When Anxiety Wakes You Up at 5 AM: A Lesson in Zooming Out
I woke up at 5am with crushing anxiety in my chest. The birds were singing their morning songs quite joyfully, but they weren’t helping me. My thoughts were swirling, and I hadn’t even had my first sip of coffee.
This was not on my agenda for today.
As I navigated the bleary early morning cobwebs in my brain, I began to untangle where the tightness was coming from.
I was worrying about my son.
And here’s the thing — there isn’t anything of real substance to worry about. He’s got it sorted. But my morning brain was trapped in an old pattern: how to be a mom of boys, not of young men. There’s a difference. My brain knows it. Apparently, my anxiety didn’t get the picture.
And there I was. 5 am. Tight chest. Racing mind. No coffee (yet).
I rolled over and woke Dave up. I told him what I’d woken up to. He affirmed my mama bear energy — and that was exactly what I needed. Nothing shifted all at once, but I was able to get moving.
Next stop: coffee.
There’s a real comfort in my morning reading and coffee time, and so I moved through it — accepting the anxiety for what it was rather than fighting it. That’s one of the ways I’ve learned to live with these occasional moments when anxiety decides to barge into my life without a calendar invite.
Before my DCIS diagnosis, anxiety wasn’t like this. It was more of a passing feeling, not a disruptive force. But it arrived with the cancer diagnosis and has been an unwelcome visitor — coming and going without notice — ever since. I’ve had to learn strategies I didn’t know I’d need, and I’ve had to learn to recognize when it shows up and why.
That morning, once the coffee kicked in, I began to reflect a bit more deeply on what was going on.
When Empathy Becomes a Weight
It was more complicated than one person or situation— even though that was what my first thought in the morning was. Rather, I was feeling the impact of many relationships, each of which has its own unique challenges. And then, this one morning, the anxiety decided to show up.
I think of it like a Venn diagram. I’m in the center, and all the people I love surrounding me. When I’m doing well, there’s healthy overlap — that’s connection, that’s relationship. But when I’m not paying attention, those circles start migrating. They drift inward until I’m not just caring about someone’s situation. I’m living inside it.
Because I am deeply empathetic, other people’s challenges don’t stay at arm’s length. They find their way into my soul. And what started as love and concern can suddenly become anxiety about outcomes I have no power over.
And anxiety doesn’t announce itself. It just shows up at 5 am.
The Lesson I Learned the Hard Way
When Dave was going through radiation treatment, I spent an entire day worrying about his side effects, talking to the on-call radiation oncologist, and trying to fix everything. By the next morning, I couldn’t get out of bed. I was in severe stomach pain, eating crackers with a heating pad on my stomach.
I had worried myself sick. Literally.
As I lay there, I began to see it a different way. What was my role, and what was his medical team’s role? It wasn’t my job to be his oncologist. We had found the right team and an effective treatment plan. My role was much narrower — make sure he got to treatment, and that he had what he needed to manage the side effects.
That was the first time I began to think seriously about what was me and what was not me.
I had dissolved into his situation and had nothing left to give. That Sunday in bed, I paid the price.
Zooming Out
The question I’ve learned to ask when I feel the familiar tightening in my chest is this: what is me, and what is not me?
It sounds simple. It isn’t. I care deeply about the people in my life. Sometimes too much. And that’s hard to say. Because when I don’t zoom out, I lose pieces of myself. And when I’m too enmeshed in someone else’s situation, I lose the capacity to have any real influence at all.
The instinct is to step in, to carry some of the weight for them. But what I’m learning is that my role has shifted. When my sons were young, it was my job to be the protector. To shape the environment. To keep them safe. That’s not my job anymore. They are adults now. It is their lives, their decisions, their growth. My job is to love them and to be available, not to carry what is theirs to carry.
Zooming out doesn’t mean caring less. It means pulling my bubble back to where it belongs so I can see clearly again. It allows me to advise, without losing myself .From that wider view, I can actually think, help, and offer perspectives t
What Came Next
That morning, I didn’t fight the anxiety. I rolled over for a hug, talked through the swirling thoughts, sipped my coffee, and settled into my routine. I added an extra walk to Peet’s and let the movement do some of the work.
As I walked back home, the concerns lingered. But the way I was thinking about them was different. Instead of feeling trapped in worry, I was thinking about the growth I’m seeing as my sons navigate the challenges in front of them in their own way. And how freeing it is to be able to just head out for a walk without needing a babysitter.
And somewhere in the middle of that walk, I began to feel like me again. I began to notice and experience the morning beauty, without that crushing anxiety that had shown up uninvited.
If you’ve woken with a tight chest, racing mind, before you’ve even had a cup of coffee, you’re not alone.
I wrote this post a while back, and it is something that still helps me when my anxiety decides to show up. I hope it’s helpful.
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Jennifer Douglas
Jennifer Douglas is an author, patient advocate, and DCIS breast cancer survivor. After navigating her own breast cancer journey in 2019, she began writing and encouraging others who were newly diagnosed. Her resources include her book, "A Breast Cancer Journey: Living It One Step at a Time," and her online support course, "Encourage: Breast Cancer and Beyond." Jennifer also actively supports patients through her online presence and direct involvement in communities and support groups, offering guidance and encouragement every step of the way.
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