Nothing Has to Be Wrong: A Reflection on Anxiety and the Calm That Feels Like Chaos

It started the way these things usually do…not with a bang, but with a mess, a little procrastination, and zero focus. 

I was picking up the same five dog toys for the umpteenth time that day and cleaning the glass on the aquarium. (Sidenote: I thought about saying “scrubbing the countertop” here instead - something that sounds more like real cleaning. But no. I was scrubbing the algae in the aquarium. Because hyper-fixation is a thing. Sorry, wife, for focusing on the tiny, pointless stuff again.) 

The dishwasher was humming along, (because someone else loaded it, I’m sure), my to do list was manageable. I just finished grad school, so none of that stress lurking over me. My dogs were asleep, curled into little donuts. Everything around me felt quiet and safe. Still, I felt like I was dying. WTF. 

My heart was racing. Palms sweaty. Brain doing laps. That’s the strange thing about anxiety. It doesn’t need a reason. It just shows up, convinced it’s saving your life. My chest was tight, and was that a tingle down my arm? Probably a heart attack, right? Or my liver is failing. Is that a tinge of yellow to my skin? My thoughts twisted and tangled into warning flares. My brain kept nudging me with the same urgent question: 

What did I forget to do? What’s about to go wrong? What if something terrible is already happening, and I just don’t know it yet? 

But nothing was happening. No alarm bells. No real danger. Just a slightly algae-covered shrimp tank and a deep, buzzing feeling of certain doom. I’m dying, or someone else is dying, the dog looks kinda sick and when was the last time he pooped, is that an explosion down the road, I haven’t heard my wife cough in a few minutes, did she keel over? Is the burner on the stove off? When was the last time I checked the smoke detector?  

Then, out of nowhere, this quiet thought landed: 

What if nothing is wrong? 

It felt oddly powerful. Because if that’s true, then what is this feeling? Why do I feel like I need to escape, fix something, or brace for impact? 

Part of me almost wants something to be wrong in these moments. At least then there’d be an explanation. At least I could take action. I could move past the dread and deal with the actual Thing, because whatever it is, I’ve already played out a thousand scenarios. But this time, I couldn’t find anything. No reason. No cause. I checked on all my people, pets, and places. Everything seemed a-okay. I ran through my mental to-do list. There were things hanging out there, sure, but nothing critical or life-altering. 

That’s the trick anxiety plays. It convinces you there has to be a reason. And if there isn’t one, it will invent one just to make the discomfort make sense. 

But maybe the truth is simpler. Maybe sometimes, a panic attack is just a panic attack. 

I didn’t do anything fancy to cope. I just kept cleaning dumb shit. I told myself what I’ve told others more times than I can count: You are safe. Your body is lying to you. That doesn’t mean you’re in danger. 

Eventually, the moment passed. Later, I reflected on it. The idea that there could be nothing wrong at any given moment? It felt impossible. There’s got to be something lurking in the shadows, waiting for me to look away and let my guard down. 

But it didn’t come. Not that day, not the next. Nothing notable happened that whole week. I still panicked a couple of times, but I kept coming back to the idea that maybe, just maybe… 

Nothing is wrong, and nothing bad is happening. 

I’ve heard that before. Dozens of times. But for some reason, this time, I’ve started to believe it. And I’m holding onto that. Perhaps there’s some power in saying it to myself and for myself, instead of hearing someone else saying it, barely fending off exasperation with my bullshit.  

Perhaps it’s actually starting to stick in my mind.  

Perhaps it’s really that Nothing. Is. Wrong. 

And Perhaps I’m learning to be okay with that. 

Next time it happens, I want to stand in the kitchen. Hands on a sponge. (I swear, I’ll clean something practical one of these days.) Heart pounding. Mind racing. But some part of me remembering that I’ve seen this routine before, and nothing was wrong. 

And just maybe, I’ll understand that nothing is wrong in that moment, either. 

Recovery from anxiety isn’t a straight line. There are dips, curves, and weird spirals. I’ll probably always have something to panic about. But I can remember these moments. And maybe, while I scrape a ten-year-old part-number sticker off the back of a bookshelf or gently toothbrush the dust off houseplant leaves, I can sit with what is instead of spiraling about what might be.