What Dropping Out of College Taught Me About Anxiety

I want to be honest about something I don't talk about much: I dropped out of college because of my anxiety.

Not because I partied too hard. Not because I couldn't handle the coursework. Because I would sit in lecture halls and feel like the walls were closing in. Because I would wake up at 5am with my heart racing, convinced that something terrible would happen if I left my apartment. Because one day I tried to go to class and ended up sitting in my car in the parking garage for two hours, unable to make myself walk inside.

That was 2016. I was 19 years old. I told my parents I was taking a semester off for "personal reasons." I didn't tell them I'd spent the previous night Googling whether you could die from a panic attack (you can't, but anxiety doesn't care about facts).

The Diagnosis That Changed Everything

The semester off became a year. During that year, I saw a therapist for the first time. I was terrified — in my Somali community, mental health wasn't something we discussed. Anxiety was weakness. Therapy was for "crazy people." Taking medication meant you didn't have enough faith.

But I was desperate. So I went.

My therapist was a white woman named Karen (I know, I know) who had a fountain in her waiting room and a painting of a beach on her wall. She diagnosed me with generalized anxiety disorder and panic disorder. Hearing those words — "generalized anxiety disorder" — felt like someone had finally described weather I'd been living in my whole life. Oh. This has a name. Other people have this.

What Actually Helped (And What Didn't)

CBT helped. Cognitive behavioral therapy taught me to identify the thoughts that were making me anxious and challenge them. Not dismiss them — challenge them. "What's the evidence for this thought? What's the evidence against it? Is there another way to look at this situation?" It sounds simple. It took months of practice.

Medication helped. I started sertraline (Zoloft) after about six months of therapy. The first three weeks were rough — nausea, weird dreams, feeling emotionally flat. Then one day I realized I had gone a full week without a panic attack. I cried in my car. I still take sertraline every morning. I probably will for a long time, maybe forever. That's okay.

Journaling helped, sort of. Everyone recommends journaling for anxiety. For me, it helps when I'm processing something specific — a difficult conversation, a decision I need to make. It doesn't help when I'm in the middle of a panic spiral. I've learned when to use it and when to use other tools instead.

Exercise helps, conditionally. When my anxiety is mild, going for a walk or doing yoga genuinely helps. When I'm in full panic mode, someone telling me to "just exercise" makes me want to scream. I exercise when I can, and I don't beat myself up when I can't.

"Just think positive" did not help. If you could fix anxiety by thinking positive, none of us would have anxiety. Toxic positivity made me feel broken for not being able to "choose happiness."

Going Back

After two years, I went back to college. Not full-time — I started with one class at a community college. Then two. Then I transferred back to the University of Minnesota and finished my degree in psychology. Not because I wanted to be a therapist, but because I needed to understand what was happening in my own brain.

I had panic attacks during those years too. I learned where all the private bathrooms were on campus. I learned to tell professors, "I might need to step out during class for medical reasons," without explaining more. I learned that I could have a panic attack and still finish the day.

What I Know Now

Recovery is not linear. I have good months and bad months. Last month was hard — work stress, family stuff, seasonal changes. I had three panic attacks in one week, the most I've had in years. I didn't think, "I'm backsliding." I thought, "This is a hard month. I've gotten through hard months before."

Anxiety is managed, not cured. I don't expect to wake up one day and never feel anxious again. That's not the goal. The goal is to have tools. To know that a panic attack will peak and then subside. To trust that I can handle hard feelings without them destroying me.

Medication is not weakness. I take sertraline every morning with my coffee. It's as routine as brushing my teeth. My brain chemistry needs support the way some people's bodies need insulin. There's no moral difference.

Therapy is worth the money. I pay $120 per session, and my insurance covers some of it. That's expensive. It's also the best money I spend. If you can't afford therapy, look into community health centers, university training clinics, or OpenPath Collective. There are options.

Why I Write This Blog

I started Anxiety Help in 2020, during the pandemic, when my anxiety spiked again and I needed somewhere to put the things I was learning. It became a way to connect with other people who were struggling. Every time someone emails me and says, "I thought I was the only one who felt this way," I remember why this matters.

I'm not a therapist. I'm not a medical professional. I'm someone who has lived with anxiety for half my life and has learned some things along the way. I write because I remember how alone it felt before I found people who understood.

If You're Where I Was

If you're reading this and you're in the dark place — missing school, missing work, canceling plans, feeling like you're failing — I want you to hear this: you're not failing. You're managing something incredibly hard with limited resources. The fact that you're still here, still trying, still reading this post — that matters.

Get help if you can. Therapy if you can afford it. Medication if a doctor recommends it. Community — online or in person — wherever you can find it. And in the meantime, use the free resources. Grounding techniques. Crisis lines. This blog, if it helps.

You're not alone in this. I promise.

I'm not a therapist or medical professional. Everything I share comes from my own experience with anxiety and what I've learned along the way. This is not medical advice. If you're struggling, please reach out to a mental health professional. If you're in crisis, contact the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline (call or text 988) or the Crisis Text Line (text HOME to 741741).