What was stolen?
Did you notice that something is missing?
From: Breathe Again, My Anxious Soul!: Because Peace Is Possible and Hope Is Closer Than You Thought. (Ebook and Audio Book versions)
It’s not always the panic that hurts the most. It’s not the moments of spiraling, not the sudden wave of fear that knocks the wind out of you. Those are loud, yes. But you see them coming. You can name them. They demand attention.
What may be more damaging is the slow, quiet way anxiety weaves itself into your daily life—until you forget what life looked like without it.
It’s the mental noise that never fully turns off, the constant low hum of dread beneath your to-do list. It’s the hyper-awareness of your surroundings, the way you monitor other people’s moods, and the emotional fatigue of always managing things that aren’t yours to manage.
Anxiety is sneaky.
It doesn’t barge in with sirens; it settles in like a houseguest who never leaves.
It starts small—just a few what-ifs, a couple of intrusive thoughts. But over time, it becomes a lens you see everything through.
You don’t even realize it at first, but anxiety begins to color everything:
Your words are guarded, cautious, and filled with overthinking.
How you show up —tense, braced for disappointment.
You tend to have lower expectations, as the prospect of hope seems perilous.
You experience a sense of unease in your physical form, in interpersonal connections, and in unfamiliar surroundings.
And then, slowly, without your permission, it begins to tell you who you are.
“I’m just wired this way.”
“I’ve always been the anxious one.”
“I’m the strong one, the one who fixes everything, the one who holds it all together.”
And maybe those roles feel familiar. Maybe they even feel comforting—because they help you make sense of why you’re so tired all the time, why you can’t seem to stop worrying, and why you never really feel settled.
But can we pause here and say something out loud?
Anxiety has stolen things from you.
And it’s okay to admit that.
Maybe it’s stolen your rest—the kind of rest where your body relaxes and your mind goes quiet.
Maybe it’s taken your ability to stay present—the joy of simply being where you are instead of preparing for what might go wrong next.
Maybe it’s interrupted your laughter, your sleep, your sense of freedom, or your breath.
It has convinced you to live small. To expect less. To hold back.
And the most insidious thing it’s stolen?
Your hope.
It convinces you that this is just how life is going to be. That your anxious patterns are permanent. That peace is something for other people—more stable people, more spiritual people, more whole people. That this version of you is all you’ll ever get to be.
But friend, hear this clearly:
This is not the life you were made for.
You were not made to live clenched, braced, constantly scanning for threats.
You were not made to live according to fear’s rules.
You were made for something deeper. Fuller. Kinder.
Jesus painted that picture for us:
“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10)
Abundant life doesn’t mean a life without struggle. It doesn’t mean anxiety vanishes overnight. It doesn’t mean you’ll never battle fear again.
It means that anxiety doesn’t get the final word.
It means fear doesn’t run the show anymore.
It means peace is possible—not because you’ve mastered control, but because you’re held by the One who has.
So today, pause and be honest about it.
Name what anxiety has taken from you.
Write it down.
Not with guilt. Not with shame.
With courage. With clarity.
Because naming what’s been stolen is how you begin the work of reclaiming it.
Maybe you’ve forgotten how to relax.
Maybe you’ve stopped dreaming.
Maybe you no longer take risks because fear has made comfort zones look like safety.
Maybe you’ve accepted a version of life that isn’t abundant—it’s just survival with a smile.
But God doesn’t settle for survival.
He came to restore what fear has taken.
So ask yourself gently:
“What would life look like if anxiety weren’t in charge anymore?”
Would you speak with more freedom?
Would you sleep more soundly?
Would you show up to relationships more fully?
Would you stop apologizing for needing rest?
Maybe your days would feel less like a race and more like a rhythm.
Maybe you’d laugh more often.
Maybe you’d say yes to things you’ve been afraid of.
Maybe you’d finally exhale.
That picture might feel far off. But it’s not impossible.
Because your healing doesn’t depend on your perfection.
It begins with your permission.
Permission to want more than survival.
Permission to let God rewrite the story.
Permission to hope again.
Jesus is not intimidated by what you’ve lost.
He’s not overwhelmed by the years anxiety has stolen.
He’s not asking you to get over it—He’s asking you to bring it to Him.
Because He came to restore you.
Not to the way you used to be, but to the way you were always meant to be.
And yes, it will take time.
Yes, it will take grace.
Yes, it may look like slow steps and deep breaths.
But it starts now—with honesty. With hope.
With a simple prayer: “Jesus, show me what fear has taken—and lead me back to what’s mine.”
So breathe again, my anxious soul.
You are not your fear.
You are not the patterns you’ve used to cope.
You are not stuck.
You are not beyond healing.
God has more for you than just making it through the day.
He’s inviting you to live again—With peace.
With presence.
And with the unshakeable hope
of being made whole.
From: Breathe Again, My Anxious Soul! Because Peace Is Possible and Hope Is Closer Than You Thought. (Ebook and Audio Book versions)
Prefer print? Find on Amazon
Love this.