Being someone who’s always been goal oriented and a bit of a go getter, I’ve faced my fair share of challenges over the years. Whenever I hit an obstacle, I’d find a way around it, if something didn’t work, I’d try something else until it did. I’ve rarely given up on anything if I’ve wanted it badly enough. I’ve always believed that anything is possible when you put your mind to it.

When chasing goals, I’ve always wanted quick results. That hunger drove me to build a successful business and a good lifestyle. But to do that, I always needed something to measure myself against, a financial target, a number of properties to own, a clear benchmark to track my progress toward success.

It’s the same with most illnesses or injuries too. If you break your leg, for example, there’s a clear roadmap to recovery. The doctor sets the bone, the cast goes on, you’re on crutches for a few months, and then you do rehab to build your strength back up. You’re given timelines and milestones. You know what to expect, what to work on, and what progress looks like.

With anxiety and panic disorder, there is no roadmap. Doctors, at least the ones I saw, couldn’t tell me what to expect or how to recover. It’s a dark and lonely place to be. From day to day, you have no idea whether you’re making progress or going backwards. And for someone who thrives on goals and measurable steps, that uncertainty was incredibly hard to process.

So, I did what I’ve always done, I jumped in feet first and decided to find a way. But this time, I hit a wall.

When I looked for answers, I found countless stories of people who’d been living with anxiety for 20 plus years and never recovered. That terrified me. I didn’t want that to be my life. I needed to find people who had actually recovered, people who could show me how.

It took me a long time to find anyone I could relate to, someone who truly understood what I was going through. I think that’s part of the problem with the doctors I met, they’d never experienced it themselves, so they couldn’t comprehend it or offer advice. I was just put on a waiting list for talk therapies at the NHS, which was an 11 month wait. I knew I didn't have that long, I coun't take much more of how I was feeing and I needed to find a solution.

I began practicing yoga and tai chi, gentle, calming movements for the nervous system. At first, even those were difficult. I’d finish a 30 minute yoga session, if I even got through it, and have to lie in bed for the rest of the day. But I kept at it because I knew I needed to do something anything to try and feel human again.

I tried breathing exercises and meditation too. Meditation was easier, I could just lie down, close my eyes, and rest. Breathing exercises were harder as it drew attention to my breath which would trigger panic at first. My body felt so on edge that even trying to slow my breathing triggered attacks. But I persevered. Still, most days, I found myself back in bed, exhausted and frightened, because any attempt to move or do something physical seemed to set me off again.

I knew I needed to get outside and reconnect with nature, but I was terrified to even step through the front door. I would shake so badly that I thought I might collapse. My mum started setting me tiny goals, walk to the fence, then the gate. Even that felt impossible at first. But slowly, with each attempt, I built up the courage to go a little further.

Then I started walking with my sister. At first, I could only go about 50 metres before needing to turn back, trembling the whole way. Over time, though, I managed to go further, eventually venturing out alone on short loops near home.

One day, I decided to be brave and try running again. I hadn’t run in almost a year. The first time, I half jogged, half walked for about a kilometre, the furthest I’d been in ages. For a few days, I managed it, until one run ended badly. Near home, I got dizzy, foggy, and fell against a wall. That fall triggered a major panic attack that put me in bed for three days.

That setback broke me. It made no sense, how could I be this scared of something so simple? What had happened to my mind and body? It felt like they’d been hijacked.

During that dark patch, my brother introduced me to someone who changed everything. She was a former GB boxer, a business owner, and someone who had gone through anxiety and panic disorder herself. Finally, I found someone who truly understood.

Her experience gave me something I desperately needed, an action plan and a rough timeline. Everyone’s journey is different, but seeing someone who had recovered gave me hope. She was someone I could message anytime, she’d talk me through panic attacks, remind me what to do, and tell me when to push or when to rest.

That guidance helped me learn balance. I didn’t know my limits and often pushed myself too far, crashing hard afterward. She helped me understand that healing isn’t linear, that sometimes rest is progress too.

Being the goal driven person I am, I still needed a way to measure my progress. From day to day, it felt impossible to tell if I was improving. My family would say, “You’re doing so well,” but on the bad days, that would fall on deaf ears as I felt so terrible.

So, I started journaling. Every day, I’d write down how I felt, what I’d done, and how it affected me. I gave each day an anxiety score from 1 to 10, with 10 being severe and 1 being non existent. I also drew a smiley face system, green for good, red for bad, and neutral for in between.

At first, almost every day was red. I was scoring 9s and 10s constantly. But I decided to mark some green days even when I still felt anxious, if I’d pushed myself to do something hard like walking further, going to the supermarket, or sitting in a café for five minutes.

After a few months, I started seeing more green and neutral faces appear. My scores dropped to 6 to 8. For the first time, I could see my progress. On the bad days, that visual reminder helped me remember that not every day was awful, that I was improving, even if it didn’t feel like it.

Now, I’m usually around 3 to 5 most days. I haven’t hit 1 yet, but I can finally see that I’m getting closer.

That little chart of faces, something so simple, became my roadmap.

It proved to me that even when recovery feels invisible, progress is still happening, one small, brave step at a time.