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Worrying has always been something I’ve struggled with. When I was eight years old, I entered foster care for the first time. As part of the process, every child had to go through a psychological evaluation. I remember the long drive to Memphis. I remember sitting in a small office answering question after question from a psychologist. I was always a compliant child. I did what I was told, answered every question, and tried my best to get everything “right.” When the evaluation was over, I don’t remember every detail, but I remember one word: anxious. I was told I was very smart, very intelligent, but I was also very anxious. They noticed I bit my nails. They noticed I often answered questions before they were finished. Sometimes I’d blurt out an answer, then repeat it. Sometimes I’d say, “Huh?” and answer before the question had even been repeated. Looking back now, part of me wonders if that was anxiety. Part of me wonders if it was ADHD. Maybe both. Back then, those things weren’t recognized the way they are today, especially in an eight-year-old little girl carrying more than any child should have to carry. I also remember going to the doctor because my stomach hurt so badly. The diagnosis? Ulcers. From stress. Think about that for a minute—a child with stress ulcers. The truth is, my worrying didn’t start in foster care. I worried when my parents fought. I worried whether my mom was okay. I worried about when my dad would come home. Worry has been with me for as long as I can remember. Then there’s my family history. My mom worried constantly. She would tell me not to worry, even though she couldn’t stop herself. She learned it from her own mother. My grandmother died from an aneurysm. My mother died after a seizure. Whether anxiety caused those things or not isn’t the point. The point is that I refuse to believe this cycle has to continue. So if I seem passionate about learning how to manage anxiety, this is why. I’m not just fighting for my peace. I’m fighting for my future. I’m fighting for my children. I’m fighting to break something that has lived in the women of my family for generations. And maybe you’re fighting that battle too. If you are, I want you to know something: you are not alone. I know what it feels like to wake up carrying invisible weight. I know what it’s like to feel like your mind never gets quiet. I know what it’s like to survive one worry just to find another waiting. But I also know this—you have survived every single one. Every fear. Every sleepless night. Every “what if.” You’re still here. I don’t believe God intended for us to live at the speed we’re living today. Our minds were never meant to process endless notifications, constant bad news, and an overload of information every waking hour. Sometimes the healthiest thing you can do is put the phone down. I know… I’m saying that while posting this. Maybe that makes me a hypocrite. Or maybe it just makes me human. Lift your eyes from the screen. Look at the horizon. Listen to the birds. Feel the breeze. Take a deep breath. Remember that life is happening all around you—not just inside your mind. Because worry promises to prepare you for tomorrow, but it often steals today. Your peace is worth protecting. Your happiness is worth protecting. Your family is worth protecting. And so are you. #heartfelt #imperfection #worry #anxiety #christian

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