Is This Anxiety or Am I Just Finally Feeling Safe?

For as long as I can remember, anxiety was my normal.

I’d wake up nauseous, chest tight, mind racing. I memorized escape routes in buildings. I rehearsed conversations in my head a hundred times before speaking. I froze before appointments. I white-knuckled the steering wheel, driving while completely dissociate; eyes on the road, but not really there.

But on the outside? I smiled. I worked. I helped.

I looked calm.

I was in full-blown functional freeze.

That’s the part people don’t always understand. Anxiety isn’t always flailing panic. Sometimes, it’s numbness so deep you forget what it feels like to feel.

The first time I noticed the stillness, I panicked.

My thoughts weren’t racing. My chest wasn’t tight. The silence inside me felt deafening. And instead of relief, I cried. I grieved. I thought something was wrong.

I had spent so long inside the noise, I mistook calm for danger.

Because when survival becomes your baseline, peace can feel like a threat.

Anxiety had been my identity. My hypervigilance made me good at helping, anticipating, performing. It made me feel needed. It kept me “safe.” But it also kept me disconnected from my body. From my joy. From myself.

Then one day, I hit a wall. And I made a choice:

Enough.

I stopped treating anxiety like an enemy. I stopped letting it run the show.

Instead, I got curious. I leaned in.

I listened to the scared voice inside me, not to obey it, but to understand it.

I started practicing somatic tools.

Hand on my heart. Deep breath.

Letting the tremble out instead of holding it in.

Now, when anxiety creeps back in, I don’t spiral. I pause.

And I ask myself:

“Is this fear… or is this just unfamiliar peace?”

Because sometimes, that nervous tension isn’t anxiety coming back, it’s your body asking if it’s really safe to rest now.

So here’s a simple somatic tool I use when I’m not sure:

• One hand on chest. One on stomach.

• Inhale slowly through your nose.

• Whisper: “I’m safe. I’m present. I’m allowed to feel peace.”

Pause. Notice your breath.

Let your shoulders drop just a little. Let your jaw soften.

That one degree of ease? That 1% shift?

That’s how your body learns to trust again.

Healing doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it whispers,

“You’re safe now. You can exhale.”

Let it in. You deserve to feel safe in your own skin.

You deserve to belong to yourself; fully, calmly, completely.