discomfort. It requires honesty. If the process feels uneasy but there’s even a small thread of hope running through it, you’re probably on the right path.

Below are some of the things that have helped me over the years:

Therapy

• Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT)

• EMDR

• Talk therapy

Tools

• Journaling

• Meditation

• Breathing exercises

• The emotion wheel

• Drawing

• Books

Lifestyle

• Dialing in diet

• Consistent exercise

• A non-judgmental support system

• Medication (when needed)

From someone who once felt stuck — like I had tried everything with no real relief — I can say this:

Stick with it.

Don’t quit on yourself too early.

Try the uncomfortable thing.

Say the honest thing.

Feel the thing you’ve been avoiding.

Something will click.

And when hope shows up — even quietly — hold onto it.

It’s heavier before it’s lighter.

But it can get lighter.