Anxiety has taught me many beautiful and valuable lessons. So much so that I no longer run from it, try to hide, or avoid it. It has become a tool not only for building resilience and growing stronger but, most importantly, for knowing myself better.
Looking back, there was a time when anxiety consumed me. During that time, I lived in fear every single day and had panic attacks so often that I lost count. I was convinced that I was the only one experiencing the worst, at least for a while. I’d look around and see friends and family doing okay, and people at work seemingly doing well. I felt this way because very few people knew what I was going through and, of those who did, none ever approached me to ask how I was doing. But how could they ask or offer help if I never told them what was happening in my life? It was a strange feeling: Part of me wanted to be left alone and not appear weak, but another part of me craved for people to check on me. I felt like a victim of the situation, as if I were suffering more than anyone else. Was I? Of course not. Everyone goes through hardship in one way or another.
This victim mindset wasn’t new to me — it even manifested itself in small ways, such as my behaviour on the road. Years ago, I remember having very little patience while driving. I only thought about myself, wanting to overtake or go faster as if I were the only person on the road.
But one terrifying day brought everything into perspective. The day after I was rushed to the ER, I had to go back to the same hospital because I had an appointment with a cardiologist scheduled based on his availability. They said they would call me that morning to confirm the time. By midday, however, I still hadn’t received a call. Perhaps they weren’t too worried since the two blood tests the previous night had shown nothing unusual, or maybe they simply forgot, who knows.
While I was waiting for their call, I received a call from my mother-in-law, who is also a doctor. She asked how I was and what my appointment with the cardiologist was like. When I told her that I was still waiting for the hospital to call, she immediately responded, “No, go there and wait.” I mentioned that my heart rate was slightly higher than normal, but not anything to worry about — until I started stressing about it.
I rushed to get dressed, panicking as I left the house and got into my car. Once inside, I checked my pulse and noticed it was over 150 bpm, as if I were undergoing intense exercise — a full-blown panic attack. I genuinely thought I wouldn’t make it to hospital. I felt like I couldn’t breathe properly, and I was getting light-headed. I needed to get there as quickly as possible, and I did.
The hospital staff took me in immediately and ran a third blood test in less than 24 hours. Like the others, this test showed nothing out of the ordinary. While I was waiting in a room hooked up to monitors, I guess watching people walk up and down the corridor distracted me enough to calm down, and my heart rate eventually returned to normal.
I waited for about two hours, but the cardiologist never showed up. (I was scheduled to see him again the following month, and everything turned out fine.) Instead, they sent a psychiatrist to speak to me. After a twenty-minute conversation, he diagnosed me with generalised anxiety disorder and sent me home.
That anxious drive to the hospital was a turning point for me. I probably wasn’t driving as carefully as I should have, and the other drivers had no idea what I was going through. I mean, who would ever imagine that the person in the car next to them is having a panic attack? That experience completely changed the way I respond now—not only when I’m driving, but in every other situation in life. I pause and think twice before reacting. For instance, if I notice someone driving slower than me, I consider: Maybe they’re an elderly person who feels nervous about driving fast. Perhaps they’re carrying something fragile. Or maybe they’re simply trying to keep their children safe.
This awareness extends far beyond driving, too. What if a colleague at work, a friend or a family member is struggling in the same way that I once did? Just as others couldn't see my suffering that day, I can't know what they're going through. This realisation has been a gift — a life-changing lesson that has brought me peace, patience, understanding and compassion.
For all this, thank you, Anxiety.