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I’m a dual-licensed therapist in Los Angeles who specializes in anxiety therapy, trauma, somatic work, IFS, and attachment repair. I’ve been featured in TIME Magazine, HuffPost, Verywell Mind, and other major outlets for sharing honest, human insights about what real healing actually looks like.
If you’re like most people I work with, you probably have a running list in your head of what anxiety is and isn’t.
Problem is, a lot of that’s dead wrong — stuff you may have picked up from pop psychology, your mom’s worry brain, or random TikTok therapists who’ve never met you.
These myths about anxiety don’t just keep you confused. They keep you stuck.
If you were taught that anxiety’s only about stress, or that it means you’re weak, or that it’ll vanish once your life calms down, then you’ll waste years trying to “fix” the wrong thing.
So let’s actually break this down! Here are some of the biggest myths about anxiety (the ones nobody talks about) — and what’s really going on in that brilliant, overprotective nervous system of yours.
Honestly, this is one of the biggest mind-twists I see. People come in telling me they feel guilty for being anxious — like their problems aren’t legit because their life looks pretty decent. A stable relationship, a job that pays the bills, maybe even dinners out on the weekends. So why the undercurrent of dread? Why the racing thoughts, the tight chest, the urge to keep everything just right?
Because anxiety doesn’t exactly wait around for “valid reasons.” It’s wired into how your body figured out to navigate life ages ago — patterns that don’t just vanish because things look stable now. If your early life taught you to keep watch, smooth things over, or expect the rug to get pulled, that imprint doesn’t magically update just because your adult life looks good on paper.
Not true! Why? Because most people only try to deep breathe when they’re already spiraling.
So guess what your body learns? “Oh, we’re doing that slow breath thing again — must be something bad happening.” Your nervous system starts to link deep breathing with crisis. Not safety.
It’s like if you only ever stretched right before bracing for a car crash. Your body wouldn’t think, “Ah, stretching means I’m safe.” It’d think, “Uh oh, we’re about to get hit.”
We need to practice slowing down when nothing’s wrong. Build that pathway when your nervous system is relatively calm, so your brain and body start to recognize deep breathing as a normal, chill state. Otherwise? Every time you try to deep breathe mid-panic, your system just tightens more, convinced something’s wrong because that’s the only time you ever breathe that way.
Overthinking isn’t causing your anxiety — it’s what your brain does because you’re already anxious. Your body gets activated first. Your chest tightens, stomach knots, shoulders creep up. Half the time you don’t even notice that part, it’s so quick. Then your mind jumps in, trying to make sense of why you feel off. It starts scanning for problems to solve.
So yeah, you might spiral in thought loops. But that’s your system’s way of trying to get control over something deeper — that uneasy, unsettled feeling that was already there.
That’s why telling yourself to “just stop overthinking” never works. It’s not about shutting your mind up. The real work is calming your body somatically so your brain doesn’t have to spin out trying to protect you.
Anxiety’s not out to get you. It’s actually trying to protect you — it just doesn’t always do the best job.
Anxiety’s kind of like a super over-eager bodyguard. It watches for anything that might go wrong, then jumps in fast to keep you alert. Sometimes it’s helpful — like if you’re walking alone at night and hear footsteps behind you. Other times, it’s firing off warnings about things that aren’t dangerous at all. Like sending your heart racing over a text that hasn’t been answered.
It’s not your enemy. It’s a part of you that learned to be extra cautious, probably for good reasons at some point. The problem is it doesn’t always know when to stand down.
In my practice in LA, when I work with clients, it’s less about fighting your anxiety and more about understanding it. Learning what it’s trying to do for you, so you can work WITH it — not spend your life stuck in a tug-of-war with your own body.
Avoiding the stuff that makes you anxious usually just teaches your system it should be afraid.
Feels like it helps in the moment — you dodge the hard conversation, skip the social thing, delay sending the email. And yeah, short-term it drops your anxiety. But long-term? It actually wires in the belief that you couldn’t handle it. Your nervous system learns that those situations are threats. So next time, your anxiety shows up even louder.
It doesn’t mean you should throw yourself into every trigger all at once. That’s not how nervous systems settle. But slowly building tolerance, proving to yourself you can survive discomfort without running from it is what actually shrinks anxiety over time.
Sidenote: if any of this already has you nodding along, that’s usually a sign it’s time to get some help that actually works for you. You can learn more about how I work with anxiety and nervous system dysregulation here.
That’s exactly how high-functioning anxiety shows up. You keep doing all the things — work, plans with friends, errands, workouts — but it doesn’t mean your system’s calm. It often means it’s running on overdrive.
High-functioning anxiety is tricky. On the outside, you look organized, dependable, even successful. Inside, there’s this constant buzz. Overthinking every little interaction, replaying conversations, stressing about future problems that may never come. Your body’s keyed up — maybe your stomach’s off, your jaw’s tight, your sleep’s shallow.
So just because you’re still getting shit done doesn’t mean you’re not struggling. It just means your anxiety’s taken a form that lets you perform while still being flooded underneath. That’s exhausting. And honestly? That’s exactly the point where therapy can help — before it blows up into panic or total burnout. You don’t have to wait until you’re completely unraveling to deserve support.
People just love to say anxiety’s all in your head. Like it’s just thoughts you could logic your way out of if you tried hard enough. That’s cute, but also completely misses what’s actually going on. Anxiety is your whole damn body trying to keep you alive — tightening muscles, shallow breathing, gut going “not safe to digest right now,” even if the only threat is some ambiguous vibe. It’s not just psychological. It’s biological.
That’s why body-based therapy is such an effective way at treating your anxiety. Somatic therapy teaches your body that it doesn’t need to stay hyper alert all the time. Your hormones, blood vessels, breath, your gut— they all play a part. It’s wild how much we underestimate that. Anxiety’s not just in your head. It’s in every cell that decided you should maybe be on the lookout… just in case. Let’s honor that instead of pathologize it.
You can absolutely be anxious and avoidant at the same time. A ton of people are.
Here’s why: your nervous system doesn’t pick one neat lane. It’s not like, “Cool, we’re anxious so we’ll cling. Oh wait, we’re avoidant now so we’ll back off.” It can toggle between both — sometimes in the same hour. You might crave closeness, freak out if someone pulls away, then panic if they get too close and start finding reasons to shut down. It’s your body trying to protect you from two sides: terrified of being abandoned, equally terrified of being overwhelmed or hurt.
It’s actually one of the most common patterns I see in my office. People come in thinking they’re just anxious, or just avoidant, but they’re dealing with both. That push-pull isn’t a personality flaw — it’s your system trying to solve an impossible equation: “I need you so I feel safe… but I also need space so I’m not trapped or disappointed.” That’s why attachment therapy is absolutely necessary here. It gives your body new options besides swinging between grabbing on tight or bolting.
The whole point isn’t to make you calm. It’s to help you feel safe being you, EVEN when you’re not calm.
If therapy was just about cranking down the dial on your anxiety, we’d be ignoring why it’s blasting so loud in the first place. Your anxiety’s there for a reason — it’s protecting something, warning you, bracing for hits that maybe already happened a long time ago. Calming down is sometimes a side effect of therapy. But it’s not the assignment.
The real win is when your body doesn’t have to stay half-ready for disaster. When you can show up — messy, uncertain, a little amped up — and still feel like that’s okay. That’s a hell of a lot deeper than just being chill.
Anxiety can (and does) show up when you’re happy, too.
A lot of people actually feel more anxious when things are good. Sounds backward, right? But if your body’s used to waiting for the other shoe to drop, calm or happy moments can feel unsafe. Like, “This is too good — something bad’s gotta be coming.” Your nervous system spikes anxiety as a preemptive strike. It’s trying to brace for a potential impact, even if there’s no impact on the way.
So anxiety isn’t just tied to stress. It’s tied to unpredictability, to the unknown, to stuff your system learned a long time ago was risky. You could be on vacation, in love, finally getting what you want — and still feel that churn in your chest. Not because anything’s wrong. Just because your body hasn’t fully figured out how to let good things be…good.
So here’s something I probably shouldn’t admit on a professional website: I like anxiety. Not in a sadistic way — in a deeply respectful, borderline tender way.
Because to me? Anxiety means your system’s still fighting for you. Still trying. It hasn’t gone numb. It’s scanning, planning, gearing up to keep you intact.
If I ever work with someone who says they’re anxious, I’m relieved. Not because I want them to suffer, but because it means there’s still energy there. A spark. Something alive enough to be worried. I see it as this raw, scrappy proof that some part of you hasn’t given up. And that’s honestly kind of beautiful.
Most therapy sites will tell you how to “beat anxiety.” That’s not my style. I’m more about figuring out what your anxiety’s actually working so hard to protect — so you don’t have to keep muscling through fighting your body instead of working with it.
That’s what we’d do together. Not just pick apart your fears or dump coping skills on top — but actually get curious about why your system needs to be on alert in the first place. What it’s still guarding. How it might slowly, gently learn that it doesn’t have to.
It’s way more collaborative, more about noticing the parts of you that still feel like they’re on duty — and giving them a shot at something else. Sometimes we use IFS therapy to figure out what those parts actually need, or take a holistic approach that weaves in your body, your breath, the way your chest might soften when something finally lands.
Most of the people I see are sprawled out across LA — maybe sitting cross-legged on their bed in Highland Park, hiding out on a lunch break in Culver City, or half-wrapped in a blanket in Venice.
That’s the beauty of online sessions. You don’t have to fight traffic or find parking or arrive looking totally composed. You can literally roll out of bed, grab your coffee, and still get personalized therapy.
I’ve found online work is especially good for anxiety. You’re in your own space, which means your system’s already a little safer. We can drop in quicker, figure out what is dysregulating your nervous system, and start shifting that — all without you ever leaving your couch.
Avoidance. Hands down.
Every time you dodge the thing that ramps you up — the tough conversation, the social invite, the email you’re dreading — your nervous system logs that as, “Yep, that was too dangerous to handle.” So the next time? Your anxiety comes back even louder.
It doesn’t mean you should bulldoze through every fear. It means slowly proving to your system you can handle hard stuff without it being a five-alarm fire. Otherwise you’re just wiring in more sensitivity.
It’s a simple grounding tool:
Name 3 things you see.
Name 3 sounds you hear.
Move 3 parts of your body.
It works by pulling your attention out of the swirl in your head and anchoring it back in your immediate environment. Not a magic cure, but pretty solid for those moments you’re spinning out.
Most of the time? A nervous system trying like hell to keep you alive.
Anxiety isn’t random. It’s your body bracing, scanning, prepping — doing whatever it thinks might keep you safe. Sometimes it’s old stuff still echoing (a nervous system that learned to stay on high alert). Other times it’s very much about right now — uncertainty, overwhelm, even good things that feel risky because they’re new.
Bottom line: it’s protective. Just not always accurate.
Totally off the top of my head, in a way I’d actually say it:
Anxiety isn’t just in your head — it’s a full-body event. Muscles tighten, digestion slows, your breath gets shallow.
It can show up when things are good, not just stressful — because your system doesn’t always trust calm.
Avoiding what makes you anxious often makes it worse.
You can be anxious and still look totally fine to everyone else (hi, high-functioning people).
It’s not permanent. Your brain and body are plastic — they learn. They can unlearn, too.
