Anxiety has been a near-constant companion throughout my life. It took me a long time to understand it for what it was – my mother also had it, so when you grow up feeling certain things and witnessing others feeling those things, how can you know it isn’t normal?

I began to realize that I had anxiety as I got a bit older, and irrational fears that I had in childhood didn’t seem to be going away. As a child, I would scare myself to panicked tears thinking that someone was outside my bedroom window, and as I entered young-adulthood, those fears remained. Granted, they weren’t as frequent, but there were still parts of the house I refused to go in at night. I still had to keep the blinds closed if I was home alone. And occasionally, I would still find myself shaking on the couch, watching all doors in the room even though I was logically aware that I was perfectly safe.

But these irrational fears, at least, were fleeting. It wasn’t until I realized that the same anxiety filled my friendships that I began to wonder if something was wrong with me.

The moment I always remember when discussing my anxiety occurred my junior year of high school, while I was attending a boarding school. I had walked out the doors into the courtyard, and on the far side of it, I saw two very close friends of mine. These were people whom I loved and they had never once treated me like I didn’t belong, but as I saw them sitting and having a conversation, I was hit with an overwhelming feeling of inadequacy. I was convinced that they did not want me there. I thought I had seen one of them look at me, and I had told myself that because that person didn’t wave, they were probably talking about how annoying I was. I was so crushed by this “realization” that I went back to my dorm room.

That moment always jumps out at me because it was one of the few times when there was no sort of logic behind my conclusion. Almost always, my anxiety will find ways to convince me that my worries are based in fact. Whether it is because someone wasn’t treating me the same or because I wasn’t invited to something – my anxiety will catalog those moments and use them against me later. But in that scenario, there was nothing. Those friends had never been anything but absolutely kind and caring towards me, yet somehow, I felt like I meant nothing to them.

Not only was my anxiety affecting my friendships, but it was also affecting romantic relationships. Any amount of insecurity that I had in a relationship would be magnified by my anxiety. My mind – even when I was completely unaware – would think of heartbreaking problems and then use any scrap of evidence it could find to justify it. For example, I might worry that a boyfriend was cheating on me, and then if I saw him text a girl I would feel like my fears were partially confirmed. Most of the time, this worry was stagnant. I would have it, but I could tell myself that it was silly. I would be embarrassed, and it wouldn’t be an issue. But when your relationship has a foundation of insecurity, eventually anxiety will win.

As I got older and learned more about anxiety, it was like jumping into a swimming pool on a hot day. The realization that my thoughts stemmed from anxiety rather than reality changed everything. Suddenly, I had something to blame. When I began thinking that my roommate hated me, I would be able to rationally think through moments when I knew better and then tell myself that it was my anxiety. Whenever I worried that my boyfriend didn’t care about me, I could take a deep breath and tell myself that my thoughts were not real, and that the lens I viewed actions through was created to confirm my fears. And being able to look back on all the moments where I was confused about why people were frustrated with me made everything so much clearer.

But even after I realized that what I was suffering from was anxiety, that didn’t mean all was mended. While my relationships have only gotten better, my anxiety is worse in new settings. My first year of college was filled with a deep, unending fear that people were only being kind to me because they felt it was polite. There were many times when I found myself crying to those I was closest to because I couldn’t understand why my hall hated me.

There are good days and bad days. There are times when I can logic my anxiety away. There can be a rare, long stretch of time when my anxiety is quiet. But for the most part, it’s a daily battle. It’s one that leaves me unable to form friendships because I’m so reserved when I meet new people. It’s a battle that ironically leaves me in constant worry that it will be the downfall of a great relationship with someone I love deeply. And mostly, it’s a battle that never stops, and it only gets harder if I let the anxiety win even once.

So for anyone out there who deals with these fears, remember that it’s an uphill battle, but it’s one that you are capable of fighting. Anxiety may never go away, but its mortal enemy are your close friends who always make you feel loved and supported, so when it gets bad, don’t let it tell you that you’re a burden.

You are not a burden. You are a person.