Chapter 2: The Weight of Being Different

Anxiety and panic disorders are frequently misunderstood as emerging from a single defining moment. In truth, they develop over time, rooted in the complex layers of our past experiences. For treatment to be truly effective, it must go beyond symptom management and focus on addressing these underlying causes. This is why I share my story: to shed light on the foundational roots of anxiety and emphasize the necessity of tackling these deeper issues for genuine and lasting healing, rather than settling for surface-level coping strategies.

In this chapter, I delve into the challenges of growing up with a constant sense of “otherness.” From the quiet fear of judgment to the isolating reality of segregation in school, these experiences created a fertile ground for anxiety to thrive. My story is not just about the pain of feeling different but about the deeper lessons these experiences taught me—lessons of vigilance, shame, and the cost of living a double life.

By sharing this chapter, I hope to highlight the subtle but powerful ways that societal pressures and exclusion can impact our mental health. This is not merely a story of hardship but an invitation to reflect on how our early experiences shape the way we see ourselves and navigate the world.

Growing up as part of a Christian minority in a predominantly non-Christian country, my childhood was steeped in a sense of “otherness.” My faith was not simply a private spiritual belief but a public marker that often set me apart in uncomfortable and, at times, threatening ways. This separation was more than just an abstract concept; it was a daily reality that influenced every interaction I had with the world around me.

From a young age, I internalized the constant tension of being visibly different. This wasn’t a subtle feeling—it was a palpable force shaping how others treated me, how I viewed myself, and the ways I navigated the world. Being openly identified as a member of my faith community often subjected me and my family to microaggressions, exclusion, and judgment. While these incidents might seem small in isolation, their cumulative effect was profound.

The fear of judgment and rejection became woven into the fabric of my childhood experience. Every public space was tinged with a sense of caution—an unspoken understanding that my family and I were being watched, assessed, and sometimes excluded. This vigilance was not something I could shed; it was a constant hum in the background of my life.

Even in seemingly benign interactions, there was a lingering awareness of how my identity might set me apart. Whether it was the way teachers addressed me or the subtle avoidance of my peers, these moments served as reminders that I could not fully belong. Over time, this awareness became a source of anxiety, as I felt the need to constantly monitor my words and actions to avoid drawing unwanted attention.

The fear was not merely about being misunderstood; it was deeper, tied to a primal need for safety and acceptance. I often questioned whether my family and I were truly welcome in the places we called home. This underlying unease shaped my worldview, fostering a hyper-awareness that left me feeling exposed and vulnerable in a world that seemed unpredictable and, at times, unkind.

One of the most tangible manifestations of this otherness was the segregation I experienced in school. Being separated from the majority group wasn’t just a matter of physical division—it was a constant, unspoken reminder of my difference. These divisions were subtle but pervasive, creating a sense of exclusion that lingered in every classroom, every playground interaction, and every group activity.

I remember vividly how this separation made me acutely self-conscious. I was constantly aware of how my peers perceived me, their sideways glances and whispered comments reinforcing the idea that I was not one of them. While I longed to blend in, the reality of my circumstances made that impossible. The anxiety of not being accepted by my peers was a heavy burden, one that followed me long after the school day ended.

To cope, I developed a habit of presenting different versions of myself depending on the context. At school, I would downplay my religious identity, trying to appear as neutral as possible. At home and within my church community, I was encouraged to embrace my faith openly and unapologetically. This constant shifting between identities created an internal conflict that left me feeling fragmented and disconnected from my true self.

The segregation and exclusion I experienced as a child planted the seeds of a double life that would later shape my adult struggles with anxiety. The necessity to adapt and blend in, to present a version of myself that would be accepted by those around me, became second nature. Yet, this adaptability came at a cost.

Living two separate lives—the public self that conformed to external expectations and the private self that wrestled with fear and insecurity—created an underlying tension that I couldn’t escape. This tension brewed silently, reinforcing feelings of inadequacy and shame. It was as if I was constantly one misstep away from being exposed, from having my true self rejected by both my peers and my community.

Living under the weight of these experiences taught me to be vigilant—a survival mechanism that became a way of life. I learned to scan my surroundings, to read the unspoken cues of others’ judgments, and to adjust my behavior accordingly. While this vigilance kept me safe in many ways, it also exacted a heavy toll.

The energy required to constantly monitor myself and my environment was draining. It left little room for spontaneity or authenticity, as every action felt calculated to avoid rejection. Over time, this hyper-awareness fed my anxiety, creating a cycle of fear and self-doubt that was difficult to break.

Perhaps the most insidious effect of these experiences was the shame they instilled. Experiencing subtle forms of discrimination and exclusion taught me to see my identity as something to be hidden. I internalized the idea that being myself was risky, that parts of me were inherently unworthy or unacceptable.

This shame wasn’t limited to my religious identity; it extended to other aspects of who I was. I became deeply self-critical, constantly questioning whether I was good enough, smart enough, or capable enough to be accepted by those around me. The pressure to conform to external expectations, combined with the fear of judgment, reinforced a cycle of self-doubt and anxiety that I carried into adulthood.

Looking back, I can see how these early experiences shaped the way I viewed myself and the world. The constant vigilance, the fear of judgment, and the internalized shame became the foundation of my anxiety. They taught me to prioritize others’ perceptions over my own sense of self, to hide parts of who I was in an effort to fit in.

These lessons were not conscious choices; they were survival strategies born out of necessity. Yet, their effects were profound, influencing every aspect of my life and shaping the struggles I would face in later years. By sharing this chapter of my story, I hope to shed light on the quiet but powerful ways that exclusion and judgment can shape a person’s sense of self and their relationship with the world.

The burden of being “other” taught me survival strategies that, while protective in the moment, became the foundation for my anxiety in later years. The constant vigilance, the pressure to conform, and the internalized shame created a lasting impact on how I viewed myself and engaged with the world around me.

Reflecting on these experiences, I can see how the fear of rejection and the necessity to live a double life left me fragmented and disconnected from my true self. The cost of this disconnection was immense, as it fed into a cycle of self-doubt and fear that shaped my adult struggles with anxiety.

Sharing this chapter of my story is my way of shedding light on the often-hidden impact of exclusion and judgment. My hope is that it inspires others to recognize the roots of their own struggles and to seek healing not just from the symptoms but from the experiences that planted them. True peace comes from embracing and understanding these deeper truths about ourselves.

The roots of anxiety disorders presented in this chapter highlight the profound impact of exclusion, judgment, and the challenges of living with a divided sense of self. These factors include:

1. Feeling of “Otherness”: Growing up as a visible minority, constantly marked as different in both public and private spaces.

2. Fear of Judgment and Rejection: A pervasive sense of being watched, assessed, and excluded, fostering constant vigilance.

3. Segregation in School: Physical and social separation reinforced a sense of isolation and self-consciousness.

4. Double Life: The need to present different versions of yourself in various contexts, creating internal conflict and disconnection.

5. Internalized Shame: Subtle discrimination and exclusion led to feelings of unworthiness and a need to hide aspects of your identity.

6. Hyper-Vigilance: The survival mechanism of scanning for danger and adjusting behavior to avoid rejection became a deeply ingrained habit.

7. Suppressed Authenticity: Fear of rejection stifled self-expression and contributed to feelings of inadequacy.

8. Loss of Safety in Belonging: Constant reminders of not fully belonging eroded the foundational sense of security needed for mental well-being.

9. Pressure to Conform: The weight of external expectations created tension and further distanced you from your true self.

10. Legacy of Fragmentation: The long-term impact of living a divided identity became a core contributor to ongoing anxiety.