Anxiety, Grief and What Bloomed After

Anxiety, Grief and What Bloomed

After

Written to pair with your Saturday morning cappuccino, coffee, tea, or other morning ritual as you slip back into bed.

Written by Brittany Eddelbuttel on March 7

Nobody really talks about how grief and anxiety can become intertwined.

About two months after Zachary died, I had a panic attack out of nowhere. It was one of the scariest experiences I’ve ever had. From that moment on, anxiety became something I felt not just emotionally, but physically — like it had moved into my body and woven itself into my cells.

After that first panic attack, I started becoming afraid of the anxiety itself. Any little feeling in my body would make me spiral, worried another panic attack was coming. My anxiety would trigger because I was fearful of the anxiety. It became this strange feedback loop where my body felt constantly on edge, like it was bracing for something I couldn’t control.

For months it felt like I was stuck in this bottomless pit where my body was scared and I didn’t know how to calm it down. My nervous system was completely dysregulated and out of control. And for me — the ultimate control freak — that’s fu**ing scary.

It’s been about eleven months since that first panic attack now. The anxiety has gotten better, but it’s still something I deal with daily.

Social anxiety had been creeping into my life for a few years, but when Zachary died and my nervous system went into overdrive, that anxiety magnified. There were months where not only was I grieving deeply, but I also genuinely believed that people hated me.

In that anxiety, I still felt like I had to keep showing up, even though I had nothing inside me to give. All that consumed me was Zach and my loss, and everything else felt meaningless. So when I was forced to talk about something else — like at work, or around friends talking about something absolutely unimportant like their nails, hair, exes, or the new guy they were seeing — I felt like an alien on another planet.

I couldn’t stand it. It didn’t feel authentic to the season of life I was in.

I felt alone.

But I also felt dull. I was not myself.

Some of my long-time friends slowly drifted quietly away.
And some of them sprinted for the hills.

My friendly, bubbly, never-met-a-stranger personality was gone. Like it had died with Zach that night.

Although I isolated, I still craved community.

A community that had been — or was going through — a tough season themselves. Or people wanting something more, something different, for themselves. I craved authentic connection with people who wanted to talk about real issues, real feelings, things that mattered.

Or maybe just people who felt a little disconnected.
A little socially awkward.
A little unsure where they fit.

Because at that time, I barely recognized myself.

I had always been someone who never met a stranger. Bubbly. Talkative. Free-spirited.

But suddenly I felt like a turtle wanting to crawl back into its shell and stay there forever. I honestly thought I might be perfectly fine just living quietly in a hole for the rest of my life.

And so I decided to lean into something I do know how to do.

I’m a chef.
I love to host.
I love to cook.
And we all know I love to eat.

So I shifted.

And me, being the I will have whatever I want Aries, intentionally created The Gathering Table.

In October, The Gathering Table was born — a place where I invited people to show up exactly as themselves.

You have anxiety? Same. Let’s eat food and sit with each other.

With absolutely no pressure to be anyone in particular. No pressure to perform. No masks. No pretending to be anything other than who we actually are.

Sometimes we’re becoming someone new, and we need to find people who are more aligned with who we are now.

Over the last few months, we’ve had women come in and out of The Gathering Table. Some have come once. Some have shown up every month.

But something really beautiful has started happening.

Real friendships are forming.

At our last Gathering Table — our Year of the Horse lunch in my home — we started talking about the symbolism of the Year of the Snake and what we are choosing to shed, and what we want to bring forward into the Year of the Fire Horse with momentum.

The conversation that unfolded gave me literal chills. We had tears, a beautiful ritual led by Candy, and honest dialogue about where we’ve been and where we’re going.

Just hearing people speak openly and honestly about where they are in their lives… it was profound.

We all just want to be loved and accepted. It is the nature of the universe.

But I’m learning something else too.

You vibe with some people.
You don’t vibe with others.

And that’s okay.

Even though I’ve had several friendships fall away over the past year, new ones have blossomed in their place.

And if I’m being completely honest… These new friendships feel deeper than almost anything I had before. These are people who can sit with you.

It’s amazing how something so painful can sometimes make space for something incredibly beautiful.

I’m curious to know if anyone here reading this has experienced something similar — something beautiful that came from something unimaginably painful.

And just as a reminder, this space isn’t just for me to write in. You all have the ability to post here as well. So if anything has been on your mind lately — a thought, a reflection, something you're working through — we welcome all of it here.

If this resonates with you, I’d also love to invite you to join us at The Gathering Table.