Welcome to Anxiety on Your Mind, the series where we explore the reality of living with anxiety. In this edition, Mansi Vithlani, 25, from Leicester, shares how living with grief impacts her anxiety
Mansi Vithlani as told to Fiona Fletcher Reid
Anxiety is stitched into every aspect of my life, whether it’s over choosing what to wear or the thoughts that loop in my mind. In particular, I’m plagued with the fear that I am not doing ‘enough’ – a feeling that has been heightened since my brother died a few years ago.
I was only 22 when he died, and I’ve not been the same since. Everyone else my age seems to be speeding ahead, getting promotions, going on dreamy holidays, or running a side business. And while I have a good job as a journalist and podcast producer, the truth is I’m often doing lots of deep breaths just to get through the day.
There’s so much pressure to be doing in your 20s, but the reality is that my life has shifted in ways most people my age haven’t had to reckon with. Instead of enjoying the freedom of my youth, I’m focused on trying to be someone my brother would be proud of, even though he’ll never get to meet this version of me. I’m constantly thinking about what he’d think of me now, and if he’d like who I’ve become. I know I put a lot of pressure on myself, and that, ultimately, I’m chasing a form of approval I’ll never get.
Anxiety is always lingering in the background, but when grief is weighing heavily on me, the anxiety often follows quickly behind. I can find myself getting anxious about the intensity of my grief, and then, I get lost in the fear of falling apart and being unable to put myself back together afterwards.
I often have panic attacks, and after experiencing one at the weekend, I wanted to talk it through with my therapist. This session was over the phone, and we spoke about how the panic attack hit me out of nowhere, with no obvious trigger. Sharing my experience was helpful, as my therapist said it could’ve been a subconscious build-up of thoughts and worries packed tightly together, until they overflowed and took over my body.
Thankfully, I’m getting better at noticing my triggers, like being too busy, too tired, or putting way too much pressure on myself. I still do it, of course. I still try to fit too much into the day, but I’m more aware of it now, and can often catch myself before I spiral.
My therapist reminded me of all the tools I already have at my disposal, for when these triggers crop up. One of the most important tools I’ve found is the breath. It sounds obvious, but when I’m anxious, my breathing gets shallow and fast without me even noticing. I used to let that carry me into a full panic attack, but now, I pause. I sit still. I plant my feet flat on the floor, close my eyes, and come back to my breath.
Similarly, journaling has become a space where I can lay out my thoughts and make sense of it all. I was skeptical at first, because I couldn’t see the point in writing down how I feel, but it helps me map what’s going on in my head, rather than letting it stay tangled up, which can contribute to feeling anxious. I’ve built a support system, too. A small circle of people I trust, who I can call on when I need a form of grounding that my other tools can’t provide.
When all else fails, I give myself permission to have a day where I just lie in bed, eat something comforting, and watch my favourite show for the 100th time. I’m learning that this doesn’t mean I’m lazy, or failing – it means I’m human. Rest is a coping mechanism, and I’m done feeling guilty for choosing it!
Most importantly, I’ve stopped expecting myself to be superhuman. If I need to slow down, I do. If that means taking things day by day, or hour by hour, or minute by minute, I let myself. There’s strength in that, too.
If you’re living with anxiety, especially in your 20s, while grieving someone you love, you’re carrying a lot. There’s pressure to be thriving, chasing goals, hitting milestones, while part of you is still catching your breath from all that you’ve lost.
For me, coping is always about seeking that feeling of being grounded. Whether it’s through journaling when my brain feels too loud, slowing down my breathing when it starts to race and placing my hand on my chest to remind myself I am safe, or resisting the shame that comes with slowing down.
Anxiety often leads us to think that we’re not enough, that we’re not doing it right, or not coping well. But my advice would be this: the fact that you’re still here, still trying, still showing up, is proof you are enough. You don’t need to have it all together. You just need to keep showing up for yourself. That’s enough.
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