Who Do You Think Is Most Likely To Get Anxiety?

-By Rudrangshi Saha

Who’s most likely to get anxiety? Someone drowning in corporate deadlines, fighting for promotions in a cutthroat office, maybe sporting a briefcase and a permanent furrow between their brows? Well, throw that image out the window, because this story? It's about a second grader. That's right. Let that sink in. A second grader with anxiety.

Now, before you scoff and say, "How can a kid possibly be anxious?"—hold your horses, because back in 2016, anxiety wasn’t the cool accessory it seems to have become in 2024. Back then, having anxiety meant you were one bad day away from being labelled "mentally unstable" or, God forbid, "mad." Ah, the good ol' days of stigma.

Now, this girl wasn’t your typical “victim” of anxiety—she was practically every teacher’s dream: straight-A student, had a lot of hobbies, took part in every school event, and had a social circle larger than a K-pop fan club. She had everything going for her. Life seemed like one big unicorn...until she stepped into second grade and suddenly, it wasn’t a unicorn that she saw—it was a dragon.

And overnight, the very teachers she adored? Terrifying. The subjects she once loved? Intimidating. And her friends? A threat, obviously. Something was wrong, but she didn’t quite know what. So, naturally, the solution? Run. Run away from everything.

Her parents, the ultimate support system, noticed something was off. Suddenly, their jolly, little daughter who used to love school and life itself was feigning stomach aches daily, making pit stops at the infirmary, and eventually, coming home mid-day as if she were a refugee fleeing some war zone. A little dramatic, no?

They were stumped. I mean, their happy, carefree daughter, who would once devour every offering like they were gourmet meals, suddenly refused to eat. And her favourite pastime of cracking jokes? Now replaced by...crying. Loads of it. But hey, she wasn’t sad! Nah, sadness is too mainstream. She cried because her palms were too sweaty, her heart was thumping too loudly, and it felt like the classroom walls were closing in on her. No one understood, not even her.

At school, teachers weren't exactly sympathetic. Instead of empathy, she got a hearty serving of scolding and shaming with a side of punishment. Now, when the pressure got too much, she did what any self-respecting 7-year-old would do: she sought refuge in the school washroom. Because nothing says “coping mechanism” like locking yourself up in a smelly bathroom, muffling your sobs like you're hiding from a horror movie villain.

Fast forward to one of her daily visits to the school nurse, who by now was treating her like a VIP frequent flyer. Instead of comfort, she got cold, dismissive stares and phrases like, “Stop pretending.” Ah, yes. This girl, fighting back tears, was just about to give in to another round of scolding when a woman—a stranger—emerged from a nearby room. The girl didn’t know who she was, but this lady had an uncanny ability to make her stop crying, something no one else at school had managed in weeks. She told the girl to go back to class but also mentioned, "Tell your mother the school counsellor wants to meet her."

Counsellor? It was 2016; the word "counsellor" was as mysterious as a UFO sighting. Nevertheless, she delivered the message to her mom, though it came out as, "Ma, the school constructor wants to meet you." Eh, close enough.

Her mother, confused and concerned, eventually met the counsellor, and that was the start of something no one expected: therapy. Therapy for a second-grader. The girl didn’t quite understand what was happening—there was just a nice lady asking her to draw, talk, breathe, and do things that felt like games. Soon, the diagnosis was in: clinical anxiety. Turns out, she wasn’t weak or just broken as she thought; she just had something inside her that didn’t want to sit still.

However, as mentioned, it was 2016, and when her parents shared the situation with relatives, most met the news with apprehension. "Is she a psycho that she needs a psychologist?" one scoffed, while others dismissed it as "just a fad" and insisted it was all "normal." Yet, amidst that sea of ignorance, some relatives recognized the significance of seeking help and stood by her side, offering unwavering support. Even at school, when teachers realized she wasn’t merely “throwing a tantrum,” several stepped up to advocate for her, providing the understanding and encouragement she desperately needed.

Six months of therapy later, the girl was back to her usual self, and for a while, everything seemed normal. And let me tell you, it wasn’t a walk in the park. But finally, she’d conquered her anxiety, or so she thought.

The girl grows up, armed with coping mechanisms, and moves through life fairly well. She knows how to keep her anxiety at bay.

Cut to ninth grade. She’s older now, busier, in a new city—a new battlefield. Change, (aka, anxiety’s best buddy) decided to pay her a visit. For a month, she did great. The whole "new city, new people" thing? Easy. But as month two rolled in, so did that familiar feeling—palms sweaty, heart racing. She found herself crying in smelly school bathrooms again, because who needs to be seen crying? No one likes the kid who falls apart. The difference this time? She knew exactly what was going on and this time, she was ready for it. With some help, she managed to control it in just a week. No big deal, right?

Except, even when the anxiety was "under control," she never quite unplugged. She didn’t know how. Work became her escape. School, programs, competitions—she threw herself into it all. People praised her for her drive and ambition, but little did they know, it was less about achieving and more about running away. Running away from the fear of failure, inadequacy, and, most of all, the fear of her image falling apart.

Cue 10th grade. Life was good. Except, once or twice a year, anxiety would rear its head again. And instead of asking for help—because remember, “strong people don’t need help” she bottled it up. Her mom, ever watchful, suggested therapy again, but the girl waved it off. Everything seemed fine, right? Why fix something that wasn’t broken?

And here’s a thing about anxiety: it’s not like a headache where you pop a pill and it’s gone. No, no. It sticks around like an uninvited guest. And no matter how much you think you’re in control, it creeps back in. Slowly. Silently. The pressure to be perfect- a pressure that practically, no one put on her- was slowly taking a toll.

Months passed. But the girl’s health started deteriorating—not dramatically, but enough to warrant multiple doctor visits. She was referred to specialists: cardiologists, neurologists, and finally, a therapist. Turns out, all her physical symptoms were tied to her old friend: anxiety. The very thing she thought she’d conquered. And she realized that despite everything looking “fine” on the outside, she had been neglecting the one thing that really mattered—her mental health.

Turns out, bottling up emotions in the name of "strength" doesn’t actually work. Shocker! But well, the girl did learn her lesson- and that’s what matters, isn’t it?

Now, who was this second grader? Yep, it was me. And every time I tell someone this part of my life, I get the same reaction: "You? Impossible!” People who know me can’t believe I, the confident, (read- borderline self-obsessed), diligent student, who loves participating in everything, could ever have struggled with anxiety. I was great at hiding it as well- smiling on the outside, even in the middle of my worst anxiety attacks. And, to be honest, I was scared to talk about it- scared of what people would think, scared to open up. But you know what? I’ve had enough.

Writing this article took guts—more guts than you can imagine. And I just want people to understand that anyone, yes anyone, can struggle with mental health issues- even if it looks like they’re doing fine. And no, mental health issues aren’t a sign of fragility. The strength it takes to live with it, to face it, to cope with it is more than most can fathom.

So, here’s my message: don’t hide. Don’t let fear dictate your life. Because trust me, it’s not worth it. In the end, the battles we fight within are the ones that shape the strength we show the world.