Therapy Bits

Today, I feel the weight of my own thoughts more than usual. Writing this down feels like a small act of courage, a disclosure (or maybe I’ll call it a disclusure, because it feels like a clumsy opening, not a graceful one). I want to be honest with myself about the way anxiety still grips me, even on days when I smile and say I’m “fine.”

Anxiety, for me, doesn’t look dramatic. It’s not shouting, breaking down, or panicking in public. It’s quieter, subtler, and maybe that makes it harder for others to notice—and for me to explain. It shows up in the mornings when I hesitate to check my messages, convinced there’s bad news waiting. It creeps in during conversations when my brain starts replaying my own words, picking apart every syllable for mistakes. It lurks at night when I’m finally still, whispering worst-case scenarios that feel too vivid to ignore.

The hardest part is how invisible it can be. People see me functioning—working, talking, laughing—and assume I must be doing fine. I want to disclose that it’s not always true. I can be present but still fighting storms inside. And when I hide it too well, I feel like I’ve betrayed myself.

Today’s disclusure is that I’m tired of pretending. I don’t want to keep minimizing my struggles or calling them “just stress.” I know now that what I feel has a name, and that it deserves compassion instead of dismissal. I want to be kinder to myself, even when I don’t have the energy to show kindness to anyone else.

I also realized something: vulnerability doesn’t have to mean weakness. In fact, telling the truth about my anxiety might be the only way I can start to loosen its grip. I don’t expect it to vanish overnight, but maybe admitting it—writing it here, letting my own words witness me—can chip away at the shame.

I don’t know if I’ll ever fully “beat” anxiety. Maybe it’s less about winning and more about learning how to live alongside it without letting it dictate every choice. But today, I’ve made this small but honest disclusure to myself: I’m struggling, and that’s okay.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the first step toward healing.

FOWC With Fandango — Disclosure – Facts, Fictions & Fantasies