Carson L.
Photography by Anjali Kapadia
If you’re reading this, it’s okay to feel anxious.
When I was a kid, I hated making decisions. Even at three years old, something as small as picking out a shirt felt impossible. Do I choose the My Little Pony or the Barbie one? The choice felt huge - so much so that I’d melt down, practically paralyzed by the fear of making the wrong choice. Looking back, it seems so funny that choosing a shirt could hold so much power over me, but in the moment, it felt like my world was collapsing inward.
It wasn’t just clothes that stressed me out. In elementary school, my anxiety was always lurking beneath the surface. Every morning, I’d clutch my mom’s hand a little too tightly, tears stinging my eyes as I waved goodbye at my school entrance. I would go boneless outside the doctor’s office, screaming and bawling because I knew I would have to get a shot. I would spend hours a day crying before a test — not because I wasn’t prepared, but because I didn’t know exactly what was going to happen or what it was going to be like. Uncertainty felt unbearable.
I thought this was just what being nervous felt like. That everyone’s stomach twisted into a billion knots before trying something new. That it was normal to be anxious before an exam or a shot. But my “being anxious” was different. In those stressful moments, my whole body would freeze and my mind would race, spinning worst-case scenarios until I felt sick. It didn’t just make doing things harder - it made things impossible. I would skip out on sleepover parties, refuse to try new activities, and couldn’t even walk into a doctor’s office without a full-blown panic attack. Some days, I wouldn’t even go outside at all — because what if a bee stung me? What if something bad happened?
By third grade, I had a name for what I was feeling: generalized anxiety disorder (GAD). Generalized anxiety disorder means that my thoughts didn’t just stress me out — they controlled me. Anxiety wasn’t just an emotion I felt every now and then. It was stitched into my daily life, negatively shaping the way I moved through the world.
Then came seventh grade. That was when my anxiety got so overwhelming that I couldn’t imagine continuing to live the way I had been. I was exhausted — tired of being afraid all the time, tired of my own mind controlling everything I was doing. That was when my parents and therapist decided it was time to see a psychiatrist. After talking to her, I started taking anti-anxiety medication.
I won’t say that medication “fixed” me - but it helped quiet the noise enough for me to breathe. It gave me the space to learn how to manage my anxiety instead of letting it control me. My anxiety will never fully go away, and I’ve made peace with that. I still get nervous. I still have days where my thoughts spiral or a panic attack will spring up on me. But now, I know how to handle it. Therapy gave me the tools, and time and practice taught me how to use them.
Reframing my anxious thoughts is an ongoing, daily practice - but I learned that I’m capable. I can do hard things. And somewhere along the way, I found something else too — a passion for understanding how the brain works, and a want to support others who feel like I once did.
If you’re reading this and struggling with anxiety I hope you know this — you are not broken. You are not alone. And I promise you, things can and will get better.
Carson L., Duke University
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