The appointment was supposed to be routine. Or maybe it wasn't routine. Maybe you'd been worried, maybe something had felt wrong for a while but nothing had prepared you for the moment the words landed. The way the room shifted. The way your mind went somewhere else while the oncologist kept talking. The way you drove home, or sat in the parking lot, or called someone, and realized that something had fundamentally changed and you couldn't change it back. A cancer diagnosis do

It's midnight. You're exhausted. The day is done, the house is quiet, there is nothing left that needs doing and your brain has decided that right now is the ideal time to: Replay a conversation from three days ago. Mentally draft an email you'll actually write tomorrow. Run through everything that could go wrong next week. Catalogue the things you forgot to do today. Solve a problem that doesn't need solving until Thursday. You're not choosing this. It's not useful. And the

You've Googled the symptom seventeen times. You've asked the same question to three different people. You've run through every possible outcome so many times you could recite them in your sleep. And you still don't feel better. This isn't a willpower problem. It isn't overthinking in the way people casually mean when they say that. It's something more specific — a genuine difficulty tolerating uncertainty — and it's one of the most common drivers of anxiety that rarely gets n

There is a thought you have regularly that you know, on some level, isn't entirely accurate — and yet it runs your life anyway. I'm not good enough. Something bad is about to happen. I'm a burden. I'll never get past this. People can see through me. You've argued with it. You've tried to replace it with something more positive. You've reminded yourself of evidence to the contrary. And still, when it shows up — which it does, reliably, often at the worst moments — it lands wit

If you've ever had cancer — or are currently in treatment — you probably know this feeling without needing a name for it. The scan is scheduled. Somewhere in the days or weeks before it, something shifts: sleep gets harder, every twinge becomes evidence, and a low hum of dread settles in that you can't reason your way out of. This is scanxiety — the intense anxiety cancer patients and survivors feel in anticipation of follow-up scans, imaging, or results. For many, it's the h

Struggling with Anxiety? You’re Not Alone—And You Don’t Have to Stay Stuck If you're experiencing constant worry, racing thoughts, sleep...