Your Anxiety Knows Something You Don't

I spent a decade trying to eliminate my anxiety before I realized I might be fighting the wrong battle. Pills. Meditation. Exercise. Therapy. Nothing made it disappear completely. Then one day, during what should have been a perfectly pleasant dinner with friends, my anxiety flared—that familiar tightness in my chest, the hyperawareness of everything around me.

But this time, something strange happened.

I noticed a subtle shift in the conversation, a barely perceptible tension between two people at the table that everyone else missed. My anxiety had spotted it first. Hours later, when the tension erupted into a full argument, I wasn't surprised. My anxiety had been right.

That moment changed everything for me.

When Your Alarm System Works Too Well

We talk about anxiety like it's a design flaw—a glitch in our mental software that needs patching. But what if it's actually a feature, not a bug?

The human brain evolved its anxiety response for a reason. Our anxious ancestors survived because they stayed vigilant. They noticed the rustling in the tall grass. They remembered which berries made someone sick last season. They detected subtle changes in group dynamics that might threaten their belonging.

Your anxiety isn't broken. It's an ancient survival system doing exactly what it was designed to do—keep you safe by staying alert to threats.

The problem isn't that you have anxiety. It's that your perfectly functioning alarm system is going off in environments it wasn't designed for. Your brain processes a passive-aggressive email from your boss the same way it would process a lion stalking you.

I see this constantly with my clients who struggle with anxiety. They're often the ones who spot problems before anyone else. They're the first to notice when a project is veering off track. They detect subtle emotional shifts in conversations. They anticipate obstacles that others miss entirely.

Their anxiety isn't wrong—it's just turned up too loud.

Your Anxious Brain Is Smarter Than You Think

Research suggests that people with moderate anxiety often outperform others on certain cognitive tasks. They stay more focused during complex activities. They process information more thoroughly. They consider more possibilities and scenarios.

I noticed this in myself years ago. When I'm slightly anxious before a presentation, I'm sharper. More present. More attuned to the room. When I'm too calm, I miss things. I forget details. I become complacent.

A completely anxiety-free brain might actually be a less effective brain in certain situations.

Think about the most brilliant, creative people throughout history. Tesla. Darwin. Einstein. Curie. Jobs. Their biographies reveal minds that were rarely at rest, often plagued by worries, obsessions, and persistent thoughts. Their anxious minds kept working when others would have stopped.

I'm not romanticizing anxiety disorders. Clinical anxiety can be debilitating. But there's a sweet spot—a level of healthy concern and vigilance—that might actually enhance your performance rather than hinder it.

Your Memory Is Being Rewritten

Here's something unsettling about anxiety that few people discuss: it literally rewrites your memories.

Remember that slightly awkward presentation you gave last month? If you're anxious, your brain might have transformed that neutral experience into a catastrophic memory. You don't just remember what happened—you remember your anxious interpretation of what happened.

This isn't a metaphor. Neuroscience research shows that every time you recall a memory, your brain actually reconstructs it. If you're anxious during that reconstruction, you embed your current anxiety into the memory itself.

I experienced this myself after a book reading I did last year. Immediately after, I thought it went fine. But as my anxiety about my performance grew over the following days, my memory of the event transformed. By the end of the week, I "remembered" people looking bored, checking their phones, even leaving early—none of which actually happened according to friends who were there.

My anxiety had rewritten my past.

Understanding this mechanism gives you a powerful tool. When you recall embarrassing or "failed" experiences from your past, ask yourself: Am I remembering what actually happened, or am I remembering my anxiety's version of what happened?

The Dark Side of Mindfulness No One Talks About

If you've struggled with anxiety, you've probably been told to try mindfulness meditation. I certainly was. For years I dutifully sat, focused on my breath, and tried to observe my anxious thoughts without judgment.

Sometimes it helped. Sometimes it made everything worse.

Here's what the meditation apps don't advertise: for some people, particularly those with certain types of anxiety, mindfulness can temporarily increase distress. When you turn your attention inward and become hyper-aware of your thoughts and sensations, you might simply become more conscious of your anxiety.

I've worked with clients who felt like failures because meditation increased their panic symptoms instead of reducing them. They weren't doing it wrong. Their brains were working exactly as designed—paying closer attention to potential threats when directed to focus inward.

This doesn't mean mindfulness isn't valuable. It means we need a more nuanced approach that acknowledges individual differences in how our brains respond to various interventions.

For some of my most anxious clients, movement works better than stillness. Walking meditations. Flow states through creative work. Engaging activities that gently redirect attention rather than demanding direct confrontation with anxious thoughts.

The Anxiety Contagion

Have you ever noticed how spending time with an anxious person can make you feel on edge too? This isn't your imagination.

Anxiety is socially contagious.

Your brain contains mirror neurons that activate when you observe others, essentially allowing you to "catch" emotional states. When someone around you is anxious, your brain subtly mirrors their state. Your breathing might synchronize with theirs. Your heart rate might increase. You might adopt their vigilant attention patterns.

I notice this in my coaching sessions. When a client arrives in an anxious state, I have to consciously manage my own mental state to avoid absorbing their anxiety while still remaining empathetically connected.

This contagion effect has profound implications for relationships, workplaces, and family dynamics. One person's anxiety can spread, creating feedback loops that amplify the original anxiety.

But contagion works both ways. Calm is catching too. Your centered presence can help regulate someone else's nervous system. This is why bringing awareness to your own anxiety isn't just self-care—it's an act of social responsibility.

What If You're Not Supposed To Be Calm?

We've created a culture that worships calm. We've convinced ourselves that the ideal mental state is one of perpetual tranquility, untroubled by worries or restless thoughts.

What if that's wrong?

What if some of us are designed to be more vigilant, more sensitive to our environments, more responsive to subtle changes? What if the goal isn't to eliminate anxiety but to harness it productively?

I've stopped trying to become a calm person. I'm not a calm person. I'm an alert, sensitive, sometimes anxious person who notices things others miss. My nervous system is more responsive than average. For years I saw this as a defect to overcome. Now I see it as a different kind of normal—one with its own strengths and challenges.

This shift in perspective doesn't mean giving up on managing anxiety that becomes overwhelming. It means approaching that management with different expectations. Not "how do I eliminate this?" but "how do I work with this natural tendency of my mind?"

Designing a Life for Your Anxious Brain

Maybe the problem isn't your anxiety. Maybe it's trying to force your anxious mind into environments and expectations designed for different kinds of brains.

I spent years in a corporate marketing role where my anxiety was constantly triggered by artificial deadlines, packed schedules, and open-plan offices with constant interruptions. I tried to adapt myself to that environment, believing the problem was me.

Now I've built a life that works with my brain rather than against it. I control my schedule. I build in buffer time. I honor my need for periods of rest after social interaction. I use my sensitivity as a strength in my coaching rather than trying to suppress it.

This isn't giving in to anxiety. It's strategic adaptation.

The people I work with who manage anxiety most successfully aren't the ones who've eliminated it. They're the ones who've stopped fighting it as an enemy and started working with it as a sometimes difficult but ultimately valuable part of themselves.

Your Anxiety Is Trying To Tell You Something

I believe anxiety often contains wisdom if we're willing to listen to it. Not all anxiety, not all the time—sometimes it's just neural noise, old patterns firing without purpose. But often, underneath the uncomfortable sensations is information worth having.

When I feel anxious about an upcoming decision, I've learned to ask: What is this anxiety trying to tell me? Is it highlighting a legitimate risk I haven't fully considered? Is it pointing to a value I'm potentially compromising? Is it reminding me of a past experience that contains valuable lessons?

Anxiety becomes much less overwhelming when you treat it as a messenger rather than an attacker.

Of course, sometimes the message is simply that your nervous system needs rest, that you've been pushing too hard for too long. That's valuable information too.

I'm not suggesting we celebrate anxiety or seek it out. I'm suggesting we approach it with curiosity rather than fear. With respect for its purpose rather than resentment of its presence.

Your anxiety knows things you don't. It sees threats you might miss. It remembers lessons you might forget. It detects patterns your conscious mind overlooks.

The question isn't how to silence it completely.

The question is how to adjust its volume so you can hear what it's trying to tell you without letting it overwhelm everything else.

That's a conversation worth having.

Katie Kaspari 🦋

Unshakeable People Club

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