Growing up, I heard “tension” everywhere. Tension before exams. Tension when relatives visited. Tension about the future.
It felt normal, even a little expected—a shared language of small worries and passing headaches. But “stress”? That word belonged elsewhere: to people with “real problems,” or in medical charts and self-help books.
Yet somewhere along the way, my own tension morphed into chronic stress. And no one around me, including myself, seemed to notice the shift.
A conversation I still remember
One evening, over coffee, I tried to explain what was happening inside me:
“It feels like there’s always a weight on my chest. Like my heart won’t stop racing, and I can’t switch off my thoughts.”
My friend looked at me kindly. “You’re just taking too much tension. Try not to think so much.”
She meant well. But the words stung—and echoed what I’d heard so often: that stress was nothing more than worrying too much. That it could be shrugged off, ignored or silenced by sheer willpower.
What no one saw was how my mind had become an echo chamber of constant what-ifs and self-criticism. I didn’t know how to stop thinking. I only knew how to keep surviving.
Induced, then internalized
It took me years to see what was really happening: My stress was always induced—by work, family expectations, unspoken cultural pressures to be “the strong one.” These were external forces, shaping an internal landscape I couldn’t control.
But instead of naming these triggers or sharing them, I internalized them. I blamed myself: “Why can’t I handle this? Everyone else does.” The world saw me as calm and capable. Inside, I felt trapped—drowning quietly beneath the surface.
The day everything spilled over
I kept telling myself: once this project is over, once this phase passes, I’ll finally breathe. That day never came.
Instead, what came was a panic attack so fierce it felt like my body was betraying me: tight chest, shaking hands, thoughts spiralling so fast I couldn’t hold onto any of them.
In that moment, I realised stress wasn’t just “tension.” It wasn’t about worrying too much. It was a real, physical force—an illness that needed to be acknowledged, not ignored.
Even the educated don’t always see it
What surprises me still is how even well-educated people trivialize stress. They understand heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure. They never say to someone with asthma, “Just stop wheezing.” Yet they tell someone with anxiety, “Just stop worrying.”
Stress doesn’t live only in the mind. It seeps into the body: it disturbs sleep, digestion, memory, mood. It can become a silent architect of disease. It deserves to be treated with the same seriousness we give to physical illness—because it is one.
Owning the word “induced”
When I say stress is “induced,” I don’t mean blaming everything outside myself. I mean acknowledging that it doesn’t appear by magic. It’s a response to something real—work overload, past trauma, family pressure, uncertainty.
Seeing it this way doesn’t take away responsibility; it offers clarity. If we can name what’s inducing it, we can begin to set boundaries, ask for help or change our environment. Most importantly, it helps us see that stress isn’t our identity. It’s a reaction—and reactions, with support and awareness, can shift.
What I wish I’d known
I wish I’d known:
- That it’s OK to say “I’m not OK.”
- That seeking therapy isn’t weakness, but survival.
- That chronic stress can become depression, and needs treatment—just like any illness.
- That “tension” is passing, but stress, if ignored, can change who we are.
And most of all: that asking for help isn’t failing. It’s human.
Beyond advice and towards understanding
Today, when someone tells me they’re stressed, I try not to offer quick solutions.
Instead, I ask:
- “What’s been weighing on you?”
- “How long have you felt this way?”
- “Do you feel it in your body, too?”
Because sometimes, what people need isn’t advice—it’s recognition. A chance to be seen, without being told to “just stop worrying.”
Naming the invisible: Words matter!
Words matter. Calling it “stress” instead of “tension.” Recognizing it as “induced,” not random or self-inflicted.
This shift doesn’t fix everything. But it creates space: Space for compassion, for understanding, for healing.
Stress may always be induced. But silence, shame and self-blame? Those are choices—ones we don’t have to keep making.
Medical disclaimer: This page is for educational and informational purposes only and may not be construed as medical advice. The information is not intended to replace medical advice offered by physicians. Please refer to the full text of our medical disclaimer.
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