For a long time, I didn’t realise I was living on edge.
It wasn’t always loud or obvious. Some days were worse than others, often without any clear reason.
But there was always something there.
A sense of unease. A feeling that I needed to stay in control. Like if I pushed myself too far, everything might tip.
So I kept busy.
Because stillness didn’t feel calm — it felt uncomfortable. Silence gave my anxiety space to creep in.
Even sitting down could feel unsettling. Like I should be doing something. Thinking about something. Staying one step ahead.
And at night… it was always worse.
There was something about the darkness and the quiet. When the world slowed down, when everything closed, when there were no distractions left…
That’s when it would peak. It felt like anxiety thrived in the silence. During the day, I looked like I was coping.
I was the one getting things done. High-achieving. Capable. The kind of person people would describe as “can do anything she puts her mind to.”
Happy. Positive. Thriving. But inside, it felt very different.
It felt like living under a constant cloud. A low-level pressure that never fully lifted.
There was also this constant feeling of being on the edge of tears. Not always crying. Not always obvious. But like it wouldn’t take much.
Like one small thing — the wrong comment, something going wrong, one more demand — and everything might tip me over the edge.
That sense that you’re holding it together… But only just.
That edge becomes so familiar, you almost start to live there. You can look like you’re coping… And still be in survival mode. I remember thinking… Is this just who I am?
Because I had no idea what life felt like without anxiety. And if I’m honest, I couldn’t imagine it ever being different.
It just felt like a quieter kind of suffering.
The kind you carry on with.
The kind other people don’t always see.
For a long time, I didn’t realise I was living on edge.
It wasn’t always obvious. Some days were worse than others, often without any clear reason.
But there was always something there.
A sense of unease. A feeling that I needed to stay in control. Like if I pushed myself too far, everything might tip.
So I kept busy.
Because stillness didn’t feel calm — it felt uncomfortable. Silence gave my anxiety space to creep in.
Even sitting down could feel unsettling. Like I should be doing something. Thinking about something. Staying one step ahead.
And at night… it was always worse.
There was something about the darkness and the quiet. When the world slowed down, when everything closed, when there were no distractions left…
That’s when it would peak. It felt like anxiety thrived in the silence. During the day, I looked like I was coping.
I was the one getting things done. High-achieving. Capable. The kind of person people would describe as “can do anything she puts her mind to.”
Happy. Positive. Thriving. But inside, it felt very different.
It felt like living under a constant cloud. A low-level pressure that never fully lifted.
There was also this constant feeling of being on the edge of tears. Not always crying. Not always obvious. But like it wouldn’t take much.
Like one small thing — the wrong comment, something going wrong, one more demand — and everything might tip me over the edge.
That sense that you’re holding it together… But only just.
That edge becomes so familiar, you almost start to live there. You can look like you’re coping… And still be in survival mode. I remember thinking… Is this just who I am?
Because I had no idea what life felt like without anxiety. And if I’m honest, I couldn’t imagine it ever being different.
It just felt like a quieter kind of suffering. The kind you carry on with. The kind other people don’t always see.
The Moment Everything Shifted
I remember my first panic attack clearly.
I was lying in bed, trying to go to sleep like any other night. I opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling…
And suddenly the room felt different. Heavy. Darker. Like it was closing in on me.
My breathing changed. Faster. Shallower. Until I realised I couldn’t control it.
That moment stayed with me.
Not just because it was frightening — but because it confirmed something I had already started to believe:
Something wasn’t right.
What I Didn’t Understand at the Time
For years, I believed anxiety was part of who I was.
Something I had to manage. Work around. Push through. But looking back now, I can see something very different.
My body wasn’t broken. It was responding exactly as it was designed to.
What I was experiencing wasn’t a personal failure. It was a physiological response to sustained pressure.
Like so many women, I was carrying more than I realised.
The invisible load.
The constant thinking.
The decision-making.
The emotional responsibility of keeping everything running.
And my nervous system had adapted to cope with that.
It had become highly alert. Highly responsive. Always scanning for what might need my attention next.
Not because I was weak. But because my body was trying to protect me.
High-Functioning… But Running on Empty
This is the part that often gets missed.
Because from the outside, it can look like everything is fine.
You’re managing.
Achieving.
Holding it all together.
But internally, your system never fully switches off.
Your mind keeps running.
Your body stays alert.
Rest doesn’t feel like rest.
You can look like you’re coping… And still be in survival mode. And when this goes on for long enough, it becomes your normal.
So normal, in fact, that you stop questioning it.
Why This Matters More Than You Think
When the nervous system stays in a prolonged state of stress, it doesn’t just affect how you feel emotionally.
It affects your sleep.
Your energy.
Your ability to think clearly.
Your patience.
Your resilience.
Everything starts to feel harder.
Not because you’re failing — but because your body is working overtime just to keep up.
We’ve normalised a level of pressure that the body was never designed to carry long term.
And many women are quietly living in this state without realising there’s another way to feel.
What Changed for Me
For many years, I believed anxiety was just part of who I was.
Today, I no longer see myself as an anxious person. I see someone whose nervous system simply needed the right conditions to feel safe again.
As I began to understand what was happening in my body, things started to shift.
Sleep improved.
My reactions softened.
My mind became quieter.
Not overnight. Not perfectly. But steadily.
And over time, something became very clear:
Many women who believe they are “anxious” are actually living with nervous systems that have been under pressure for too long.
And when that pressure begins to reduce, the body remembers how to feel safe again.
Where This Begins
This isn’t about fixing yourself. It’s about understanding what your body has been carrying.
And creating the conditions for it to feel safe enough to come out of survival mode. No extreme routines. No pressure to get it right.
Just small, consistent shifts that support your nervous system rather than push against it.
Because your body hasn’t given up on you. It’s been trying to protect you all along.
Ready to understand your own patterns?
If you recognised yourself in this, that’s not a coincidence.
There’s likely a pattern in how your nervous system has been responding to pressure — and once you can see it, everything starts to make more sense.
I’ve created a short quiz to help you do exactly that.
It will show you how your nervous system is currently responding
and where you can begin to gently shift things.
No overwhelm.
No judgement.
Just clarity.
Still stuck in fight-or-flight… or constantly feeling on edge?
If life has started to feel like constant pressure, exhaustion, or overwhelm, you’re not alone.
Every so often I send thoughtful emails sharing simple ways to calm the nervous system, navigate burnout, and reconnect with yourself.
I also occasionally share updates about the supportive women’s community and events I host.
No spam. Just thoughtful emails. You can unsubscribe anytime.
Still stuck in fight-or-flight… or constantly feeling on edge?
If life has started to feel like constant pressure, exhaustion, or overwhelm, you’re not alone.
Every so often I send thoughtful emails sharing simple ways to calm the nervous system, navigate burnout, and reconnect with yourself.
I also occasionally share updates about the supportive women’s community and events I host.
No spam. Just thoughtful emails. You can unsubscribe anytime.
About the Author
Mariko Broome is a trauma-informed transformational health coach and women’s wellbeing advocate.
Through her workshops, writing, and coaching, she helps women heal burnout, realign with their purpose, and create sustainable calm — one real step at a time.
