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Intrusive thoughts are some of the most confusing and frightening symptoms of anxiety. They’re sudden, unwanted, and often completely out of character — which is exactly why they’re so disturbing. But here's what many people don't realize: intrusive thoughts are not sinful, shameful, or evidence of who you truly are. I am, at times, embarrassed by my intrusive thoughts.There have been moments when my mind has thrown out thoughts so outrageous — even violent or self-harming — that I couldn’t help but stop and ask, “Why would I even think that?” I’ve had the thought of running away, disappearing into the night, and starting over.I’ve had thoughts about unaliving myself — even when I knew deep down that wasn’t what I truly wanted. That’s the interesting and downright annoying part of intrusive thoughts:They come out of nowhere.They make you question yourself.They make you question what you think you know about God, your worth, and your sanity. But over time — and with a lot of work — I’ve come to understand how to respond to these thoughts without letting them traumatize me any longer. Something that has truly changed the game for me is this: I complete the thought. Let me explain. When a thought like: "You're not capable of getting this job done. Can't you see how they're looking at you? Like you suck. Because you do." — hits me… I finish it with truth: "This is challenging, and you feel like you aren't qualified… but you wouldn't be here if you weren't." This small shift — completing the thought with compassion and truth — helps me hold myself accountable for how I respond. I’ve set a standard for how I treat myself mentally. And holding to that standard is part of my healing. There was a time I thought God hated me because of my thoughts.I was angry with Him for not giving me peace. I didn’t understand why, if He loved me, my mind was still under siege. But here’s the truth I came to realize: 🔸 God never abandoned me. 🔸 My thoughts were never too much for Him. 🔸 He was with me in the spiral — not just waiting on the other side of it. Faith alone didn’t fix everything. But faith + real, consistent work has helped me manage and reset my mind in ways I never thought were possible. So, how should we respond to intrusive thoughts? Name It: “This is an intrusive thought.” Don't act like it didn't happen. Don’t Entertain It: You don’t have to argue or prove it wrong. Finish It with Truth: Replace it with something honest, kind, and faith-rooted. Reset with God: “Lord, remind me who I am to You.” Stay Consistent: Healing comes through repetition and grace. If you're battling intrusive thoughts, please hear me: You are not broken. You are not your thoughts. Intrusive thoughts are not your truth.

There were two people in my life who I felt truly understood me—and who I deeply understood in return. My dad and my grandmother. What connected us wasn’t just love or shared history—it was something deeper: we all lived with anxiety. My relationship with my dad was complicated. He was direct—sometimes painfully so. He once told me that, in all honesty, he probably wasn’t meant to be a father. But still, in our own way, we were connected. Then there was my grandmother. Gentle. Tender. Still honest and direct, but her love always came through—even in simple emails that meant the world to me. She cheered me on like no one else. They both had adventurous spirits. My dad served in the Navy, traveling the world—Philippines, Amsterdam, Barcelona—he had stories for days and carried the thrill of having lived . My grandma, born in London, traveled back there often, and even visited Africa. They were bold, vibrant, full of life. And in many ways, so was I. I loved to travel. I said yes to things no one else would. I wanted to live . But slowly, I began to change.And I realized—so had they. For my dad, it started when he had to take a leave from work. Suddenly, all that time at home became his new normal. He grew anxious—terrified of the outside world. If something couldn’t be delivered, he didn’t want it. And forget about leaving the house. That became unimaginable. My grandmother, too. She lived far away, and you only saw her if she wanted to be seen. She liked her space. Her solitude. But over time, that solitude turned into something else. Isolation became her identity. It’s strange how anxiety works like that. One day, everything seems fine. And then one day... you're not the same person anymore. You become someone you barely recognize. I watched this happen to them—and I didn’t understand it. Not at first. But then anxiety came for me. And suddenly, I did understand.I understood the declined invites. The love of routine. The deep comfort of familiarity. The need for safety—even if it meant pulling away. I finally saw them clearly, because I had become like them in some ways. And maybe that’s why, when no one else could reach them... I still could. But they both died. And they both died alone . No one knew for days—because not hearing from them for days was normal. That’s how anxiety shaped their lives. That’s how it isolated them. And that’s why I fight. Every single day, I choose to fight my anxiety—not because I’m stronger or better—but because I’ve seen what happens when we don’t. I’ve seen what anxiety can steal from us if we let it. I’ve felt it inch its way into my life the same way it did theirs. They weren’t broken.They tried.They loved.They mattered. And their efforts deserve to be remembered. This is why I reset. Because I don’t want to slowly disappear from my own life. Because I don’t want to become unrecognizable to myself. Because I want to honor them—and choose differently. And because I still believe peace is possible.

Anxiety doesn't always look the same. Sometimes it screams, sometimes it hides, and other times it puts on a smile and powers through. Over the years, I've come to recognize anxiety in many different forms—not just in myself, but in the people around me. These personas aren't clinical diagnoses; they're lived experiences. They’re snapshots of how anxiety can shape our behavior, thoughts, and interactions. Here are six anxiety personas that may sound familiar—and a little about my journey with each of them. 1. The Overachiever Always hustling, constantly doing. Productivity becomes a shield, a distraction, a comfort. As Overachievers, we stay busy— not just to get things done, but to keep anxiety quiet. The faster we move, the less time we have to sit with the thoughts that feel too heavy or overwhelming. There’s a strange sense of relief in being “on the go”—because when we're in motion, anxiety doesn’t scream as loud. But here's the truth: staying busy isn’t the same as being okay. It might feel like a solution, but it’s more like a pause button—temporary relief, not true peace. I’ve worn this persona many times before. It’s familiar, it’s functional… but it’s not sustainable. 2. The Ghost Dodges texts, cancels plans, disappears. Not because we don’t care— because social interaction feels like too much. Anxiety convinces us that the safest place is away from everyone. It’s easy to slip into our own little cocoon, to shut the world out and retreat into silence. We tell ourselves we just need time, but too much isolation becomes harmful. I’ve worn this persona before. It brought temporary relief, but not healing. True healing requires connection—even in small, manageable ways. 3. The People Pleaser Always says yes, even when they’re at their limit. Keeps the peace, avoids conflict, and works overtime to be liked. At its root, people-pleasing is often a fear of man —a deep desire to be accepted and avoid disappointment. Those desires aren’t inherently wrong, but when they come at the cost of your own well-being, something has to change. I used to wear this persona constantly. Now, I’ve replaced that fear with a healthy fear of God, and it’s brought more peace and confidence than people-pleasing ever could. 4. The Worried Detective Always anticipating the worst. Googling every symptom. Replaying conversations. Overanalyzing every situation. This persona gave me the illusion of control. If I could stay ten steps ahead, maybe I could prevent something bad from happening. But the truth? It made me feel even more out of control. I’ve learned that no amount of worry will ever create certainty. These days, I focus less on controlling every outcome and more on how I respond when worry inevitably shows up. 5. The Avoider Puts off the hard things—emails, appointments, conversations—because they trigger a spiral. Out of sight = out of mind... until it all piles up. Avoidance feels like the easy route, but it doesn’t solve the problem—it multiplies it. I’ve avoided everything from doctor’s appointments to difficult conversations. It gave me temporary relief, but always came back harder. I’ve learned that we have to avoid avoidance. It’s not easy, but facing the hard things—little by little—is where healing happens. 6. The Performer Looks calm, collected, and high-functioning on the outside—but inside, it’s a nonstop storm. Smiles, shows up, gets it all done... while anxiety simmers beneath the surface. This is high-functioning anxiety at its finest—and it’s exhausting. I wore this mask for a long time. People praised my strength, admired how I “kept it all together,” but inside, I was crumbling. The Performer burns out fast. And when the burnout hits, it hits hard. I’ve learned that I don’t have to perform to be worthy. Letting go of the act is where real peace begins. These personas are not who we are—they’re how anxiety shows up. And the more we become aware of them, the more we can begin to respond with compassion, wisdom, and grace. If you recognized yourself in any of these, you’re not alone. I’ve been there, too. The good news? Awareness is the first step to healing. If you’re ready to explore your own anxiety reset, I’d love to support you on the journey.