Personal Admissions

"The Anxiety That Lives in My Chest"

I've been hiding a secret for two years: I have panic attacks in grocery stores.

It started small. A flutter of unease in the cereal aisle, my heartbeat racing as I neared the checkout. I told myself it was caffeine, stress, too little sleep. 

But then it got worse. 

The fluorescent lights were too bright, there were too many choices, the people too close. My chest would tighten until I couldn't breathe properly, and I'd abandon my cart and leave.

For months, I ordered everything online, telling my family it was more convenient, more efficient. I became an expert at explaining away my absence from the most mundane parts of life. Birthday parties felt too crowded, restaurants too loud, even coffee with friends required strategic planning around my nervous system's unpredictable rebellion.

The hardest part wasn't the panic itself—it was my shame around it. 

How do you admit that your brain, which works perfectly fine in complex situations, short-circuits when faced with choosing between twelve types of pasta sauce?

I kept thinking I should be able to think my way out of it. I understood anxiety intellectually. I knew the science, the coping strategies, the breathing techniques. I could help other people through their mental health struggles. But when it was my turn, when it was my chest tightening and my thoughts spiraling, all that knowledge felt useless.

The turning point came in a Target parking lot, as I cried in my car after leaving mid-shopping trip. A text from my sister asked me to pick up birthday decorations. Something about that simple request—and my complete inability to fulfill it—flipped a switch for me.

I called my doctor that afternoon.

Here's what I've learned in therapy: anxiety isn't a character flaw or a sign of weakness. It's not something you can logic your way out of or push through with enough willpower. It's a real thing happening in your real body, and it deserves real attention and real help.

I still have days when the grocery store feels impossible. But I also have tools now—actual tools, not just positive thinking. I have medication that takes the edge off. I have breathing techniques that actually work when I remember to use them. I have a therapist who doesn't judge me for being afraid of frozen food aisles.

Most importantly, I have the knowledge that mental health struggles don't disqualify you from being human, from helping others, from having a meaningful life. They just make you human in a more complicated way.

If you're struggling with something similar, please know: it's not your fault, it's not permanent, and you're not alone. 

The bravest thing you can do is ask for help. 

The second bravest thing is to keep showing up to your life, even when it feels scary.

I bought groceries yesterday. It wasn't easy, but I did it. Small victories count too.

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