Guided Journal Entry #2

Welcome back to Shrink Wrapped—the podcast where we peel back the layers of your mental health like an emotional onion wearing a weighted blanket. For today's guided journal episode, we’re getting real cozy with the internal chaos gremlin known as anxiety.

The journal prompt on deck? “If your anxiety could speak, what would it say? And how would you respond to it?”

Spoiler alert: if my anxiety could talk, it would absolutely have the voice of a squirrel on Red Bull whisper-screaming things like “What if you ruined everything forever with that one text??” or “Everyone definitely hates you, they’re just being polite.” Adorable, right?

But instead of letting that little panic parrot flap around unchecked, we’re gonna drag it into the light, hand it a mic, and actually listen to what it’s trying to say—then clap back with some grounded, semi-functional wisdom. This isn’t about silencing anxiety with toxic positivity. This is about giving it a seat at the table… just not the whole damn menu.

So grab your journal, maybe a snack for emotional support, and let’s have a weird little heart-to-heart with the inner voice that thinks everything is on fire—even when it’s just Tuesday. Let’s get into it.

Alright, let’s get into it—today’s guided journal prompt is all about how to respond to anxiety like a damn boss. Because let’s be real, anxiety is like that over-caffeinated friend who shows up uninvited, starts yelling about imaginary disasters, and then eats all your snacks. You don’t need to kick it out entirely (it thinks it’s helping), but you definitely don’t have to let it hijack your whole vibe. So let’s unpack how to put that anxious voice in its place—with sass, grace, and a well-placed eye-roll.

Start with: “Oh hey, Anxiety. I see you showed up again. Cute.” This is the emotional equivalent of side-eyeing someone who just dramatically burst into the room. Name it. Acknowledge it. But do not give it the mic. Anxiety feeds on urgency and attention, so the more you go “OH MY GOD WHAT IF—,” the more it pops popcorn and settles in. Instead, hit it with a calm-but-sarcastic “Thanks for your concern, but I’ve got this.” Translation: I see you, I hear you, but I’m not about to spiral with you.

Now journal this: What would it look like if you didn’t argue with your anxiety, but just didn’t believe everything it said? Because anxiety is a terrible narrator. It’s dramatic. It skips context. It loves worst-case scenarios. When it whispers, “Everyone hates you,” your job isn’t to yell back—it’s to shrug and say, “That’s cute, but unlikely.” Thoughts are not facts. Your anxiety is not your oracle.

Breathe. Seriously. That “deep breath in, deep breath out” line isn’t just yoga fluff—it physiologically tells your brain to simmer down. One of the fastest ways to interrupt an anxious spiral is to slow your breathing, ground yourself in the moment, and come back to the reality that you are not, in fact, about to be eaten by a bear or fail at life just because your email sounded “weird.”

And finally, hit it with the ultimate checkmate: “If worst comes to worst… so what?” This is where the magic happens. Because anxiety loses its power the minute you stop worshipping “what if.” What if they think I’m annoying? What if I mess up? Okay... and? What if you do mess up? You’ll recover. You’ll survive. You’ll learn. You’ll probably laugh about it later while eating tacos. The worst-case scenario is usually mildly inconvenient, not life-ending.

So today, journal this out:

• What does anxiety usually say to you?

• What’s your new script to talk back?

• What’s the actual “worst-case” you fear—and what would you do if it happened?

• How can you ground yourself in moments of panic (breathing, movement, sensory stuff)?

Remember: Anxiety might still be in the car, but it doesn’t get the aux cord, the map, or the snacks. You’re the one driving. Keep your hands on the wheel.

Let’s go even deeper—because if you’re journaling through this, you’re not just trying to cope with anxiety, you’re trying to outwit it. Outsmart the chaos gremlin. Befriend the lizard brain, then kindly tell it to sit down and drink some chamomile tea. So buckle up, boss. We're cracking open the user manual on how to not let anxiety run your life like an unpaid intern hopped up on energy drinks.

Start here: anxiety is not your enemy—it’s just way overqualified for its current role. Think of it like a smoke detector that goes off not just for fires, but for burnt toast, microwave popcorn, and sometimes absolutely nothing at all. It’s loud, annoying, and hard to ignore, but it thinks it’s doing you a favor. So the goal isn’t to destroy it—it's to retrain it.

That first line—"Oh hey, Anxiety. I see you showed up again. Cute."—is your script for reclaiming power. When anxiety rears its jittery little head, most people either freeze, freak out, or start spiraling. Instead, you’re stepping into main character energy and treating anxiety like a clingy ex texting you at 2 a.m.—seen, not answered. You’re allowed to have intrusive thoughts. You’re just not obligated to RSVP to them.

Now write this out in your journal:

• What does anxiety usually say to me?

  
  

  Is it the “you’re going to fail” monologue? The “everyone hates you” conspiracy theory? The “you looked stupid in that meeting” rerun? Name your usual suspects. Give them nicknames if you want—Anxious Alan, Catastrophe Cathy, Doomscroll Debbie.

Then hit them with the “Thanks for your concern, but I’ve got this.” This is where the reparenting begins. You’re not suppressing your feelings—you’re setting boundaries with them. Anxiety is like a toddler with a megaphone: it’ll keep screaming until someone acknowledges it. So acknowledge it—but don’t give it the car keys.

Next mantra: “I’m allowed to feel this, but it’s not the truth.” That line is a game-changer. Because somewhere along the way, we confused “feeling anxious” with “being in danger.” Just because your brain sounds the alarm doesn’t mean there’s actually a fire. Journal about this:

• When was the last time I felt anxious and nothing actually went wrong?

• What’s the difference between emotion and evidence?

• How can I validate my feelings without letting them dictate my reality?

Cue the breathing part: Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Try again. It’s not about “curing” anxiety, it’s about regulating it. This is your reset button. You don’t have to fix your whole life in a single breath—you just need to slow the freakout loop long enough to remember: you’ve done hard things before. You can do them again.

Now the mic-drop: “If worst comes to worst… so what?” This is your anxiety kryptonite. Anxiety thrives on vagueness. “Something bad might happen.” Okay, like what? Define the monster under the bed. Because half the time, once you shine a light on it, it turns out to be a sock.

So go there in your journal:

• What’s my most recent “what if” spiral?

• What actually happened? Did I survive? (Spoiler: yes.)

• What would I say to a friend if they had that same fear?

• What’s the plan if the worst does happen—and why is that actually not as world-ending as my brain claims?

You don’t need to be fearless. You just need to be braver than your anxiety is loud. That’s it. One deep breath, one eye-roll at your inner doomsday narrator, one brave action at a time.

Because again: anxiety doesn’t get the wheel. It’s allowed in the car, sure—but it sits in the backseat, and it absolutely does not get to mess with the GPS.

And let’s really sink our teeth into the journaling side of this- because journaling isn’t just writing stuff down so your therapist has something to nod at—it’s your chance to unmask anxiety, steal its thunder, and start rewriting the script. So if anxiety is that panicky voice in your head yelling “DANGER!!” over every mildly uncomfortable email or social interaction, journaling is where you pull out the receipts and go, “Okay, but where’s the proof?”

Journaling is your mental decluttering tool. It turns vague doom into specific thoughts, and specific thoughts are way easier to challenge. Anxiety thrives in silence and fog. But when you write it down? You give it shape. And once it has shape, you can drag it into the daylight, flip it off, and move on.

So go ahead. Crack open that journal like it owes you money. You're not just responding to anxiety—you’re calling it out, showing your receipts, and taking back the damn narrative.

Since we're diving into how to respond to anxiety like an absolute boss—not by pretending it doesn’t exist, but by meeting it head-on with the energy of someone who’s finally realized that anxiety doesn’t get to run the show, your journal is now your training ground. This is where you flip the script on panic, fear, and spiraling thoughts. You’re not trying to “fix” yourself—you’re building awareness, confidence, and mental muscle. So let’s go.

Start by asking yourself: What did anxiety try to hijack today? Maybe it was your morning routine, a social interaction, or the thought of opening that one email you’ve been avoiding like it contains anthrax. Write it all out. No censoring. What were the exact thoughts? What did it feel like in your body? Was it logical, or was your brain just being extra? Anxiety loves vagueness—it thrives on “something bad might happen.” The more clearly you can name what’s happening, the less power it has over you. You’re not feeding the beast anymore—you’re putting it under a microscope, and recording its every movement.

Once you’ve named it, try writing a new script. Something like, “Thanks for your concern, but I’ve got this.” This is your mental boundary line. You’re not yelling at anxiety, you’re just calmly showing it the door. Ask yourself: What would it feel like to gently dismiss anxiety instead of panicking with it? When’s the last time you pushed through anyway? This is your chance to start building a self-trust résumé—proof that you can feel anxious and still do the thing. These are your receipts. Write them all down and revisit them often.

Now get brutally honest with your thoughts. Ask yourself: What did anxiety try to convince me of today that isn’t actually true? Maybe it said you were going to embarrass yourself, or that everyone secretly hates you, or that your entire life is on the verge of collapse because you forgot to reply to a group text. Whatever it was, lay it out. Then counter it with the truth. Remind yourself that thoughts are not facts. Just because your brain throws a tantrum doesn’t mean reality is backing it up. Write out both versions—the anxious narrative and the grounded reality. Put them side by side- no, literally, divide your page in half and write them both out side by side. Let them battle it out on paper. Reality almost always wins.

And don’t forget the power of your body in this equation. Anxiety isn’t just a mental game—it’s a full-body experience. So write about what it feels like physically. The tight chest, the racing heart, the pit in your stomach. Then write about what helps. What grounds you? What soothes your nervous system when your brain feels like it’s on fire? Make a list. Call it your “Anxiety Emergency Kit.” Include breathwork, grounding techniques, a playlist, a friend you trust, a mantra that doesn’t sound like it was written by a Pinterest mom on too much caffeine. Build this list like it’s your survival pack. Because when anxiety hits, preparation is power.

Then—here comes the mic-drop moment—ask yourself: What’s the worst-case scenario I keep obsessing over… and what would I actually do if it happened? Write it out in detail. Let it be as dramatic as your brain wants. Then break it down. If that terrible thing did happen… what’s the actual fallout? What would your next move be? Spoiler: most of the time, it’s a little awkward, maybe a bit inconvenient, but definitely not the end of the world. You’ve probably survived worse. Write about that too.

And if you really want to level up this journaling session, wrap it up with this: What would it look like if I responded to anxiety like a boss all week long? How would you act? How would you talk to yourself? What would change if you believed, just for a moment, that you were bigger than the fear? Let your pen go wild with that one. Dream it, describe it, embody it.

Remember: you’re not trying to eliminate anxiety. That’s not the goal here. You’re learning to recognize it, talk back to it, and keep living anyway. Because anxiety might be in the room, but it doesn’t get the mic, the spotlight, or the snacks. This is your show. Own it.

So, if your anxiety had a voice—today you gave it a mic. And more importantly, you got to talk back. Whether it sounded like a panicked intern, a snarky life coach gone rogue, or just that familiar static that plays every time you're about to do something remotely brave… you showed up. You listened. And then you responded like a boss.

Because that’s the real flex here—not silencing anxiety, but refusing to let it narrate your story. You get to choose which voice gets turned up, and spoiler: it doesn’t have to be the one screaming “everything is terrible” in all caps.

So take that journaling momentum into the rest of your week. Keep writing. Keep responding. Keep reminding your anxiety that you run this show. And hey, if it gets loud again? That’s fine. You’ve got your script ready.

Thanks for hanging out in the chaos with me—don’t forget to subscribe, share the episode with someone who could use a little sass in their self-talk, and come back next week when we dissect boundaries. Until then, breathe deep, roll your eyes at your inner gremlin, and keep going. You've got this.