“Dear Jadranka, Shut up, Thanks.”

Where I come from, we don’t have anxiety.

We have “too much thinking.”
We have stomach problems, headaches, and “you’re just tired.”
We have grandmas who swear that a glass of wine or a good cry can solve absolutely everything.

And honestly — sometimes, they’re not wrong.

That’s the thing about Balkan upbringing: no one talks about mental health, but everyone’s quietly surviving their own emotional apocalypse with sarcasm and soup.

So, for most of my life, I thought I was fine.
Until I moved out.

And suddenly, the world wouldn’t shut up about “anxiety.”
Podcasts, articles, TikToks — everyone had it, everyone was managing it, and I thought: oh no… so that’s what this thing is called.

The sleepless nights turned into 3 a.m. TED Talks in my head.
The tight chest was just my body’s way of asking for a vacation.
And the racing thoughts? Pure overthinking cardio.

So, yeah. Hi, my name’s Martina, and apparently, I’ve been visited by anxiety.
My anxiety’s name is Jadranka — she’s basically the Balkan version of “Karen.”

Jadranka is loud, dramatic, and always thinks she’s right.
She loves control, panics over nothing, and insists she’s “just trying to help.”

Here’s what’s helping me quiet her down.

1. Not everything is my responsibility (even when Jadranka insists it is)

Jadranka loves guilt.
If someone looks sad, she whispers, “It’s your fault.”
If someone’s quiet, “They’re mad at you.”
If I say “no” to a favor, “You’re a terrible person.”

But here’s the truth: other people’s feelings are not my homework.

I can be kind without being responsible.
I can care without carrying.
If I set a boundary and someone flips out — that’s their emotional fitness test, not my failure.

Jadranka still hates this idea, but I remind her often: we’re not everyone’s emotional support animal.

2. Other people’s bad decisions aren’t mine to fix

I’ve learned that trying to fix people only makes Jadranka busier.
Because when you take over someone’s choices, you take away their growth — and add another layer of exhaustion to yourself.

Now I let people live their lessons, even when it hurts to watch.
It’s not cold. It’s healthy.

3. The outcome is not proof of my worth

Jadranka’s favorite thing is measuring success.
If I don’t get what I worked for, she screams “failure.”
If something doesn’t go as planned, she sulks for days.

But I’ve started focusing on effort, not outcome.
Because the outcome depends on a million things I can’t control.

I can do my best and still not win — and that doesn’t make me less.
It just makes me a human living in a random, chaotic world.

4. People’s expectations? Not my job description

Back home, saying “no” feels like committing a crime.
You’re expected to visit, call, show up, smile, host, and never offend anyone — preferably all before lunch.

But I’ve realized that trying to meet everyone’s expectations only leaves me meeting myself less and less.
And Jadranka? She thrives in that chaos.

Now I disappoint people more often — and I’m weirdly proud of it.
Because peace > approval.

5. The little habits that keep Jadranka thriving

When I finally started paying attention, I noticed that anxiety doesn’t need big drama.
She feeds on small, daily habits that look harmless — but quietly keep her alive.

All-or-nothing thinking: “If it’s not perfect, it’s worthless.”
Avoidance: “If I ignore it, it’ll go away.” Spoiler: it doesn’t.
Reassurance-seeking: Texting three friends for validation and still not believing them.
Catastrophizing: Turning “I’m late” into “I’ll be homeless.”
Negative self-talk: Being meaner to yourself than anyone else ever was.
People-pleasing: Saying “yes” while your entire body screams “no.”

Jadranka loves these. They make her feel needed.
But I’ve started starving her by doing the opposite — small, uncomfortable, kind-to-myself things.

6. The grounding reality

I’m learning that healing isn’t about “defeating” anxiety — it’s about understanding it.

Jadranka isn’t evil. She’s just a bad communicator.
She’s the part of my brain that tries to protect me — it just doesn’t realize I’m not in danger anymore.

So when she starts screaming, I try to pause.
Breathe into my stomach.
Touch something real.
Name five things I can see, four things I can touch, three things I can hear.

It’s not magic, but it brings me back.
And slowly, Jadranka gets quieter.

Here’s what I know now

Anxiety — or Jadranka — doesn’t really go away.
She just stops shouting when you stop giving her the microphone.

You stop trying to control everything.
You stop feeling guilty for not fixing everyone.

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You stop apologizing for needing rest, silence, and space.

Because somewhere between Balkan toughness and Western therapy talk, I finally found a balance:
You can still drink wine and cry it out.
But you can also name what you’re feeling — and learn that it’s okay.

And when Jadranka inevitably shows up again — usually without an invitation, probably holding a clipboard —
you don’t have to panic or argue with her.

Sometimes, it’s enough to take a breath, roll your eyes, and whisper:
“Jadranka, enough.”
Just… maybe don’t do it out loud in public. People might think you’re arguing with your aunt.

✨ So dear Jadranka — I get that you’re trying to protect me. But girl, please. Take a seat. I’ve got this one.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.