Navigating the Uncharted Waters of Anxiety: Lessons from a Seasoned Traveler

If you caught my last post, you know that my family’s great Belizean adventure didn’t end with a permanent tan and a perfectly scripted happily-ever-after. It ended with a sold house, a return to the Midwest, and a massive dose of reality. Packing up that tropical dream forced me to unpack something much heavier: the realization that you cannot outrun your own mind, no matter how far you travel.

When I relaunched this space, my intention was to check in much more frequently. But if you’ve been following along this summer, you know the radio silence can be summed up in one word: baseball. Between travel tournaments, long drives, and living out of hotel rooms, the weeks simply blurred together.

Yet so much more than baseball has occurred this summer that I just haven’t been able to find the proper words to share. Until now.

Now that the dust of the season is settling, I want to invite you deeper into this space with me. If my last piece was about admitting I was running, this piece is about standing still, holding space, and facing what it actually means to live through an unexpected storm.

Let's talk about anxiety, uncertainty, and the unpredictable weather of life.

The Changing Face of the Weather

When we think of a storm, we think of thunderclaps and torrential downpours. Anyone who has lived through a few seasons, though, knows that a storm can also be a thick, blinding fog. It can be a persistent, freezing drizzle that slowly soaks you to the bone.

Anxiety works the exact same way. It looks different for different people, and it varies wildly from day to day.

Periods of intense stress naturally heighten anxiety and make the symptoms worse. When your external environment gets chaotic, your internal calm drops fast. It isn't just external stress that alters our mental climate, either. Sometimes, our own biology triggers an emotional monsoon out of nowhere.

Right now, as a perimenopausal woman parenting two pubescent teenagers, my internal weather app is thoroughly confused. The sheer volume of hormones bouncing around my household makes for a tricky environment. It requires a daily effort to stay grounded.

And then, right in the middle of a routine summer weekend, everything shifted overnight.

When Everything Changes

On what had become a typical Saturday afternoon in mid-June, we were heading out of our hotel for one of my son’s travel baseball games when my phone rang. That was the moment our world turned upside down, as we found out my mom had breast cancer.

I don’t know if I’m fully supposed to share that. After all, this isn’t entirely my story to tell. I am not the one walking the physical path of diagnosis and treatment, but I plan to be by her side every step of the way.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to realize that one of the most remarkable things about mothers is that their stories are so deeply tied to our own that it's hard to know where the line actually is. Her pain is my pain; her fears echo in my own heart.

Last week, I sat with my dad in the hospital while she had her lumpectomy and a lymph node removed. The surgery went well, thank God, but seeing her chemo port for the first time hit me harder than I expected. It made everything real in a way it simply hadn't been before.

She will start chemotherapy just two days before my kids go back to school. Life keeps moving forward at a breakneck speed, even when you're not sure how it's supposed to. And while she's preparing for that grueling battle, I'm heading in tomorrow morning for my own routine mammogram—painfully aware that my risk of a similar diagnosis has now doubled.

I don't really have all the right words for it yet. Anxiety has once again reared its ugly head, and I’m still figuring out how to feel, how to process, and how to breathe through it. I just keep thinking: if I'm struggling this much, I can only imagine what's going on inside my mom's head.

I don't have all the answers or a neat coping strategy tied up with a ribbon. I just know that right now, being truly present is the most important thing I can do.

Finding What Keeps You Grounded

Living through seasons like this requires tools, and my relationship with those tools has evolved over time.

I have been open about my struggles with anxiety and depression for years. There have been times when my medication made me feel completely flat, leaving me in an emotionless place where I couldn't feel much of anything. That was no way to live, so I had to make adjustments.

Conversely, there have been plenty of times when my lifestyle choices, coping mechanisms, and medication were working so well that I convinced myself I was completely cured. I would ask my doctor to taper me off my anxiety medication altogether. I'd tell myself that I was doing great and didn't need the extra help anymore.

Without fail, as I gradually went off the prescription, the old, familiar fog would roll right back in. The racing thoughts returned, and I would find myself right back where I started. I had to learn, through humbling repetition, that the reason I hadn't been feeling anxious was because my medication was doing its job.

Medication might not be the right answer for everyone. Everyone maps their path differently. But I am absolutely not ashamed to stand here and tell you that it is a vital part of mine. I know my body, and I know that I need that support to keep the chemicals in my brain balanced so I can see the horizon clearly—especially when life throws a major curveball like the one we are navigating right now.

Stepping Out of the Shadows

This life, with all its unexpected detours, medical scares, moments of joy and moments of sadness, is an unpredictable journey. And it is absolutely not a journey we should have to take under the dark of night, or keep hidden away in a locked room. It is definitely not something we should have to carry in secret or hide away out of sight.

I’m utilizing this blog space again because I want to blow this conversation wide open. I want to be honest about the good days, the bad days, and the downright terrifying days that come with simply being human.

My hope is that by mapping my own struggles and uncertainties out loud, you might look at my words and see a reflection of your own path. I want you to look at this screen and find comfort in knowing that you do not have to trek through the heavy stuff alone

This isn't just a space for me to share my life, either. I want the comment section below to be a safe place for you to share where you are at, too.

Here’s to this next chapter. May it be perfectly imperfect, and beautifully broken just enough to let plenty of light shine through the cracks.

If you feel comfortable sharing in the comments below: How do you hold space for those you love while managing your own anxiety? How do you stay present when the future feels uncertain? Let's keep each other company on the road.