The Hidden Relationship Between Anxiety and Depression

Take a moment to land here … softly. slowly. gently.

There’s a moment that lives in the body before you can even name what’s happening.

Your chest tightens. Your mind speeds up. You start reaching— for answers, for distractions, for something that will make you feel better, fast.

And then there are other moments.

The heavy ones. The quiet ones. The ones where everything in you just… slows.

Where getting out of bed feels like too much. Where the world loses a bit of its color. Where you don’t want to reach for anything at all.

Most of us have been taught to see these as two separate problems. Anxiety on one side. Depression on the other.

But what if they’re not separate?

What if they’re in relationship with each other?

I’ve come to understand anxiety as the part of us that wants to fix things. It’s future-focused. Solution-oriented. It says, “Let’s do something. Let’s get out of this.”

And in many ways, it’s trying to help.

It mobilizes energy. It creates movement. It gives us a sense that we’re not stuck.

But here’s the paradox I’ve noticed in my own healing:

Anxiety doesn’t just help us move forward. Sometimes, it helps us avoid.

It can look like productivity— researching, planning, staying busy, constantly reaching for the next thing.

It can look like coping— overspending, overeating, overindulging, slipping into fantasy, searching for something outside of us to shift how we feel inside.

It can even feel responsible. Proactive. Like we’re taking care of ourselves.

But underneath all of that movement is often a quieter truth:

Something in us doesn’t want to feel what’s here.

So we move. We fix. We reach.

Anything but this.

And then there’s depression.

The one that gets labeled as the problem. The one we’re told to push through, think our way out of, medicate away, or simply “not stay in too long.”

Depression gets a bad rap.

Not because it isn’t painful—it is. Not because it can’t become consuming—it can.

But because we rarely pause long enough to ask what it might be doing for us.

Because when I’ve allowed myself to gently stay— not collapse into it, but stay with it—

I’ve noticed something else.

Depression slows me down in a way nothing else will. It quiets the noise. It pulls my attention inward.

It interrupts the constant seeking.

Sometimes, it feels like the only thing strong enough to say, “Stop. Come back. There’s something here.”

Not something to fix. Something to feel.

In my own experience, these two states aren’t random.

They’re connected.

The more I try to outrun what’s underneath— the more my anxiety ramps up, pushing me to find a way out.

And when that doesn’t work, or when my system can’t sustain that pace anymore, everything slows.

And I find myself face to face with the very thing I was trying to avoid.

There’s a kind of toggling that happens.

Speeding up. Slowing down. Reaching out. Falling inward.

And for a long time, I thought the goal was to fix this. To get rid of the anxiety. To never feel the heaviness of depression.

But over time, a different understanding began to take shape.

What if this wasn’t about eliminating either one? But actually, to change your relationship to both?

To recognize anxiety not just as a problem, but as a protector— a part of you that’s trying to move you away from pain.

And to recognize depression not just as something to fear, but as a signal— a part of you that’s asking you to slow down enough to actually feel what’s there.

Neither one is the enemy.

But neither one needs to drive the bus.

There’s a different kind of awareness that becomes available when you start to notice the shift.

When your thoughts begin to race and your body starts searching for relief, you can pause—just for a moment—and gently ask:

What am I trying not to feel right now?

Not to judge it. Not to fix it. Just to notice.

And when things feel heavy, slow, or distant, instead of immediately trying to pull yourself out, you might experiment with staying—just a little longer than feels comfortable.

Not forever. Just enough to listen.

Because underneath the urgency of anxiety and beneath the weight of depression,

there is something more honest waiting to be witnessed.

This isn’t about romanticizing depression. And it’s not about letting anxiety run unchecked.

It’s about making space for both— without abandoning yourself to either.

It’s about learning how to sit in the in-between.

The place where you’re not fixing. And you’re not escaping.

You’re just here.

Breathing. Noticing. Allowing.

The next time you feel the urge to reach for something— to solve, to distract, to get out—

pause.

See if you can soften, even slightly, into what’s underneath.

And ask yourself, gently:

What might happen if I didn’t run from this?

You don’t have to stay there forever.

But you might find that in the moments you stop trying to escape yourself, you begin to understand yourself in a way that no amount of fixing ever could.

Hi, I’m Chelsea Saunders,

a somatic psychotherapist, Reiki master, and breathwork facilitator based in Los Angeles. I help clients resource their nervous systems, and reconnect with their bodies, desires, and relationships through embodied practices like therapy, Reiki, breathwork, and sound.

If this story landed for you, the next step is simple. You can explore my services and schedule a complimentary clarity call to see if we’re a fit — online or in person.

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