This Is Not the End

Two months after I turned 21, everything changed for me.

Growing up, I never really dealt with any mental health issues—at least not to the point that it altered my entire life. I never had to deal with anxiety, depression, body image issues, or any other kind of mental health issues. I was, overall, a very healthy young woman.

I was aware that I didn’t deal with anything like that, like how some of my classmates/friends did, which I was very thankful. But I didn’t pay much more attention to it than that. I wasn’t aware of just how lucky I was to not have to deal with any of that.

However, on November 19, 2024, two months after I turned 21, I experienced my first panic attack.

I remember the days in high school when I would toss the phrase “I’m gonna have a panic attack” around like it held no weight. Boy, was I clueless as to how heavy those words really were.

I remember everything that day—where I was, when it happened, how I reacted. It strangles me to think back on that day because of how terrifying it felt. I genuinely thought I was dying. And yet, I tried my best to hide it from everyone around me because I was afraid and embarrassed to admit that I was absolutely breaking down on the inside—all because of my own thoughts. My brain did it to me, and I couldn’t stop it. What would everyone think of me if I admitted what was happening to me? I thought they would think I was being dramatic or lying just to get out of having to do something. Even in the middle of feeling like I was dying, I was still worried about what others might think of me, and I wish I wasn’t this way.

Because of this panic attack, I developed crippling anxiety. And when I say crippling, I mean all-consuming, life-altering anxiety. I remember standing in my living room with tears pouring from my eyes, telling my husband that I have absolutely no idea how I am supposed to continue living this life feeling the way I did. I never had suicidal thoughts, but I genuinely did not see a future ahead of me other than life-controlling anxiety.

It beat me down completely. It became everything about me. I was exhausted.

During all of this, I was in the midst of wedding planning, working two jobs, keeping up with full-time college coursework, learning how to live in a house that was no longer my parents’ house and how to be an adult, and trying to take care of my own house. None of it slowed down for me. I had to keep up with it. I woke up every day, went through the motions, and counted down the seconds until I could get back to my house where I could spiral in a comfortable space.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only panic attack I had to deal with. I had a few, and every single time, it felt like I was dying and there was never going to be a way out. These attacks consisted of long phone calls with my mother while she tried her best to remind me that I was alive and well, that it would only last a little bit, and I was going to be okay. A lot of inhales and exhales, and praying to God, “God, please help me right now. I need you. Help me be okay again.” A lot of worship music playing in the background of my racing heart, my jumbled thoughts, and EMT tapping to try to regulate my nervous system.

These attacks also consisted of things I am not proud of. Food was the last thing on my mind. I would have to force myself to eat some days. I lied a lot. If you truly know me, you know I hate lying and that I am also really bad at it. I would leave work or other places randomly and tell everyone it was because I felt sick or because a family member wasn’t doing too well. When my husband needed his wife most, she wasn’t fully there. Days that were supposed to be fun turned into him having to console me and remind me nothing bad was going to happen to me.

For so long, I fought this—but never alone. He was always there, dealing with it with me. I will always be most thankful for him and the way he never made me feel like I had to hide all of it from him.

After my wedding and honeymoon—which I dealt with this anxiety the entire time all of it was going on—I decided that I was going to fight for myself. I realized there was nobody on this earth who was going to save me from this except for myself.

I had a few people tell me to get medicated for these issues I was dealing with. I have absolutely no problems with anyone choosing that route, but I wanted medication to be my last resort. People didn’t seem to understand why I was choosing to live that way for as long as I did, especially with how bad it was for me. But the anxiety I had was health-related, and taking medication scared me because of the side effects it could cause.

I was also told to try therapy. I almost did, but I was scared. I had never gone to therapy before, and every time I talked about my anxiety, I would cry so hard I could barely talk. I just wanted to try to fight it myself first before having to depend on something or someone else to make me feel better.

So, I separated myself into two different people.

Inside, there was the Megan who felt anxious 24/7—the one who had intrusive thoughts, was scared to be outside of her own home because of these thoughts, the one stuck in fight or flight and never stopped running. And then there was the Megan that refused to give a second of her time to things that did not benefit her—the stubborn, brave, confrontational one, the one who would be damned if she let anxiety take over the one and only life she was gifted.

Most days felt like an endless battle between the two. But I knew who my favorite one was, and I depended on her to win like my life depended on her. My life ultimately did depend on her.

It is now April 2026, and I remember how to live again. I am so alive, and I love being alive. I trust myself to get through the things that make me feel scared. Sometimes the anxious version of me comes to visit, but she doesn’t stay long anymore. One day, I hope she leaves and never comes back, but until then, I will continue to handle her and then make her leave.

I never understood how much strength and effort it takes to deal with mental health issues, but now I do. And I have so much love and understanding for anyone that does. It is the hardest thing I have ever had to learn how to overcome and how to cope with.

If it weren’t for my husband and parents, my belief in myself, and my faith in God, I cannot imagine the person I would be right now. I don’t want to know what I would be like if I had never gotten back up and started fighting. Sometimes I wish the version of me now could find her and give her a hug. I wish I could tell her, “This is not the end.”

But since I cannot tell her that, then I will leave it with you.

You are so much stronger than you feel like you are, and you can find your way out of the dark. Trust yourself. Talk to God. Tell your support system you love them and you’re thankful for them. Remember that you are alive, and you are well.

This is not the end, my friend.

This was me the day after my first panic attack in November 2024.

This was at the end of November 2024. I changed my hair hoping it would help me get rid of the version of me who had anxiety. It doesn't make any sense, but I was doing anything and everything I could to run away from it.

This was June 2025, while I was on my honeymoon. I was at my absolute worst on this trip, unfortunately. This picture reminds me how easy it is to hide the messiness from social media.

This was July 2025. I was wearing a heart monitor because I was convinced there was something wrong with my heart. All along, my anxiety was making me have constant heart palpitations.

This was January 2026. After I made the decision to fight for myself, I started doing things that made me feel alive again. My daily walks help me sort my thoughts. This is around the time I remembered how amazing it feels to do things despite how scared I might feel.