The Mentally STRONG Method: A Path Through Grief, Loss, and Trauma

Are we demonizing anxiety, when we can instead examine its usefulness?

Key points

• Anxiety is a commonly discussed mental health symptom, yet it’s often misunderstood and unfairly feared.


• Anxiety is part of our organic human design; it’s energy, alerting us to something we perceive as a threat.


• A moderate amount of anxiety can be a launchpad to self-examination and innovative action.


• Facing fear rather than running from it, builds blocks of emotional and psychological resilience over time.


While raising my medically fragile son, Reggie, who suffered from catastrophic epilepsy, anxiety became a constant companion. I lived in a state of vigilance, afraid he might get hurt, seize, or die during a seizure. It would’ve been easy to let that anxiety spiral into dysfunction, but instead, I harnessed its energy. Anxiety kept me alert, researching, advocating, and showing up. It was my survival system, sharpening my mind and deepening my resilience. Though Reggie passed away in 2016, I now recognize that my anxiety wasn’t a weakness, it was fuel. Anxiety isn’t an all-or-nothing flaw. It exists on a continuum, and mild to moderate anxiety, when understood, can enhance function. Despite the common advice to “not be anxious about anything,” the truth is that anxiety, rightly directed, can be a great mental strength.

At its core, anxiety is energy. It’s the nervous system gearing up for something, whether it be a perceived threat, a big decision, or even just the unknown. When left unchanneled, this energy can feel chaotic and overwhelming. But when understood and harnessed, anxiety becomes a signal, not a sentence. It’s not something to fear or suppress, but something to work with.

Anxiety is a feature of human design. From an evolutionary perspective, anxiety kept our ancestors alive. That quickening of breath, heightened awareness, and readiness to act helped early humans scan for threats, escape predators, and protect their tribes. In today’s world, we’re not dodging lions, but our nervous system doesn’t know the difference between a looming work deadline and a rustling in the grass. The problem isn’t anxiety itself; it’s the mismatch between our modern lives and ancient wiring. What once protected us now overwhelms us, unless we learn how to adapt and consciously channel that survival energy into purposeful action.

Clinically, we draw the line between helpful and harmful anxiety using criteria like those for generalized anxiety disorder. When worry is excessive, persistent (lasting six months or more), difficult to control, and begins to interfere with sleep, focus, or daily functioning, that’s when it crosses into a disorder. But for many people, anxiety doesn’t meet that threshold. It lives in the background, sometimes flaring up in moments of stress or uncertainty. And here’s the truth: trying not to be anxious only makes it worse. We’ve heard the classic example: “Don’t think about an elephant.” What’s the first thing we think? The same thing happens when we tell the mind, “Don’t be anxious.” Instead of resisting it, picture anxiety on a continuum scale from 1-10. If we’re at 9, we can work toward a 7. If we’re at 4, we can aim for a 2. Progress, not perfection. Moving the needle left is how we begin to gain control, not by erasing anxiety, but by engaging with it.

In my life, anxiety has always been more than just discomfort, it’s been a signal that inner work is needed. Triggers, after all, are external events that press on internal wounds. These wounds often stem from early life experiences, unresolved grief, or spiritual disconnection. Rather than avoiding or suppressing anxiety, I’ve learned to pause and ask, “What is this feeling pointing to? What unresolved part of me is asking to be seen, soothed, or strengthened?” In this way, anxiety becomes less of an enemy and more of a guide. It’s not something to escape, but something to understand.

One of the most helpful things I’ve seen, both in clinical work and personal experience, is the process of intentionally naming and organizing thoughts and feelings. When people can sort through grief, trauma, identity shifts, or daily overwhelm, they begin to see anxiety in context. It’s no longer a vague sense of dread, but a symptom that can be worked with. From that place, new choices often emerge, choices rooted in self-care and self-respect. Over time, these intentional responses build resilience and clarity. As insight grows, so does the capacity for self-leadership. Anxiety, when met with awareness, becomes a call to reclaim control and consciously evolve.

I clearly remember the day my daughter Miah had her first seizure. Her older brother, Reggie, had already spent five years battling catastrophic epilepsy; the moment I held her seizing body in my arms, a wave of anxiety rushed in, not just fear for her safety, but the terror that her life might follow the same heartbreaking path. Medically, I knew what to do. I acted quickly, got her to the hospital, and kept my voice calm. But inside, my mind raced and my heart ached. In that moment, anxiety could have paralyzed me, but instead, it became fuel. I focused. I managed my emotions. I found my hope. That wasn’t a one-time triumph. It was one moment in a series of painful experiences that demanded courage.

Over time, each choice to face fear rather than collapse beneath it added to a reservoir of strength. This is how mental resilience is built, not in sweeping transformations, but in small moments of choosing hope, presence, and forward motion again and again.

The most important step in working with anxiety is to breathe, not as a cliché, but as a biological intervention. My breath is the only conscious control I have over the autonomic nervous system. It’s the bridge between my sympathetic fight-or-flight response and parasympathetic rest-and-repair system. When anxiety rises, slow, intentional breathing is not just calming, it’s reclaiming control. From that place, the most important shift is mental: I stop trying to get rid of anxiety. Instead, I learn to work with it, reframing it as a source of strength, a heightened awareness, a signal that I care. The goal isn’t to eliminate anxiety, it’s to dial down its intensity and move toward clarity. And a place to begin is starting with belief. I believe that I can change my relationship with anxiety. That belief alone is the beginning of strength.

Anxiety is a force to understand, not a flaw to fix. When we stop running from it and start listening, we begin to take back control. The truth is that anxiety doesn’t have to dominate our lives. We have more influence over it than we think. With awareness, intention, and belief, we can learn to regulate it, reframe it, and draw strength from it.