The weight of anxiety story

Every morning, Adam woke with a stone on his chest. Invisible, yet so heavy it stole his breath before he even left his bed. At work, he hid it behind forced smiles and polite nods. The coffee tasted bitter; the voices around him sounded distant.

On the crowded train home, the stone grew heavier, tightening around his ribs like iron bands. Every thought twisted into what-ifs: *What if I fail? What if they see through me? What if something bad happens?*

At night, when the world quieted, the weight settled beside him like an unwelcome companion. Sleep offered no escape—only restless hours staring at the ceiling, mind racing in circles he couldn’t break.

One evening, exhausted, Adam whispered the truth to a friend: *“I’m not okay.”* The words felt small, but in speaking them, the stone shifted. It didn’t vanish, but it grew lighter—just enough to take a deeper breath.

Slowly, Adam learned that the weight of anxiety is lighter when shared, and that sometimes, courage isn’t defeating the fear, but facing the day anyway, stone and all.