Anxiety is like that one annoying relative who just won’t leave my side. Mom claims I was a high-maintenance kid from the womb – go figure.

My first childhood memory? Freaking out about something, naturally. And ever since, I’ve walked around feeling like I’m awaiting my turn in the principal’s office, stomach churning and all.

But hey, sometimes anxiety has been my unsolicited life coach. Therapists say I’m stuck in fight-or-flight mode – yeah, no kidding.

A friend even jokes I’m like a feisty Chihuahua – fierce, loyal, and all over the place. At my age, I’m hunting for the elusive fountain of calm. What I do know? I’ve mastered functional anxiety – I’m anxious as all get out, but somehow still getting stuff done.

Not very well mind you, but I still sort of half ass manage.