People with anxiety or depression may struggle to remember things, not from carelessness, but because their minds are in survival mode. When so much energy is spent managing overwhelm, calming fear, or fighting fatigue, genuine experiences often go unnoticed. The brain, focused on coping, doesn’t fully process moments, so memories don’t form properly. This isn’t a personal failure; it’s a sign of how hard your mind works to keep you afloat.
I say this because memory has always been the hardest thing for me to hold together. And by “hold together,” I don’t just mean recalling details. I mean, remembering the order of things, the timeline, what happened when. Some memories feel jumbled or out of place, almost like puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit. I often question whether something happened at the time I think I’m remembering it. Even writing this right now is difficult because I’m struggling to articulate what’s happening in my head.
This morning, my brain has been cycling through memories nonstop, and of course, they aren’t the good ones because that’s not how our brains tend to work, especially after trauma. Humans have what’s called a “negativity bias,” a tendency to latch onto negative experiences more strongly than positive ones. It’s an evolutionary survival mechanism, a kind of biological over-preparedness meant to protect us from danger. But in everyday life, it can feel like your mind is dragging you backward instead of letting you stay present.
So while I’ve been trying to focus on coding, my brain keeps replaying memory after memory of difficult things from over the years. It’s pulled my focus away, and it’s been hard to ground myself in what I’m actually doing right now. I do have trouble remembering things. Why can’t I just not remember all the bad stuff?
Should I just do a full memory dump in my journal? Would it actually help to write everything down? Part of me thinks it might, like putting the thoughts somewhere else, so I don’t have to keep carrying them. Maybe if I let them out, I can finally see where my mind wants to go next.
My memories make me angry. They make me feel like I’m losing it for putting up with so much. When I look back now, I can clearly see how wrong things were. How much “crap” I tolerated. But back then, I wasn’t thinking the way I think now. I didn’t have the same awareness or perspective. And maybe that’s why writing it out could help. Letting myself see the past through the eyes of who I am today instead of who I had to be back then.
But first, I’m going to make myself some hot tea. Walk around a bit and ground myself.
The memories coming up this morning are the ones from right after my ex was arrested. I remember calling to see if I could make his bail. I didn’t want to; every part of me resisted, but I was told I needed to do it. When they told me the amount, I immediately said no. I didn’t admit that to him, though. I just told him my credit was bad. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I made it sound.
It was close to his birthday at the time, and he wanted me to buy him speakers. He already had more than enough, but I told him I didn’t have the money. That wasn’t exactly true, but I just didn’t want to buy more speakers. He started screaming about where the money went and demanded receipts for everything I’d purchased. I actually felt guilty that I had bought my daughters new comforters and gone grocery shopping. I had just spent $5,000 on a lawyer for him and told him I didn’t have anything left. He didn’t believe me and insisted I go to the police station with receipts. Of course, I didn’t; I had already thrown them away. I felt guilty for spending my own money.
When his court date came closer, he demanded I get a tattoo of his name on my ring finger and surprise him with it in court. I told him I wasn’t sure, and after more screaming and swearing, he hung up on me. I can’t believe I ever put up with that.
Even the lawyer apologized to me after losing the case. I told him it was okay. Secretly, I felt relieved. He got paid, so I’m sure he was fine. I didn’t help with the court case the way the lawyer wanted. I was told to write a letter and convince friends and family to write letters about what a “great” guy my ex was. But no one would write one, and I wasn’t going to lie. I didn’t do my “homework.” Maybe I sabotaged the case, but I felt like I had to. I felt like it was my only way out.
I really believed that if he went to prison, I’d finally be free. I thought I’d feel instantly happy. I didn’t realize that inmates get hours of phone access to call and harass anyone they want. I didn’t know how fast my anxiety would spiral. My breakdowns got so bad that I finally went to therapy for medication, but all the meds did was knock me out.
They really should monitor inmates’ phone calls better. He called me all day while I was at work. I’d have dozens of missed calls, and when I finally picked up, he’d scream at me for not answering and threaten to send one of his “friends” to check up on me. Spoiler: I was literally just at work. What I didn’t know then was that his friends weren’t actually his friends. None of the threats was real. I didn’t see that clearly until after I left California.
My anxiety was still terrible when I moved, and it took years to get it under control. I still have anxiety, but not like before. I haven’t had a panic attack in ages.
All of this, though, is making my anxiety spike again today. I think I need to step away from the computer and make myself some lunch. I’m sure eating something will help me feel calmer.
Okay, I feel a bit more grounded now. Getting those memories out of my head and onto the page helped more than I expected. When they stay inside, they loop over and over, almost like they’re trying to demand attention. But once I write them down, it’s like I’ve placed them somewhere else. Somewhere outside of me.
Now that they’re on paper, the memories feel more distant, less sharp, less like they’re happening right now. And that distance feels good.
Tomorrow we’re heading over to our friend’s house for a gaming night and some more trip planning. We’re in charge of bringing fruit. On Sunday, we’ll tackle the Thanksgiving shopping, and then Tommy has his hockey game. Monday is when I officially shift into Thanksgiving prep mode. I already have my plan; three full days to prep, Wednesday dedicated to pies and rolls, and then the big day itself. Tommy says Chris is going to make a charcuterie board this year, so we will need to get some cheeses and crackers.
I’ve been studying for the past few hours, so I’m going to make myself some tea and finish up a little more. After that, I think I’ll relax with a book. I’m still reading The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue. It gets a little repetitive at times, but I’m still curious to see how it all ends.
