Braving Brain Surgery Actually Helped My Health Anxiety

Alarm bells that once rang all the time are much quieter.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had eagle-eye awareness of my body. Even as a kid, I stayed on high alert, mentally logging—and ruminating over—random aches and sensations. This hypervigilance is common for people with health anxiety, what the American Psychological Association defines as “excessive or inappropriate anxiety about one’s health.” (Makes sense.)

My early memories of health anxiety are intertwined with a fear of dying. When my great-grandma passed away, all I knew was that she got sick, then disappeared for good. My elementary school brain couldn’t comprehend it, but I understood that if this happened to her, it could happen to me.

From that point on, fatal sickness was this looming inevitability that trailed me everywhere. I couldn’t unsee it, un-feel it, un-know it. For a while, I became extremely conscious of my heartbeat, especially at night. I’d hear my heart echo in my ears, track its tempo against the walls of my chest. I would try to fend off sleep, genuinely afraid I’d never wake up.

This fixation continued through adulthood, but my focus often changed. I googled leading questions like, “are persistent headaches a sign of cancer?” and panic-scrolled down a rabbit hole. Also, I frequented doctors’ offices for issues that, in reality, could’ve resolved at home.

Although my health anxiety receded at times, the spiraling and reassurance seeking (from WebMD, family, and medical professionals) took a toll. Plus, I always felt fragile, like something bad/serious/scary would tank my health at any minute. It truly was e-x-h-a-u-s-t-i-n-g.

Last year, that bad/serious/scary thing…well…occurred when I had a series of seizures. At first, all of my testing, including an MRI and two EEGs, was normal. More detailed imaging following a seizure in August 2024 detected a small cluster of blood vessels in my right temporal lobe. My NewYork-Presbyterian neurologist concluded this mass, called a cavernoma, was most likely the culprit—because when cavernomas bleed, they can trigger seizures.

On January 31, 2025, I had brain surgery—a right temporal craniotomy and anterior temporal lesionectomy, if we’re being technical—to remove this cavernoma and the surrounding tissue. The incision made to perform the procedure was an inverted, or backwards, question mark. It started at my hairline, curved cul-de-sac style, then ended just above my earlobe. “This is poetic in its own way,” my good friend texted me. “An answer to a question.”

The surgery is essentially a cure, though I won’t know for sure until I taper down my anti-seizure medication soon. I should kick off that process in early 2026, ahead of my one-year craniotomy-lesionectomy anniversary. (It’s OK to cheer! I’m clapping with you.)

I do not wish my experience on anyone. However, going through something so major changed my relationship with health-related worries. It’s strange…random sensations don’t seem as urgent. I’m more confident that I can handle hardship, and I feel less fragile overall. I never expected this decrease in health anxiety, but it tracks, according to mental health professionals I spoke with.

Small stuff doesn’t stress me out as much

Health anxiety can happen for a lot of reasons. It’s common if you have a chronic health issue, says registered/licensed clinical psychologist Jennifer Caspari, PhD. The same goes if you witnessed someone close to you get sick, says clinical psychologist Bonnie Zucker, PhD, co-host of the Anxiety Matters podcast. This type of anxiety can also exist for folks with mental illnesses such as panic disorder, OCD, generalized anxiety disorder (GAD), illness anxiety disorder, and somatic symptom disorder. (I’m a GAD girl, for reference.)

Regardless of a diagnosis, health anxiety skews your perception of aches and pains so you misinterpret symptoms as a sign of serious illness. Alarm bells blare for seemingly minor stuff.

Yes, I still wonder if shortness of breath or bruises are causes for concern. But I’ve learned to put symptoms into perspective. If I can get through seizures and a brain surgery, a sore throat isn’t going to take me out.

This means that even when alarm bells sound, I do not immediately act (google, ask my group chat, etc.). And, sometimes those bells don’t ring as loudly because I’ve redefined what’s alarming.

“It’s not that with this newfound confidence, you stopped caring about your health or you’re not focusing on it,” explains health psychologist Leah Reece, PsyD, who works with people living with chronic pain and other medical conditions. “You’ve developed a deeper trust in your body and your ability to interpret physical sensations more accurately.”

Dr. Caspari, author of You Are More Than Your Body, agrees. “Other things that maybe once felt incredibly threatening, no longer [feel this way]. Your misfiring anxiety alarm that was going off with everything, even things that really weren’t threatening, is now recalibrated to actually be more accurate. It’s not going off at any sign of threat. It’s now just going off with more true immediate threats.”

To be clear, I’m still terrified of, and bewildered by, dying one day. I may never reach a point of acceptance, but I don’t mentally jump from nonemergency to deathbed as quickly.

I feel more capable than before

On top of overestimating the likelihood of significant illness, people with health anxiety underestimate their ability to cope, says health anxiety coach and licensed therapist Britney Chesworth, PhD, LCSW. “I think in your case, you [now] realize, Hey, I’ve been through a serious health issue, so maybe I can cope with whatever else comes my way.”

Dr. Reece echoes this sentiment on capability. “After you face something so major and come out on the other side, your body and your mind have new evidence that you can handle difficult experiences.” They’re both right.

Anticipating dire illness drained me. Now, weirdly, the anticipation is over. Ten months post-surgery, I know I can navigate health scares or diagnoses. I’m prepared to advocate for myself, ask important questions, give myself grace as I heal and break and heal again, and lean on my loved ones. As I wrote less than a week after surgery, “There is fortitude all around you and within you.” (It was a truth I hadn’t fully swallowed yet.)

My brain surgery and prior seizures felt like one big exposure I confronted head-on—bigger than any I faced in therapy. My most recent therapist would assign different practices to trigger my health anxiety, and then she’d challenge me to avoid safety behaviors (aka, actions I’d take to get reassurance). For instance, I’d purposely rev up my heart rate (outside of regular exercise) and sit with the discomfort or talk to people about their health without googling symptoms.

This type of exposure therapy, called exposure and response prevention (ERP), is often used to treat health anxiety. It showed me that I can move past uncertainty and many sensations subside anyway. As my therapist would remind me, our bodies are just noisy sometimes, and that noise is innocent until proven guilty.

After surgery, my therapist told me that my experience was an unplanned giant exposure that tapped into my strength. Usually, “ERP is merely getting close to the thing you fear versus actually facing that feared thing, which is much more powerful,” Dr. Chesworth agrees. Did I NEED to have brain surgery—a nightmare scenario, perhaps—to recognize my resilience and gain a more realistic perspective on health? Hell no. It’s what transpired nonetheless.

“You are realizing that, of course, you don’t want anything bad to happen, but if it does, you’ll deal with it,” Dr. Chesworth says. She kindly adds, “And this shows amazing progress on your end.” (Aw, thanks!)

I am hopeful

Anxiety thrives when uncertainty burns bright. So for some people, getting a definitive diagnosis reduces anxiety because “the unknown becomes known,” and they can focus on treatment and recovery, says Dr. Reece. For others, a diagnosis might prompt new fears, she notes. The former is what happened to me. The fact that the source of my seizures was physically removed brought me closure and faith in our oftentimes frustrating medical system.

I’ve already addressed the faith I have in myself now, but I haven’t discussed a crucial part of the story. 2024 was the year of my seizures, and it was also the year of my wedding. (YEP.) So, as I underwent testing, I continued to plan said wedding. Just weeks before the ceremony, I suddenly needed to find a new neurosurgeon. (YEPPITY YEP.) Following the wedding, I had to finalize surgery details. Then, two months after our special day, surgery day came along. Lots of significant moments; lots of stress; lots of juggling the good and the bad.

Photo Credit: Stills + Cinema

Needless to say, I experienced highs and lows of epic proportions in a short period of time. This helped me accept that you can welcome joy, embrace celebration, and live meaningfully while navigating health struggles. Illness and medical complications absolutely come with anxiety and grief. However, happiness is possible in spite of it all, which gives me hope.

I noticed this duality as I healed. I dealt with lingering pain at the incision site and surrounding areas. Through the discomfort, I reveled in small and substantial wins: watching my hair’s regrowth, working out for the first time post-surgery, pouring my fear into poetry, having successful follow-up appointments, and “graduating” from therapy. I faced challenges during recovery and still found things to cheer for.

Optimism, paired with my garnered confidence, calms my health anxiety when it creeps in. Future sickness is inevitable—there’s only so much I can control—but healthy, happy days are inevitable too.