The Anatomy of Anxiety (Part 1: The Encounter)

It is funny how sometimes your body doesn't know the difference between a simple social situation or being chased by a starving tiger. When Doechii sang the song Anxiety, she didn't miss a bit with the lines Somebody's watching me. It's my anxiety. Anxiety is not just a feeling—it’s a full-body event. It lives in the muscles, the breath, the bones, and sometimes, in a moment. It doesn’t always scream. Sometimes, it whispers. Sometimes, it performs. Sometimes, it stiffens your smile right before you say “hello.”As someone who has had to unlearn and learn the art form of survivng this earth with a misplaced manual, writing the Anatomy of Anxiety helps me remind everyone who reads this that even though it sometimes feels like you are the only one struggling to breathe in a crowded room. Spoiler: you are not.It always begins with something simple. A moment crafted from the clumsy fingers of a preschooler. You have lived long enough on this earth so it feels like this should be an easy hurdle to cross.  Except it is notIt starts with an indescriable feeling, sometimes it feels like you are wearing a wet blanket in winter. Chills creep up your spine, and jitters like ants biting your veins. Your heart races, air seems insufficient, and breathing becomes painful. You think you are panicking, but you are not. There is a dull ache somewhere and a persistent ringing in your ears. Silence feels so loud, you can almost touch it. It’s like a siren or a noise on a string, pulling you toward the person staring at you with a fake smile. You try to smile back, but your lips feel stiff, stretching like cracked sand, and your teeth clatter, forgetting how to form a straight line.“Are they clean?” you wonder, even though you brush your teeth religiously—furious brushing that would disappoint your dentist, leaving your tongue scraped and a jug of Listerine empty until your teeth are as white as a baby's bones. “Did I remember to brush? Is something stuck in my teeth?” The questions are not even relevant but it gives your mind something to do. You flick your tongue around to subtly check, but there is nothing subtle about licking each tooth while your ex stands opposite, his hand stretched out. “Hey, it has been a while.”You have been here before. In this moment, at this time except you were braver, your voice didnt crack and your body did not betray you. You stood firm with a brazen smile and you walked away with your shoulders sitting high above your ears. Somebody's watching me. It's my anxiety.Ah yes! How could you forget. And just like that, a wave of memories and stinging nerves crash over your skin like cold water. You’re suddenly not sure whether to shake his hand or turn and walk away. Every decision feels heavy. The body forgets how to function on autopilot. That’s what anxiety does: it strips you down to bare muscle and instinct.Anxiety is sneaky like that. It doesn’t always come crashing through the door in a panic attack. Sometimes it shows up wearing old perfume, wrapped in memories, and triggered by the awkwardness of re-entering a space you thought you’d outgrown. What happened in that moment is a dance between psychology and biology. The amygdala (our brain’s threat detector) lights up, sending stress signals to the hypothalamus, which then triggers the adrenal glands to release cortisol and adrenaline. Heart races. Breath shortens. Muscles tense. You prepare to fight, flee, or freeze.Except—there’s no tiger. Just an ex. Or a job interview. Or a silent Zoom call where everyone can see your face but no one is talking. And yet, your body behaves like it’s life or death.This is the cruel poetry of anxiety: it doesn’t wait for tigers. It pounces in parking lots, in old conversations, in the silence between two people who used to know each other. It is not always a scream, not always a panic. Sometimes, just a quiet misfiring. A breath held too long or a handshake that never makes it to your hand.And the haunting question:What if it never stops showing up like this?

Other insights from Esther Omemu