Uninvited Guest

The first memory is a small one. No external trauma, no defining moment. It was a feeling. It began with a tightness in my chest, a gnawing unease that wormed into my stomach like a hungry moth. I was eight, standing at the edge of the school playground. The asphalt blurred beneath a sheen of nervous sweat. A simple game of tag, a harmless chase, morphed into a terrifying chase from an unknown monster. Panic, hot and unwelcomed, flooded my senses. This, I later learned, was anxiety. 

The years that followed were a constant dance with this uninvited guest. It manifested in different ways: a paralyzing fear of speaking in public, a continuous churning before social events, a crippling need for routine. The world, for all its vibrancy, felt like a minefield. Every step held the potential for disaster, every interaction a source of worry. 

School, especially, was a battlefield. Classes with open discussions sent shivers down my spine. Presentations were my worst enemy, each leaving me breathless and exhausted. The constant What ifs echoed incessantly in my head: What if I mess up? What if everyone laughs? Friendships, though cherished, were a source of strain. Was I being a good friend? Was I saying the right things? The need to be liked and perfect became a suffocating burden. 

My mom, bless her heart, was a constant source of love and support. She'd hold my hand through all my fears, listen patiently to my anxieties, and encourage me to "Just be yourself, Shants." But anxiety doesn't respond to reason. It thrives in the shadows of doubt, twisting logic into negativity. 

The teenage years were a tumultuous period. The hormonal roller coaster and the fierce need for independence amplified the already existing anxiety. This morphed into a constant fear of being judged, of not being cool enough, of not fitting in. The world seemed to be having this grand social dance, and I was tripping over my two feet. 

It was during this time, however, that a seed of positive defiance was planted. I started reading about anxiety, mindfulness practices, and therapeutic techniques. The idea of taking control, of fighting back, resonated deep within me. I began practicing deep breathing exercises, challenging my negative thoughts, and slowly facing my fears. The results were small victories at first, such as venturing out for a short walk or participating in a small group discussion. Each step forward chipped away at the grip anxiety had on me. 

University brought new challenges—a new environment, new people, and new expectations. However, I was armed with a toolbox of coping mechanisms. Sessions with my friends or family became a safe space to unpack my anxieties and learn to reframe negative thoughts. Slowly, I started to differentiate between a healthy dose of caution and crippling worry. 

The journey is far from over. Even now, there are days when the familiar tightness returns—days when the What ifs start to whisper. 

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Shanti Oh is an English major at the University of Belize. She resides in Belmopan and has a passion for reading and listening to music, Taylor Swift being her favorite artist.