What Emotion Has Been the Loudest in My Life, and What Might It Be Trying to Tell Me?
AYFM 2026 Reflection Card
This post is part one in a ten part series answering each of the questions in the As You Find Me 2026 Reflection Card. You are encouraged to answer each question for yourself.
There’s a question on the As You Find Me 2026 Reflection Card that stopped me in my tracks the moment I read it:
“What emotion has been the loudest in my life, and what might it be trying to tell me?”
I didn’t have to dig very far for the first half of the answer. The loudest emotion in my life, the one that hums beneath my ribs, shapes my decisions, and shadows even the good moments has been anxiety.
But naming it isn’t the hard part.
Listening to it is.
Anxiety has never shown up quietly for me. It arrives like a narrator I didn’t hire, offering commentary on everything from my parenting to my spiritual life to whether I’m allowed to take up space in my own home. And the more I’ve reflected this year, the more I’ve realized that anxiety isn’t the whole story. It’s the megaphone for something deeper.
It’s the sound of a boy who was never taught how to feel.
The Roots of the Noise
About five weeks ago, I wrote something that still stings when I read it back:
“I was never trained to feel or understand my emotions growing up, and surely now I’m messed up as an adult because of it.”
It wasn’t dramatic. It was simply true.
I grew up in a home where emotions were either explosive or smothered. An alcoholic, abusive father on one side. An overprotective mother on the other. There wasn’t much room for nuance, curiosity, or emotional literacy. I learned early that feelings were either dangerous or inconvenient.
So I adapted.
I got quiet.
I got careful.
I got good at reading the room and terrible at reading myself.
And now, as an adult, that old training still echoes. I’m not strong in my own voice. I hesitate to stand up for myself. I second-guess my intentions, even in the places that should feel sacred. Last month, I caught myself wondering if my spiritual habits were performative. I wrote, frustrated:
“It sucks to question your own intention!”
That’s anxiety talking—but it’s also something underneath anxiety trying to get my attention.
The Anxiety of Being Seen
When I look at the patterns, anxiety shows up most loudly in the moments where I’m trying to be honest, present, or emotionally available.
It shows up in therapy when a surprise topic blindsides me and I feel myself retreat into defensiveness.
It shows up in parenting when I worry I’m being sidelined or when I mask my natural, more measured responses to match what I think is expected.
It shows up in my marriage when I want to express a need but fear it will be dismissed, misunderstood, or used as evidence that I’m “too much” or “not enough.”
It shows up in my spiritual life when I’m trying to discern whether I’m acting from sincerity or survival.
Anxiety is loudest when authenticity is on the line.
Which means anxiety isn’t just fear.
It’s a signal.
A flare.
A messenger.
What Anxiety Has Been Trying to Tell Me
If I listen closely, really listen, my anxiety isn’t saying “You’re broken.”
It’s saying:
“There are parts of you that have never been heard.”
It’s pointing to the emotional vocabulary I never learned.
It’s pointing to the trauma I’ve only recently begun to name.
It’s pointing to the boy who learned to stay small and the man who’s tired of living that way.
Anxiety is loud because it’s trying to protect me.
But it’s also loud because it’s tired.
It wants me to stop surviving and start healing.
And for the first time in my life, I’m actually doing that work.
Therapy has become a place where I’m learning to pause instead of react, to feel instead of flee, to name instead of numb. I’m learning to communicate needs directly instead of acting unilaterally. I’m learning to show up for my son with presence instead of performance. I’m learning to show up for myself with compassion instead of criticism.
Anxiety isn’t the enemy.
It’s the alarm.
And alarms go off when something matters.
The Sacred Middle of Listening
So what is the loudest emotion in my life trying to tell me?
That I’m ready.
Ready to unlearn old patterns.
Ready to feel what I never felt.
Ready to speak with a voice I’m still discovering.
Ready to build a life where emotional honesty isn’t a threat but a practice.
This is the sacred middle I keep writing about—the place between who I was trained to be and who I’m becoming. It’s messy, uncomfortable, and strangely holy.
And maybe that’s the point.
Maybe the loudest emotion in our lives isn’t there to torment us.
Maybe it’s there to guide us toward the parts of ourselves we’ve been afraid to meet.
For me, that part is finally stepping forward.
And I’m learning to listen.
Answering the As You Find Me 2026 Reflection Card questions is possible due to journaling with Rosebud. Rosebud offers something rare: a space that listens back. It turns journaling from a monologue into a conversation, helping you slow down enough to hear what your inner life has been trying to say.