EP 93: My Anxious Little Girl Ran My Life For Years
This episode is a part of a special series of sharing Substack letters. Subscribe to my Breathe More Substack at https://breathemore.substack.com/
For a long time, I lived with a constant fear in my body.
But I didn’t know to call it that.
I’m the eldest daughter of Mexican immigrant parents. From a young age, I learned to hold it together for everyone. I was praised for being responsible, for being helpful. (I remember in preschool helping to clean the toilets in my classroom and my teachers being so happy and impressed by that.) So that became my identity.
My dad is an alcoholic.
My mom, while loving and hardworking, has always struggled with her own anxiety.
And mental health? We didn’t talk about it.
Going to therapy meant “estás loca”—you’re crazy.
We didn’t name it.
We just survived around it.
There were no conversations about what it meant to feel safe, regulated, or emotionally seen. What we had were silent rules:
Don’t talk about what’s happening at home.
Smile, no matter what, and always say “estoy bien.”
Hold it in. Keep it moving. Be strong.
I have vivid memories of putting on that “everything’s fine” face, even when inside, I was falling apart.
My dad would hide a 40-ounce beer under the back porch stairs. And when I’d hear him coming home, my stomach would twist. I never knew what version of him would walk through the door:
Was he going to be angry? Silent?
Was someone about to get yelled at or worse?
I became a master at reading the room. Anticipating everyone’s needs.
Managing the energy.
Making sure no one tipped over the edge.
That was my version of “safety.”
But I was scared all the time.
Recurring nightmares.
My stomach constantly hurt.
I clenched my jaw so tightly I didn’t know it wasn’t normal to be in pain when eating a sandwich made on a baguette. That’s how much tension I carried.
Later, in my teenage years, the anxiety started to shift into physical symptoms:
I threw out my back for no clear reason.
I started feeling the pressure to overachieve, trying to prove I was okay by doing more, accomplishing more, being more.
By my 20s, I had nervous tics, obsessive thoughts, and moments of dissociation I didn’t yet understand. I’d leave the house, then turn around in a panic to check if I’d left the curling iron on. I had a deep, gnawing sense that I had to control everything or something terrible would happen.
It wasn’t until I started therapy about 15 years ago that I learned I had anxiety.
And that my inner child, the part of me who had learned to be alert, pleasing, perfectionistic, and responsible just to stay emotionally and physically safe was still driving so many of my adult choices.
Lily, my inner child, was still running the show.
She was terrified that if I let go of control, everything would fall apart.
That if I rested, I’d be punished and told I was lazy.
That if I asked for help, I’d be a burden.
That if I shared how I really felt, I would be unlovable.
I didn’t just listen to her, I shaped my entire life around her fears. Every decision, every overachievement, every attempt to be “perfect” was my way of protecting her. Of making sure no one saw how scared she really was. Of making sure I stayed needed, loved, safe.
And it worked, for a while.
But eventually, the cost was too high.
It’s taken deep, ongoing work to reconnect with her. To hold her, love her, remind her that we are safe now and papi can’t hurt her anymore.
And this is why so much of the work I do with my clients starts there too.
Because I’ve seen it over and over again:
Behind every over-functioning, high-performing adult is often a scared inner child who didn’t get to feel safe being soft, honest, or held.
So when a client tells me she can’t rest…
Or that her brain never turns off…
Or that she says yes when she doesn’t mean it…
We don’t just talk about productivity or boundaries.
We check in with the little one inside.
What does she need?
What is she afraid will happen if we slow down, say no, or stop performing?
We tend to that part of us.
Not to blame her but to bring her along.
Because healing isn’t about pushing past her voice.
It’s about letting her feel safe enough to not be in charge anymore.
That’s when life starts to feel different.
That’s when real peace becomes possible.
So I’ll leave you with this:
How is your inner child right now?
And what might help her feel safe?
If you’d like support connecting, I recorded a short guided meditation to help you begin that dialogue.
You can listen to it inside this podcast episode.
If you feel called, I’d love to hear your reflections in the comments.
xo Ana