Learning to Distinguish Between Anxiety and Depression: A Woman’s Journey

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had trouble distinguishing between anxiety and depression. It wasn’t something I ever thought to question until I found myself grappling with both, unsure of what was causing me to feel so overwhelmed all the time. Anxiety and depression often walk hand in hand, but no one told me how difficult it could be to pull them apart, especially when they intertwine so seamlessly in your mind.

In my early twenties, when the weight of life’s expectations began to pile on, I couldn’t understand why I was always tired, emotionally drained, or why I found myself lying in bed long after my alarm had gone off, avoiding the day. There was a heaviness that stuck to my body, like I was dragging myself through molasses. I chalked it up to stress at first. Everyone feels like this sometimes, right? But over time, I realized it wasn’t just stress. It was something deeper.

Looking back now, I realize that anxiety had been a constant shadow over my life. Even as a child, I would overthink every tiny detail. Did my friend think I was annoying when I asked her that question? Was I going to fail the math test, even though I’d studied for hours? My mind was always running, always searching for some future disaster to anticipate and prepare for. It was exhausting, but it felt normal. Isn’t everyone a little anxious about life?

It wasn’t until I started having panic attacks in my late twenties that I realized something was wrong. The racing heart, the sweating, the tightness in my chest that made it feel like I couldn’t breathe—these episodes would come out of nowhere. I’d be standing in line at the grocery store or sitting in a meeting at work, and suddenly my body would betray me. My mind would spin out of control, convinced that something terrible was happening even though nothing around me had changed.

This was anxiety. And once I recognized it for what it was, I started to see it everywhere. Anxiety is the voice that keeps me up at night, replaying conversations and wondering if I said something wrong. It’s the knot in my stomach before a social gathering, convincing me that everyone will see through my facade. Anxiety makes me hyper-aware, always bracing for the worst.

Depression, though, is something different. Where anxiety is all about movement— racing thoughts, restlessness, and anticipation—depression feels like a full stop. It’s

the weight on my chest that makes it hard to get out of bed, the fog that blurs the world around me until everything feels distant and grey. It’s the absence of feeling, the numbness that makes it hard to care about anything, even things I once loved.

For me, depression crept in quietly, almost unnoticed. It started with little things. I lost interest in hobbies that had always brought me joy—reading, painting, even meeting up with friends felt like too much effort. I told myself I was just tired, that I’d get back to it eventually. But weeks turned into months, and the heaviness only grew. Soon, I found myself staring at the ceiling for hours, unsure of how to move forward.

I remember one evening when my husband came home from work to find me still in bed. I hadn’t left the house that day. He sat beside me, concerned, and asked what was wrong. I couldn’t give him an answer because I didn’t know myself. How do you explain a sadness that has no source, no clear reason? It just is, an overwhelming darkness that settles in your chest and refuses to leave.

This was depression. It’s sneaky, creeping in slowly until one day you realize you’ve lost your spark. It pulls you away from the world, convincing you that nothing matters, that there’s no point in trying.

For years, I couldn’t distinguish between the two. I thought I was just “bad at handling stress,” that maybe I wasn’t cut out for the challenges life threw at me. But after years of therapy and self-reflection, I began to learn the subtle yet powerful differences between anxiety and depression.

Anxiety, for me, feels like too much. It’s an overload of emotions, thoughts, and sensations. My mind races, my heart pounds, and I’m constantly on edge, bracing for something that never comes. Depression, on the other hand, feels like too little. It’s a lack of emotion, a numbness that makes it hard to connect with the world. Where anxiety feels like drowning in too many thoughts, depression feels like a vast, empty void.

But as different as they are, anxiety and depression often feed off each other. When my anxiety spikes, my brain works overtime, trying to anticipate and solve problems that don’t exist. But eventually, that constant state of alertness becomes exhausting. I burn out, and that’s when depression steps in. The energy it takes to manage anxiety leaves me feeling depleted, and soon I can’t muster the strength to care about anything. It’s a vicious cycle—anxiety fuels depression, and depression makes it harder to cope with anxiety.

It took years of therapy to untangle the two. My therapist helped me recognize when I was dealing with anxiety versus depression and gave me tools to manage both. I learned that anxiety thrives on uncertainty, so grounding techniques—like deep breathing, mindfulness, or simply focusing on the present—can help pull me out of that spiral. Writing down my thoughts and asking myself whether they’re helpful or realistic can break the loop of catastrophic thinking.

Depression, though, requires a different approach. It’s harder to fight because it saps your motivation. On days when I feel the weight of depression pressing down on me, I’ve learned to take small steps, even if it’s something as simple as getting out of bed and going for a walk. It sounds cliché, but sunlight, fresh air, and movement really do help lift some of the fog.

More than anything, I’ve learned to be kind to myself. Anxiety and depression are part of my life, but they don’t define me. I used to beat myself up for not being “stronger” or “more resilient,” but now I know that living with these conditions doesn’t make me weak. It just makes me human.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned through this journey is the importance of community. I’ve found so much comfort in talking openly with friends who understand what I’m going through. Sharing our experiences with anxiety and depression helps me feel less alone, and hearing how others cope gives me new strategies to try. If you’re struggling with anxiety, depression, or both, I hope my story resonates with you. It can feel like a lonely, confusing place, but you don’t have to go through it alone. Reach out to friends, family, or a therapist who can help you sort through the noise in your mind.

I’m still learning how to manage these two forces in my life, and I imagine I always will be. But now, instead of seeing anxiety and depression as enemies, I try to understand them as signals. They tell me when I’m pushing myself too hard, when I need to slow down and take care of my mind and body.

If you’ve been on a similar journey, I’d love to hear how you’ve learned to distinguish between anxiety and depression. What has helped you? What’s been the hardest part? Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments below—together, we can build a community of understanding and support.