100 Quiet Steps: A Reflection on Writing My Way Through Anxiety
I never set out to write one hundred blogs…..
If you feel like wandering a little further after this one, here are two quiet reflections that sit gently alongside today’s milestone:
If you had told me a year ago—back when the idea of a blog first started to grow—that I would ever hit triple digits, I would have laughed. At the time, life was a bit of a chaotic mess, and truth be told, it still is. I am still riding that ongoing rollercoaster of heart issues, complicated family logistics, and a level of anxiety that can feel utterly debilitating. Back then, a cardiology nurse told me my life title should just be "It’s complex!"
She certainly wasn't wrong, and those complexities haven't magically gone away.
I certainly didn't have a grand content calendar and definitely not a “five-year plan” 🙄. I just started because I realised that if I needed a quiet place to sit with myself without judgment, and a space to battle the taboo of mental illness, then maybe—just maybe—I could also make the sun peek through the clouds occasionally for someone else. Writing hasn't cured me, but it has helped me find new ways to handle the heavy stuff.
And somehow, one quiet post at a time, I looked up and realised I’d written my way through a hundred different corners of my mind.
I actually went back and re-read my very first post as I was sitting down to write this one. If you want to go have a look, it was all about my brand-new treadmill—and how I managed to trip over the side of it while it wasn't even turned on, landing right on my bottom! My husband threatened to wrap me in bubble wrap or buy me an inflatable sumo wrestler suit 😆.
(And yes, for the record, I do still use that treadmill whenever the weather isn't fit for a proper walk—and so far, I’ve managed to stay entirely upright on it, touch wood!)
I think, right from that very first day, I just wanted to find a way to smile through the stumbles. Anxiety can make everyday life feel so heavy, but if we can find a way to laugh at ourselves (or our total klutz moments) even for a second, it just takes the edge off.
I’ve never written with the idea that I can somehow "cure" anxiety, or fix the messy, complicated challenges that life keeps throwing our way. I’m certainly no expert! But there is a story I shared right at the beginning that I still come back to all the time, because it really captures the heart of why I write.
It’s the old Starfish Story—the one where a little girl is throwing stranded starfish back into the sea one by one. When an old man tells her she can’t possibly make a difference because the beach goes on for miles, she just picks up another one, hurls it into the waves, and says, "Well, it made a difference to that one."
That little story completely shaped how I look at this blog. Whenever I’ve sat down to write and felt overwhelmed, or wondered if there was even any point in sharing my messy thoughts, I’ve reminded myself of that little girl. I know I can't fix the whole beach. But if a post strikes a chord and makes even one person feel a little less alone, then for me, every single word was worth it. It’s just my quiet way of saying, "Hello, I see you."
Looking back down the list of those one hundred titles, it’s quite a mix! Yes, I’ve talked about some of the heavy stuff, like the toll of long-term health issues and the exhausting side of being a caregiver. I’ve tried to untangle those dreaded "What Ifs" and looked at why my brain constantly treats everyday worries like hidden tigers waiting to pounce. I’ve even leaned into the one known well to so many, the "Good Day Paradox"—that lovely, ridiculous anxiety where things are going so smoothly that feeling calm suddenly feels entirely suspicious!
But whether a post was about the burden of invisible anxiety, or the absolute art of doing nothing without feeling guilty, the point was never to find a perfect cure. It was always just about management. It was about finding ways to let anxiety talk without letting it completely win.
If I'm being completely real, writing has mostly just been for me.. Putting feelings into words has a funny way of untangling knots I didn't even know were there, and it just helps to get it out of my head.
Anxiety can be an incredibly lonely thing to live with, which is exactly why I started this blog—and why I keep the comments turned off. I never wanted this to be a place of pressure, where anyone has to figure out what to say or feel obligated to respond. I don’t write to give advice, and I’m certainly not keeping score of whether I'm "helping" anyone.
But just knowing there are people out there who pop by to read these words quietly, in a safe space where nothing is expected of them, is a really lovely feeling. It's just a gentle reminder that none of us are entirely on our own with this stuff.
I’m still not an expert. I’m certainly not a therapist, and heaven knows I don't have it all figured out. I’m just a person trying to understand her own mind, sharing the bits that feel honest in the hope that you might read them and think, “Oh… me too.”
Some days, the words came easily enough. Other days, I just sat there staring at a blank screen thinking, "Nope, absolutely not today."
A few of those posts felt a bit brave to type out, but plenty of them just felt like a total muddle. But I suppose that’s the reality of it. Life is messy, anxiety is messy, and our thoughts are rarely neatly packaged. If I waited until I had everything perfectly sorted out before I pressed 'publish,' I’d still be sitting at post number one!
The truth is, I’m just really surprised I’ve actually hit that milestone—which means the post you are reading right now is officially number 101! It was never about reaching a specific target or a finish line—it is what it is—but hitting a hundred feels like a lovely reason to celebrate. I think it calls for sitting down in a comfy chair with a proper cup of tea and thinking, “Well, look at that. I actually did it.”
I haven't magically figured everything out, and I’m still muddling through the anxious days just like before. But I’m going to keep typing, and I hope you’ll keep reading along—simply because it’s much nicer knowing there are others on the other side of the screen.
So here’s to the start of the next hundred 🤭 and whatever comes next.
The Softness of Progress: The Blind Spot That Hides Our Small but Powerful Wins
The Invisible Effort of “Getting On With It”: Why Coping Looks Stronger Than It Feels
Take care and virtual hugs to you all.
