Growing up in a big family was always filled with noise, laughter, and a sense of togetherness. My childhood was filled with warmth, memories of family gatherings, celebrations, and the love that surrounded me. There was always something happening—whether it was a birthday party, a wedding, or a simple family meal, we were never short of company, stories, or a good laugh. My mom, the center of it all, kept everything together. She was the glue that held our big, bustling family in place.
As a child, I never thought too much about what was going on beneath the surface. Everything seemed so simple then. I was happy, surrounded by siblings, cousins, and relatives. There was always someone to play with, someone to talk to, and life felt like it would always be like this. My family was my safe haven.
But even in this environment, there were moments of quiet, moments that I couldn’t quite explain. There were times when I found myself alone in a room, just thinking, my mind wandering. I would feel this strange sense of unease, but it was fleeting, and I brushed it off as just a part of growing up. Little did I know, these moments of discomfort were the first whispers of something deeper.
As I grew older, I began to notice how much I cared about what others thought. Whether it was at school, at family events, or in group activities, I constantly felt like I had to perform, to fit in, to be the version of myself that everyone else would approve of. I wanted to be liked, to be accepted. I didn’t want to stand out or be judged. These fears were small at first, just passing thoughts, but they began to grow, slowly but surely, as I entered my teenage years.
During those years, the pressure to excel, to do well, and to make my family proud began to weigh heavily on me. I started to feel like there was always something more I had to do—something I had to prove. And if I failed to meet those expectations, I feared disappointing not just myself but everyone around me.
When I entered the workforce, that pressure didn’t ease. If anything, it intensified. The weight of perfectionism and fear of failure that had quietly built up over the years suddenly came into full view. I became hyper-aware of every mistake, every misstep, and the fear of making the wrong choice became paralyzing. It felt like I was still trying to live up to the image I thought others wanted to see.
What started as quiet moments of discomfort in my childhood slowly turned into something that was hard to ignore. Anxiety didn’t appear as a sudden storm; it crept in slowly, quietly, almost unnoticed—until one day, I realized it had taken root.
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