A.S. Thorne

A.S. Thorne

If my anxiety were a person, she’d definitely show up uninvited.

She wouldn’t knock.
She’d just be there – already sitting in my passenger seat, breathing heavy before I even leave the driveway.

I don’t have a name for her yet. Nothing feels quite right.
But…if I had to choose something on the spot – probably Cricket. Because she never shuts up. Only appears when it’s silent and you’re trying to sleep.

But she’s got main character energy…if the main character was 87% dread and 13% static electricity, and 100% convinced everyone’s watching her mess it up.

Her wardrobe?
Unassuming. Oversized. Function > fashion. Probably something shapeless and forgettable – like a beige potato sack or the invisibility cloak from Harry Potter.
She doesn’t want to be seen. But she also doesn’t want to be left out. She wants to disappear before you judge her, but she’s already judged herself…twice. A contradiction in every thread.

Her signature accessory?
A planner…three of them, actually. Plus color-coded lists, sticky notes on every flat surface, and the constant, nagging sense that she’s forgetting something important and possibly life-altering.

She triple checks her to-do list, then worries someone noticed her checking it too much.

Her daily schedule:
6:00am – Wake up and immediately remember that weird thing you said 12 years ago.
7:30am – Check calendar, to-do list, phone reminders. Repeat every 10 minutes.
9:00am – Send a text. Panic instantly about tone. Then wonder if they’re annoyed.
12:00pm – Feel behind. Apologize for existing.
3:00pm – Overanalyze a glance from a stranger or coworker and assume judgment.
7:00pm – Wonder why you’re so tired.
11:00pm – Try to sleep. Brain says: “Let’s unpack every embarrassing moment since birth.”

She doesn’t yell.
She whispers.
But she never stops.
She curls up in the corner of every room and waits for me to look at her. She’s the voice that asks, “Did they think that was stupid?” before I’ve even finished speaking.

And the worst part? She thinks she’s helping.

She tells me that if I plan enough, worry enough, shrink small enough—I can avoid the sting of disappointment.
If I judge myself first, no one else can beat me to it.

And I get it. She’s scared. She just wants to protect me.
She thinks if she takes up as little space as possible, no one will be disappointed. No one will get hurt.

But here’s what I’m learning:

I don’t need to banish her.
I just need to stop letting her drive.

She doesn’t get to make decisions anymore.
She can ride in the backseat. Wrapped in her emotional invisibility cloak. Holding her highlighters and backup to-do lists.
And I’ll say, “Thanks for looking out for me – but I’ve got this.”

💬 Your Turn:

If your anxiety had a personality… who would they be?
Drop a comment below. Let’s normalize giving our inner chaos a name and a time-out.