How a Blackbird, Breakfast, and a Well-Timed F-Bomb Changed Everything

The moment I realised my anxiety had gotten a little bit too audacious didn’t happen in my therapist’s office.

'So, the thing about high-functioning anxiety is...' she began. The thick lenses of her square glasses made her brown eyes seem huge.

I barely registered what she said next. My mind hooked onto those two words: “high-functioning.” It was probably the highlight of my week, hearing them.

Nor was it a few months later when I found myself obsessing over some tiny spots on my inner bum cheek. The sheer panic had me leaving work early and driving 45 minutes just to have a GP take one look and, with the patience of a saint, say, 'Yes, Eleanor, that is completely normal.' (Shout out to Dr Boddington)

It wasn't a few weeks after that either when I descended into a full-blown anxiety attack over my sexual identity. This one had been triggered by my downloading a dating app and staring at the sea of men before me. Oh, this one is good, but more to come on that later... 

Anyway, no it was none of that.

The moment of clarity came almost a year after I'd finished attending therapy for good.

I’d just come through a stereotypical moment of anxiety for me. A health panic—no bum-related worries this time. But, for a period of weeks, the "what ifs" couldn't be silenced no matter how much logic I tried to present.  

'What if the doctor made an error with the test?'  

'What if something changed in my body between submitting the test and receiving the results?'  

'What if I just googled a little more, the answer will surely become clear then...'

My brain was hungry for information, desperate to prove something was wrong. I knew all it wanted to say was 'See, I told you so'.

Thankfully, it must have gotten bored of that particular problem because one cold, crisp January morning my anxiety finally backed off.

I LOVE the morning time. Particularly ones like this. I had just made a delicious breakfast, a freshly brewed coffee sat on the counter beside me and gorgeous golden light streamed through the kitchen window. I watched a blackbird hop across the grass of my Glasgow tenement garden and for the first time in a long while, I felt at peace.

As I took in my surroundings, I remember thinking to myself, 'I actually don’t feel anxious anymore.' 

But, before I could even savour the thought my brain shot back, 'Well, that won’t last long. You’ll feel anxious again in a few weeks.' 

I immediately recognised that flippant comment as something emerging from the darkness of my mind. It was urgent —shocking, even. My stomach sank as I realised, that even when I've come through a particularly bad period, my anxiety doesn't go anywhere. It lingers, waiting to assure me, in no uncertain terms, that it will always be with me.

I was gobsmacked by its audacity.

'You’ll never get away from me.' it seemed to cackle. 

But here’s the thing: in that very instant, my anxiety made a massive mistake. 

It revealed itself to be a bully; it wasn’t trying to protect me, it was trying to control me. And by choosing to drop the mask it shot itself in the foot. Because, in that moment, I wasn’t vulnerable. I was tired—yes, I was tired. But I was also happily enjoying the sweetness life has to offer and something, in my mind, was trying to take that away from me.

So, I told it to fuck off. 

It was a real sliding doors moment for me. One that I look back on because it was such a turning point. I wonder things like, what if the sky had been grey that morning and I wasn’t feeling so bubbly in myself? What if I’d dropped my coffee or stubbed my toe and put myself in a bad mood, or if a rat had scurried across the grass instead of the blackbird?

What if I’d believed my brain and leant into the familiarity of spiralling into the hopelessness of it all?

Who knows.

Who knows why it all worked out? Perhaps it was all to do with divine timing or maybe it was the moon. Perhaps it was simply because my conscious self had finally decided enough is enough. Call it what you want. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter why my turning point happened on 8th January 2025 at 10:37 in the morning, it only matters that it did. 

It was so impactful, that I decided to get writing. I realised, I can’t be the only one who feels trapped like this. I can't be the only one who's come so far to manage their anxiety, only to realise that it's still lingering, trying to exert control. I used the pages of my heavily worn journal as starting material and typed out my entire experience with anxiety from then to now.

The result is this collection of writing.

This is not a blog about meditating your way to inner peace. Nor is it about writing your fears down on a piece of paper and burning them under the full moon. (Though full disclosure, I do love that). 

We've all been through so much in the last few years, as individuals and as a global society. We lost trust in the world around us and no matter how ideal your lockdown situation was - it was fucking terrifying.

When we lose trust, we lose resilience and confidence too. Without those, anxiety finds the perfect environment to thrive.

I firmly believe that, as a result, we have created an anxious society—one where burnout is worn like a badge of honour, information overload keeps us in a constant state of alert, and panicked, erratic thoughts shape everything from workplaces to our political landscape.

So, this blog is about action towards one very clear goal: rebuilding trust. 

Trusting yourself, trusting others, and trusting the world around you again.

Trusting your way through anxiety.

Telling it to fuck off when you feel it creep up because you trust that you can handle whatever life throws at you and you don’t need anxiety to take control. 

I'm not a therapist and I'm not here to offer any services. In fact, I'm an Unscripted TV Researcher so, if anyone has a job, I would love to chat. Lol.

I'm here to offer you my perspective on anxiety. My experience won’t resonate with everyone, and that’s okay. But if just one of my pieces gives you what you need to start thriving in your own life again, I’ll consider my work done.

So, as Queen Julie Andrews once said, 'Let's start at the very beginning'.