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Anxiety & Calm · September 2026 · 4 min read
Giving anxiety a name outside myself made it easier to observe instead of become.

Priyansi K.
Counselling Psychologist · Founder, MannPriya
A while ago, I did something that felt strange at first — I gave my anxiety a name. I called her Pia. It sounds small, but it changed everything. Anxiety used to feel like me — like something I was, not something I was carrying. The moment I named her, I could finally say, “Pia is here again,” instead of “something is wrong with me.”
Over a slice of cake, she’d whisper “you’re overthinking everything, you’ll never be good enough, what if something goes wrong?” My chest would tighten, my stomach would sink — cognitively, I was catastrophizing, second-guessing, stuck in decision paralysis. Emotionally, it was chronic insecurity, fear of judgment, a quiet exhaustion from constantly bracing for something to go wrong.
Healing isn’t constant. Some days you get up again. Some days Pia falls, and so do you, right beside her.
Naming it: Giving anxiety a name outside myself made it easier to observe instead of become. Sorting what’s mine to hold: I made two lists — things in my control (thoughts, boundaries, effort) and things that aren’t (others’ opinions, the future). Letting my body lead: Walking, dancing in the rain, feeling the sun calm the nervous system faster than logic.
Pia still visits sometimes. But she doesn’t run the house anymore. I do. If anxiety has a name in your life too, you’re not broken — you’re just carrying something that finally needs to be seen, understood, and slowly, gently, put down.
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