Disclaimer:
Songs, like stories, can mean different things to different people. The way I interpret Anxiety by Doechii may not be how you hear it and that’s okay.
In this post, I’m sharing my personal reaction and reflections based on my own lived experience with anxiety and disability.
If this song resonates with you differently, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments. We’d love to engage in conversation rooted in empathy and curiosity.
You might be struggling with anxiety or your mental health. Know that you are not alone. Support is available. Please check out my previous post from Mental Health Awareness Month. It contains additional thoughts and resources.
When the Beat Doesn’t Match the Burden
Lately, I’ve seen a surge of reels using Doechii’s Anxiety. Catchy. Rhythmic. Visually clever. And also, unintentionally, a little unsettling. There’s a growing trend. Creators use the song in a way that feels like it makes light of a real, raw experience.
That experience? Living with anxiety.
Anxiety doesn’t always look like shaking hands or visible panic attacks. For me, it’s more often quiet. Slow-burning. And always lurking.
What Anxiety Really Looks Like…for Me
Social media loves a dramatized version of anxiety: loud, obvious, and aesthetic.
But real anxiety, the kind I live with? It’s quieter. Heavier. Trickier to explain. To me, anxiety looks like this:
- It’s that feeling in the pit of my stomach as I wait for the bus. Will it come? Will it pass me by because I’m in a wheelchair?
- It’s wondering. I went to the bathroom two times before leaving the house. I still worry if I’ll have an accident while I’m out.
- It’s walking my service dog through the mall, worrying: he hasn’t pooped yet today. Will I miss his signal? Will he have an accident indoors? What will people think?
- It’s questioning my friendships: Do they really want to help me? Or do they pity me?
- It’s the constant churn: Will I ever stop worrying about money? Will I ever find a job that sees me for who I am? Will they view me beyond just being “that guy in the wheelchair with the dog?”
- And yes, weekly if not daily, it’s the gnawing fear: What if my power wheelchair breaks down? Will I be stranded? Will someone help? How will I get home?
This is situational anxiety. It doesn’t come from nowhere it comes from real, lived experience. From systems and barriers and histories that teach disabled folks like me that help isn’t guaranteed. That our presence is often inconvenient. That our independence is fragile.
The Weight of Situational Anxiety
Situational anxiety is the kind that grows out of lived experience. It’s not imagined. It’s not abstract. It’s knowing your support system might not show up. It’s remembering every time it hasn’t.
It doesn’t always manifest in panic attacks or spiraling thoughts.
Sometimes, it’s a list of backup plans running on loop. It’s scanning for exits, double-checking elevators, hoping that someone nearby will care enough to help if something goes wrong.
It’s the subtle, exhausting labor of planning for a world that often overlooks you.
And still, it gets minimized.
People hear “anxiety” and think inconvenience. Nerves. A personality quirk.
Your basic safety or dignity depends on systems. These systems frequently fail you, creating a pressure cooker situation.
Beyond the Filters and Feeds
So when I hear Doechii sing:
“It’s my anxiety / Can’t shake it off of me…”
I don’t hear a vibe. I hear a mirror.
And when that same song is used to make light of anxious experiences, it hurts.
Because I know how hard it is to speak up about these things to name them.
I know the courage it takes to share the ugly parts, the raw parts, the unphotogenic parts of mental health.
So when a song like Anxiety is reduced to a joke or aesthetic, it’s not just careless.
It’s a silencing act. It says: your pain is only valid if it’s entertaining. Your story only matters if it’s edited down to something easy to consume.
We can do better than that.
What the Song Gets Right
Doechii sings:
“Anxiety, keep on tryin’ me / I feel it quietly / Tryin’ to silence me.”
Yes. That. Right there.
Anxiety is not always loud. Sometimes it’s a hush that follows you into every room. A voice that questions every decision. A hand that rests just a little too heavy on your shoulder.
Later, she sings:
“I get this tightness in my chest / Like an elephant is standing on me / And I just let it take over.”
It’s visceral. Real. A truth we don’t always see captured in public conversations about mental health—especially those involving disabled bodies and disabled minds.
This Song Isn’t Just a Soundbite
This post isn’t about gatekeeping art. I’m not here to tell anyone to stop using the song.
But I am inviting us to pause. It’s about honoring the people who see themselves in it.To consider that behind the beat is a person who wrote those lyrics from a place of pain. And behind the screens watching your reels? There might be people who live those lyrics every day.
If you’re someone who hears Doechii’s Anxiety, and you feel it in your chest instead of your content calendar, this is for you.
Your anxiety, whether clinical or situational or both, is valid. Your fears, rooted in real-world experiences, deserve to be named without shame. You deserve space not just on the feed, but in the conversation.
So the next time you hear that chorus play, pause for a second.
Listen. Really listen. And if you can, hold space for those of us who can’t just shake it off.
Because for us, Anxiety isn’t a trend. It’s the background noise of daily life. And we’re doing our best to live above the volume.
Let’s use music as a bridge, not a punchline.
Let’s honor art by honoring the realities it comes from.
And let’s talk more about what anxiety really looks like.
Because it keeps on trying us.
And we keep on trying back.
If you’d like to share how Anxiety by Doechii resonates with you, I’d love to hear your perspective. This could be whether it resonates the same, differently, or not at all.
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