Tag: Anxiety

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13 Best Meditation Apps for Anxiety, Depression, and Worry


Cost: $12.99/month or $69.99/year (they also offer a free trial)

Calm is the #2 best-reviewed app in the entire health and fitness category in the iPhone app store. A subscription includes a seemingly endless number of meditations, “sleep stories” (bedtime stories for grown ups,) and nature sounds. “My anxiety often hits at night and the sleep stories are reliably relaxing,” says Glamour senior wellness editor Macaela MacKenzie.

Calm has even been the subject of a clinical study of college students who used the app over eight weeks—the study found that perceived stress was lower in the group that used Calm than the group that did not.

The graphics on Calm are different than the cartoon illustrations on Headspace—more realistic and, depending on your taste, more calming. The meditations are in just one speaker’s voice, a woman with an American accent.

Cost: $69.99/year (which is $5.83/month.) The basic version also has some free content.

Oak has, in its relaxing, water color-ish way, the qualities of a good addictive cell phone game. You can earn badges by doing meditations, and receive daily inspirational quotes. The free version comes with simple breathing exercises, sleep sounds and sleep breathing meditations, and basic, daily meditations that function, pleasantly, like a Chipotle—you customize your meditation by topic (mindful or loving kindness,) time (5-30 minutes,) speaker (male or female,) and background sound (Cave water! Fireplace! Tibetan om! Wood sauna!)

__Cost:__Free, or $5.99 to take an in-app course.

Liberate is a meditation app designed specifically for people of color. It includes carefully curated meditations on concepts like micro aggressions as well as talks about self-love designed for a population that endures racism and discrimination. “The app design is minimal and easy to navigate,” says Lauren Brown, senior visuals editor at Glamour. “They have 20-30 minute sessions for beginners, like me. I’ve used it a few times and found it helpful.”

Cost: Free

Insight Timer bills itself as “the largest meditation community on earth,” and claims that over tens of millions of people use it daily. Part of that success is likely because of its robust free version, which has 35,000 meditations. The premium version has meditation classes, plus shares income with its meditation teachers.

The app offers simple silent meditations, a variety of teachers, and a function that allows you to search meditations by duration. The design is a little Word Press-y, but it’s user friendly and offers a huge diversity of meditations, even in the free version.

Cost:$9.99/month or $59.99/year (that’s $4.99/month.) Or the free version has plenty.

This app looks a little bit corporate, but it’s steady and straightforward—its goal is to get you into a true daily habit of meditation.
Though it still has fun perks—in every meditation session, you can opt to add background sounds, like rain, or beach sounds.

The shortest meditations are under three minutes long, the longest are over 30. The vast majority of the themed meditations (in categories like body, emotion, and relationships) are only available in the premium version, but the free app has a nice function that allows users to essentially design their own meditation, picking the duration, the background noises, and whether it is silent or guided.

Cost:$9.99/month, $59.99/year (that’s $4.99/month,) or $299/life. Or the free version is decent.

Buddhify, a membership-based program, has some of the most pleasant graphics and design of any of these apps. Among the regular soothing offerings, membership includes what the app makers describe as a “karaoke-style feature” which allows users to lead others in guided meditations by reading along with prompts on the app.



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No, You Don’t Have to ‘Justify’ Your Anxiety


“I have a question for the ‘Anxiety Girl.’”

This is how I was referred to at a recent well-being event. While not exactly what I imagined, being defined by anxiety—how very sexy—is how my career has transpired. I have no degree in psychology. I am no doctor. I have not unearthed a magical cure for stress and anxiety (if only). But I do have heaps of firsthand experience with the crippling shit show that anxiety can be. It’s made me kind of an expert in learning how to own it.

When I was in my twenties, I went through what I now describe as a mental breakdown (still such scary words to put together). I seemingly had everything going for me—great friends, great boyfriend, great job, great life. I didn’t have a “reason” to be anxious. Why couldn’t I just snap out of it? Why couldn’t I get my shit together? Sure, I had stress, but who doesn’t? Everyone else was handling it, or so it seemed on Instagram; why couldn’t I?

Despite having a lot going for me, for which I was both lucky and grateful, I fell apart. There was no majorly obvious trigger: I made the move from a job that I loved into a new one that didn’t suit me on many levels, and as such, I began to experience stress. So what, right? We’ve all been there. But the little ball of stress in my stomach quickly grew arms and legs. What started as containable anxiety about a new job gathered at an avalanche-like pace. It became anxiety about what this would mean for my career. Anxiety about what this would mean for my relationship, anxiety about paying my bills. Ultimately, though, it became anxiety about what people would think about me: I had everything going for me—what reason did I have to break down?

When I did broach the subject, people told me to get some perspective, to remember it could always be worse, to buck up, as if my adrenal glands could simply be convinced to switch off with the right attitude adjustment. I felt that, compared with those who go through really hard times like the loss of a loved one or another life-altering trauma, I had no right to fall apart.

At first, I thought—as is characteristic of anxiety—that I was completely alone in my struggle, but I soon learned more women feel this way than I could possibly count. Two years ago I published my first book, Owning It: Your Bullsh*t-Free Guide to Living With Anxiety, and I started talking about my anxiety a lot. When Owning It became an international best-seller, I heard from scores of women dealing with the same shame cycle I was in. They had objectively good lives and didn’t feel like they were “allowed” to have anxiety.

It’s an anxiety-shame cycle that goes a little like this: We don’t feel that we have a good enough reason to “justify” our feelings of anxiety, which just creates more anxiety. Anxiety about our anxiety! As a result, we continue to self-stigmatize, serving only to increase the anxiety we’re feeling, and so the cycle repeats. Not ideal.

What I now realize is that is bullshit. Bullshit for me, bullshit for you, bullshit for anybody else experiencing anxiety for “no good reason.” The reality is that anxiety doesn’t simply discriminate based on life circumstances—it’s not a members-only club for which you have to have been dragged through the emotional trenches—but I didn’t understand that until I began to peel back the layers of the brain to understand how stress and anxiety actually work.



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Does CBD for Anxiety Work?


I’m a bit of a self-care junkie. Part of my love affair with luxuriously long baths, weekly check-ins with my therapist, and “forest bathing” (which is really just a fancy way of saying “spending time outside”), is driven by the simple fact that it feels good. (Who doesn’t love to care for oneself, after all?) But the main reason I devote so much time and energy to self-care is to ward off my paralyzing anxiety. If left unchecked, the obsessive thoughts, shame spirals, and scathing internal dialogue hijack my brain, my body, and my joy. Self-care provides me with an active defense.

After years of living with anxiety, I’ve pretty much locked down the things that make me feel like my best (and least anxious) self, but I’m always on the lookout for new things to help ease my anxiety—if it has the potential to make me feel more calm, centered, and peaceful, I’m at least going to give it a shot.

Enter cannabidiol—better known as CBD—for anxiety. In case you’ve been living under a rock, this cannabis compound has seemingly taken over the world of wellness; it’s in gummies and baked goods, vape pens and post-workout smoothies, supplements and massage oils. And it’s easy to see why: CBD is a purported plant-based treatment for everything from muscle aches to seizures.

It also has the potential to treat anxiety.

I live in Oregon, land of legal dispensaries, so it didn’t take much to get CBD into my self-care routine. After a little trial and error, it became one of my favorite ways to help ease that constant gnawing in my chest. If I’m feeling anxious during the day, I’ll take a hit or two off of a pure CBD vape pen; it helps take the edge off, and because CBD isn’t intoxicating, I don’t have to worry about it getting in the way of work. If I have a million thoughts racing through my head when it hits the pillow, I’ll pop an edible with a high CBD-to-THC ratio to help me drift off to sleep. If I’m feeling physically tense (yet another fun side effect of anxiety!), I’ll throw some CBD-infused bath salts into the tub and take a nice, long soak. It’s been revolutionary.

Still, I had to wonder: Does CBD for anxiety actually work—or am I experiencing some kind of weed-inspired placebo effect?

First, some science: CBD is a chemical compound (known as a phytocannabinoid) that’s found in hemp and cannabis. It interacts with the body’s endocannabinoid system, which has the potential to benefit the mind and body in a whole slew of ways—including in treating anxiety. (This is not the same as the high associated with weed—that comes courtesy of a different, psychoactive compound called THC.)

The research on CBD is early but promising; in one small study of 10 subjects with social anxiety, participants reported a significant decrease in anxiety after consuming 400 mg of CBD. A much larger 2015 analysis of 49 existing studies on CBD found strong evidence for CBD as a legit treatment for anxiety, panic disorder, OCD, and even post-traumatic stress disorder.

Researchers think CBD may have an impact on our serotonin receptors, which explains the anti-anxiety, anti-depression effect that so many CBD users report. “CBD also interacts with a neurotransmitter in our brain called GABA—Gamma-Aminobutyric Acid—which modulates our stress response,” says Emma Chasen, cannabis educator and medicinal plant expert. In other words, CBD may help your body combat stress on a physical and mental and emotional level, she says. When I use it, I’m left with the same warm and fuzzy sense of calm you might get from, say, a glass of wine. Minus the problematic side effects of alcohol.



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Lili Reinhart Opens Up About Her Battle With Anxiety and Depression


Lili Reinhart continues to speak out about mental health—and on Friday, February 15, she got even more personal as a way to encourage others to seek help when they need it. The Riverdale star opened up about her battle with anxiety and depression, sharing on a series of honest and open Instagram Stories that she’s re-entering therapy.

“Friendly reminder for anyone who needs to hear it: Therapy is never something to feel ashamed of,” Reinhart wrote in a series of Stories. “Everyone can benefit from seeing a therapist. Doesn’t matter how old or ‘proud’ you’re trying to be.”

Instagram Stories/@lilireinhart
A blackandwhite Instagram Story reading Therapy is never something to feel ashamed of. Everyone can benefit from seeing...
Instagram Stories/@lilireinhart

“We are all human. And we all struggle,” she added in a next series of posts. “Don’t suffer in silence. Don’t be embarrassed to ask for help.”

A blackandwhite Instagram Story reading We are all human. And we all struggle. Don't suffer in silence. Don't be...
Instagram Stories/@lilireinhart

“I’m 22. I have anxiety and depression,” the actress continued. “And today I started therapy again.”

A blackandwhite Instagram Story reading I'm 22. I have anxiety and depression. And today I started therapy again. And so...
Instagram Stories/@lilireinhart

“And so the journey of self-love begins for me,” Reinhart wrote next, wrapping up the series. “Good luck to you on yours.”

A blackandwhite Instagram Story reading And so the journey of selflove begins for me.
Instagram Stories/@lilireinhart
A blackandwhite Instagram Story reading Good luck to you on yours.
Instagram Stories/@lilireinhart

This isn’t the first time the actress has spoken about her struggle with mental health. In December, she announced she’d be taking a break from Twitter to get away from all the negativity. “Taking a break from that toxic site and the people on it who feel the need to attack me, my cast mates, my relationship, and Riverdale,” she wrote at the time.

Since then, she’s made her return to the social-media platform but hasn’t been as active—though a post or two about boyfriend Cole Sprouse have definitely snuck in her feed.

In the past, Reinhart has also been very open about other personal insecurities, including her struggles with body image and acne. “Sometimes I feel like I look like shit. Sometimes I don’t want to talk to anyone. And I’m allowed to have those days,” she told Glamour in November. “I’m not going to apologize for that.”





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Literally All The Things I've Bought This Week That Caused Me Anxiety


If there’s one thing every millennial with nonrich parents can relate to, it’s financial issues—or, more specifically, the ceaseless, dogged presence of money-induced anxiety that we keep closer to us than our Velcro wallets. Even when I feel like I’m in a decent place financially, a purchase as seemingly mundane as a tall Starbucks drink weighs on me. I have an ever-present guilt about my inability to save, and I’m constantly pulling my hair out over what the next decade of my life looks like. That, mixed with an inner-dialogue justifying why I deserve to splurge on an opulent Burger King meal after a great business meeting, is exhausting.

Plus, I live in L.A., where the wealth divide runs the gamut from a homeless state of emergency to Taylor Swift’s $25 million mansion. Every day I witness restaurant patrons drop hundreds on dinner—yet for me, spending even $20 on food feels outlandish, spoiled, and financially irresponsible.

Money is my most real and regular anxiety trigger, and overcoming it seems unfeasible. But in an effort to lay it all out and visibly witness how ridiculous my negative inner-monologue is, I made a list of everything I bought this week that sent me spiraling into a black hole of anxious darkness. Behold.

A Grande iced chai latte with soy milk from Starbucks: $5.05

Every time I go to Starbucks, I berate myself about being a selfish, greedy monster who might as well max out my credit card with a trip to the Amalfi coast that I can’t afford. I’m not a coffee drinker or caffeine addict, so a tea doesn’t feel like a necessity. Thus, even waiting in line makes me break out in hives. I harangued myself so much about this one purchase that I was actually under the impression I went to Starbucks every day this week. But after looking at my bank statement, it turns out I went only twice. Even so, I told myself, “You don’t need this, you gluttonous brat.”

Note: I am one purchase deep and already sweating, looking at this seemingly endless trail of $1.99s and $4.99s.

A tuna sub from Jersey Mike’s: $11.67

I had just worked out super hard at the gym and decided to put my foot down. I needed to nourish myself with real food. So I got the full combo: a six-inch sub, chips, and a soda. If you don’t know what Jersey Mike’s is, it’s sandwich hell. It’s where hoagies go to die. Still, this was a splurge to me. This is how I “treat yo’self”: a sandwich with extra vinegar and no banana peppers. I wanted them, but they cost extra.

Ugh, this exercise is not helping—I actively feel bad about myself.

Groceries from Trader Joe’s: $13.46

I felt so guilty and downtrodden about buying myself a lump of sandwich detritus that I went straight to Trader Joe’s to buy two frozen dinners, praying that it would force me to stay in my cave for the next two days. It did, but it forced my grubby little hand elsewhere…

Amazon movie rental: $4.99

Now stuck at home with my groceries, I rented this lesbian movie on Amazon called Becks that I didn’t even like. I hated it so fucking much! It’s been a week, and I still haven’t been able to let it go—that I spent $5 on renting a movie, which I didn’t need, which sucked.

Gasoline: $40.23

Just slay me now. Split my head in two like a butterflied shrimp.

Friday night sister date—dinner and a movie: $40.22 Sometimes, I convince myself that I’m a human who’s allowed to feel joy and treat myself to companionship on the weekends. So I went to my favorite restaurant, Buffalo Wild Wings, and saw Blockers with my sister. This was supposed to bring me fleeting happiness, but instead it made me sweat thinking about the $40 I threw away.

Brunch with a friend who just got laid off: $45.65

This one really physically wounded me, especially because I had already spent $40 two days earlier. One of my closest friends was laid off a few weeks ago, and I’ve been wanting to take her out for a nice meal—yes, $50 is a “nice” meal—because that’s what you do when a friend is down. It feels good to help! I want to help. I want to feel confident enough in myself and my finances that I can take a friend out and not get as nasty with myself, but here we are. I am nearly $50 shorter for trying to be a good friend. You sicko.

A large Vita Coco coconut water: $4.79

I felt very dehydrated after another big workout and once again thought it’d feel good to quench myself and give my body what it needs instead of feeling drained and starved for basic nutrients. Wrong. In my fraught, broken psyche, it felt like I committed a war crime. You are every stereotype of an elitist Los Angeles prick, I told myself. You are owning yourself, lib.

ANOTHER ICED CHAI LATTE WITH SOY MILK: $5.05

You just can’t help yourself, can you bitch? You get a Grande instead of a Tall, which is basically a cup of ice with the mist of someone else’s coffee breath, and then you complain about needing rent money? Disgusting.

If anything, this exercise made me realize how bad I am at feeding myself. But I was also reminded of much I’ve been working out lately, which is extremely validating and makes me feel morally superior. As a person with mental health issues—including but not limited to anxiety and depression—I’m not sure how to grapple with the daily cost of living and the gloomy effect it has on my spirit. Sometimes I remember the mythological fallacy of being a homeowner, and I completely crumble. I’m 26 and can barely buy a fresh juice without convincing myself that I’m coastal elite trash. On that note, while checking my statements for this cute little exercise, I realized I’ve been donating monthly to the ACLU since the 2016 election. I canceled it. I’m so sorry, but I can’t afford rights right now.

Jill Gutowitz is a writer in Los Angeles. She has written for Vice, Broadly, Teen Vogue, AwesomenessTV, Dame Magazine, and more. Follow her on Twitter @jillboard.





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My Anxiety Is Costing Me a Fortune


Plenty of people have anxiety about money. I, on the other hand, spend money on my anxiety. I’m not just talking about therapy and prescriptions—the costs of which can be a crippling stressor on their own. What’s costing me about $400 a month are the extras: When my anxiety trickles from my mind to my body, I invest in self-care to help, whether it’s herbal aids for my digestion, vitamins that claim to keep my hormones in check, or services like weekly chiropractic adjustments and visits to a naturopath. Paying for this kind of holistic care gives me the illusion of control over my mental health. It presents options when I’m lost in the chaos of an anxiety disorder that can feel like having none.

I wouldn’t call myself woo-woo. And I’m definitely not against the medical establishment—I’ve probably contributed at least as much to Big Pharma as I spend on my supplement splurges. I was only 10 when I was diagnosed with OCD and an anxiety disorder, and I was promptly prescribed an antidepressant. I’m almost 30 now, and I’ve taken that little pill, in various doses and forms, nearly every single day for the past two decades. The intensity of my anxiety fluctuates (for example, a difficult pregnancy and a move across the country were big triggers for me a few years ago) and when it’s bad, I spend money as a salve.

I’ve bought into the culture of wellness—and I mean that literally.

My financial advisor’s face would grow pale if he saw how much I spend on supplements at Whole Foods—from pricy probiotics (a month supply to soothe my gut-mind connection runs me $50) to cheaper staples, like crystallized ginger to settle my stomach when the anxiousness makes me queasy. I also hold stress in my neck, and to stave off nasty, debilitating migraines, I see a chiropractor for weekly adjustments ($50 a pop, probably single-handedly financing his car payments). My medicine cabinet is home to dozens of essential oils (ranging from $10 to $80 apiece) which I huff during panic attacks, and a handful of Chinese herbs (anywhere from $20 to $40 each, replenished monthly), which I cling to for anything from IBS to PMS-related mood swings.

I’ve made some one-off, big-ticket splurges in the name of mental health, too. For a single one-hour appointment with an integrative psychiatrist, for example, I spent $400 (he was great, but I had to decline the follow-up appointment in favor of a mortgage payment). And for several weeks a few years ago, I worked with a holistic health coach over Skype to find natural ways to manage my anxiety during pregnancy, which cost $80 per one-hour session, plus any homeopathic supplements she recommended (there were, as you might guess, a lot).

While I can’t be sure if the herbal tinctures and the soothing confidence of a naturopath actually make any kind of long-term difference, I’m also not convinced that it matters. My self-care regimen, costly as it is, makes me feel better.

Haters will say these supplements are snake oil. And I’ll be the first to admit that maybe they are. But that’s not the point. Maybe the act of getting up and going somewhere to do something for myself, when I otherwise spend most of my time caring for two young kids, is what gives me a much-needed boost in mood—and the substance or service I’m buying doesn’t matter at all. But if getting my spine cracked every week helps me give the best version of myself to my family, my husband and I will sacrifice a cable TV subscription and date nights to make it work.

We don’t have a ton of disposable income—he’s a self-proclaimed expert in getting overdraft fees reversed; we collectively have $80,000 of student loan debt, and my freelance earnings vary month to month—but we are on the same page about investing in my mental health. I want to thrive, and I feel like this helps. Of course, medication and therapy are a necessary part of that help, and I’ve been following those protocols since I was still wearing a training bra from LimitedToo.

Holistic treatments, on the other hand, feel like my decision, something I choose to do as an adult who’s still figuring out what my life looks like with mental illness. I know that self-care isn’t healthcare, but if it—or the idea of it—helps keep me functioning, well, that feels like money well spent.



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