As a somewhat normal guy—and a counselor—I find myself thinking a lot about anxiety: how it affects me personally, and what I hear from the people I work with.
On my Psychology Today profile, I include a quote by John A. Shedd:
“Ships are safe in the harbor, but that’s not what ships are built for.”
That quote speaks to me because anxiety often keeps us tied to the harbor.
In many ways, we are born anxious. Our very first act in life is fighting for that first breath as we come out of our mother’s womb. The instinct for fight or flight is part of our genetic wiring. When we perceive a threat—whether it’s a lion chasing us or a verbal or physical attack—the alarm bells ring and anxiety kicks in.
Anyone who says they have never experienced at least some level of anxiety is probably fooling themselves.
In moderation, anxiety actually serves an important purpose. It can motivate us, sharpen our attention, and push us to act. Anxiety meets us at the crossroads of important decisions. It flashes warning lights that say:
Is this safe?
Are you about to miss an important turn?
Why do you feel uncomfortable around that person or in that situation?
In that sense, anxiety is not always the enemy. It can be a guide.
But anxiety can also feel like a virus—something that is always there in the background, something that feels impossible to fully eliminate.
Low-grade anxiety is normal. On a scale from 1 to 10, many of us live comfortably in the 1–3 range. When it climbs to 4–6, it may still be manageable, but we begin to feel the strain. Once it rises above that level, we may need support—from trusted friends, coping strategies, or professional help.
So when does anxiety become significant?
It becomes significant when it begins to interfere with everyday life—when it affects your ability to function at work, maintain social connections, or pursue meaningful opportunities. When anxiety begins to shrink your world rather than help you navigate it, that’s when it deserves attention.
As therapists, we sometimes use tools such as GAD scales or quality-of-life assessments to help people understand how much anxiety is affecting them.
For most of my life, I have been relatively functional despite my anxiety. But for the first time in my life, I realized I needed support when I lost two people I deeply loved. I went to counseling myself, and it helped me process the pain, cope with the anxiety, and regain some of my dignity and self-respect.
It also reminded me that if I believe therapy can help others, I should be willing to walk the talk and accept help myself.
There are many root causes of anxiety: trauma, abandonment, social rejection, inherited tendencies, and cultural influences, to name a few. I won’t go deeply into those areas here, but they often shape how anxiety shows up in our lives.
For me, anxiety has been both a burden and, strangely, something I have learned to appreciate.
My business name has long been Bashful Elephant.
The elephant symbolizes strength, individuality, and loyalty to family. Yet for much of my life, I didn’t feel as strong as an elephant. I felt shy—painfully shy.
Growing up, if I sat in a barber’s chair and thought people were looking at me, I would blush. If a pretty girl stared at me, I blushed. If I thought someone was smarter or had more authority than I did, I blushed.
I even took a speech class twice.
There were jobs I didn’t pursue because I feared I wouldn’t be good enough. The river of anxiety was always there, flowing quietly beneath the surface.
Looking back, I suspect there were attachment issues as well. I grew up in a large family—five brothers and two sisters—and my parents simply didn’t have the emotional space to give each child the attention they needed.
But eventually I reached a point where I said, “Enough.”
I started reading books about shyness and anxiety. I decided that if I could face my fears, maybe I could do almost anything in life. I think part of why I became a therapist was knowing that I had to face my fears and anxiety before I could help others.
So I pushed myself toward things that once felt impossible.
Two of the scariest—and most meaningful—experiences I ever pursued were joining the Peace Corps in Africa and skydiving.
And I did both.Yet no matter how much progress I make, anxiety nenever completely disappears. It’s always there somewhere, quietly waiting to check the radar and remind me to pay attention.
I once heard someone say that anxiety sometimes reflects a lack of trust in ourselves, or even love for ourself—an underlying belief that we may not be able to handle what life puts in front of us. In many cases, I think that’s true. Anxiety often intertwines with negative self-talk, low self-worth, and doubts about our abilities.
What concerns me most is when anxiety causes people to withdraw from intimate relationships.
When anxiety becomes intense, it can prevent us from digging deeper into the root causes of our feelings or from talking openly with someone we trust. Instead of leaning into the discomfort that can lead to healing, people often retreat. The instinct becomes to run, to bail out, to escape the pain.
Yet ironically, the path to healing often requires walking through that anxiety rather than running from it.
I have always believed what Dr. Bessel van der Kolk expressed so clearly in his book The Body Keeps the Score. Our experiences, especially painful ones, live in our bodies and nervous systems long after the events themselves have passed.
The challenge is that understanding the body’s “scoring system” can be incredibly difficult.
Recently I lost two people I love deeply. The fear that I may never have them back in my life keeps a quiet current of anxiety running through me. Part of me holds onto hope that someday they might return.
Separation from people we love may be one of the deepest forms of anxiety we experience.
It can unravel us.
It brings confusion, heartbreak, rejection, and a profound sense of grief. Sometimes the pain feels so intense that words fail to capture it. It can feel like a crushing ache inside your chest that stops you in your tracks and steals your breath.
At times it even makes you physically sick, like a toxic poison spreading through your body. You wish you could somehow purge it—vomit it out and be done with it—but you know this is a different kind of sickness, one that cannot simply be expelled.
Benjamin Franklin once said that two things in life are certain: death and taxes.
If I were to add a third, it might be this:
Anxiety.
EXERCISE
Take a quiet moment and think about the last time anxiety showed up strongly in your life.
Ask yourself a few simple questions:
1. What triggered my anxiety?
Was it a situation, a person, a memory, or a fear about the future?
2. What was my body telling me?
Did you notice a racing heart, tightness in your chest, restless thoughts, or a knot in your stomach?
3. What story was my mind telling me?
Was the message something like “I’m not good enough,” “Something bad will happen,” or “I can’t handle this”?
4. What helped even a little?
Talking with someone you trust, going for a walk, slowing your breathing, prayer, journaling, or simply giving yourself permission to pause.
Now imagine something different.
Instead of anxiety driving the car, picture it sitting in the passenger seat. It can still point out potential dangers, but it no longer controls the steering wheel.
Take a slow breath and remind yourself:
“I can listen to my anxiety without letting it drive my life.”
Remember, don’t act your age!