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Picture this: It’s the night before a high-stakes presentation. You’ve prepared well: you know the material, and you’ve rehearsed the key points. Yet, for some reason, your mind refuses to quiet down. Your heart is beating a little too fast. Your thoughts keep circling back to everything that could go wrong. By morning, you’re exhausted from the effort of trying to stop feeling the anxiety.
Most of us treat anxiety as a problem to be solved: something to push down, breathe through or distract ourselves out of. We tell ourselves to calm down. We try to slow the racing thoughts. But a growing body of psychological research suggests that this instinct, as intuitive as it feels, may be the wrong approach.
Here’s the thing that neuroscience keeps insisting: anxiety and focused attention are not opposites. They share the same raw fuel of heightened physiological arousal, and the difference between the two usually comes down to the story you tell yourself about what that arousal means.
A landmark principle in psychology, the Yerkes-Dodson Law, first proposed in 1908 and replicated extensively since, describes an inverted-U relationship between arousal and performance.
In simple terms, too little arousal leaves you flat, disengaged and prone to distraction. Too much arousal tips you into overwhelm, where your working memory narrows and your thinking becomes rigid. But in the middle sits a sweet spot: moderate arousal, which sharpens attention, heightens motivation and primes the brain for sustained cognitive effort.
The real opportunity, then, is learning how to use your anxiety to your advantage, rather than trying to eliminate it. Research consistently points to three strategies that can help you make exactly that shift.
When anxiety strikes before something important, the near-universal advice is to take a deep breath and calm down. It sounds sensible. The problem is that it rarely works, and there’s a specific reason why.
Anxiety is a high-arousal emotional state. Calmness is a low-arousal state. The psychological distance between them is large, and bridging that gap in the heat of a performance moment is like trying to downshift from fifth gear to first while the car is still moving. The cognitive effort required often makes things worse, not better.
There is, however, an emotional state that is physiologically very close to anxiety: excitement. Both produce elevated heart rate, sharpened attention and a body primed for action. The difference is interpretive. Anxiety frames the situation as a threat. Excitement frames it as an opportunity.
In a series of influential studies published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology: General, Harvard Business School researcher Alison Wood Brooks tested exactly this. Across domains including karaoke singing, public speaking and math performance, participants who reappraised their pre-performance anxiety as excitement, using something as simple as saying “I am excited” out loud, outperformed those who tried to calm themselves down.
What’s important to note is that the reappraisal didn’t eliminate the physiological arousal; it simply rebranded it. And that rebrand was enough to shift participants from a threat mindset to an opportunity mindset, measurably improving their performance.
The practical takeaway is almost embarrassingly simple: the next time you feel anxious before something that matters, don’t tell yourself to calm down. Tell yourself that you’re excited instead. Say it out loud, if you can. It takes two seconds and works not by suppressing your nervous system, but by redirecting the arousal it’s already producing toward engagement rather than avoidance.
When anxiety is unacknowledged, it operates like background noise that keeps hijacking your attention. You’re trying to focus on the task in front of you, but part of your brain keeps getting pulled toward something uncomfortable and unresolved, like a formless unease that takes up cognitive real estate without being legible enough to address.
Affective labeling, or the practice of putting precise language to what you’re feeling, interrupts this cycle at the neurological level. In a renowned 2007 study published in Psychological Science, Matthew Lieberman and colleagues found that simply labeling a negative emotional state (“I feel anxious,” “I feel threatened, etc.) measurably reduced activity in the amygdala, the brain’s threat-detection center. In turn, it also increased engagement in the prefrontal cortex, the region responsible for deliberate, goal-directed thinking. In other words, naming the emotion handed control back to the part of the brain better equipped to handle it.
Labeling doesn’t make the anxiety disappear. What it does is give the brain something concrete to work with rather than an ambient threat. And concrete, tangible threats are far easier to set aside while you focus.
So, the next time you feel a pang of anxiety before a high-stakes task, take 90 seconds and write down exactly what you’re anxious about. Be specific. “I’m worried I’ll forget my opening line” is more useful to your brain than “I’m nervous.” Specificity transforms something vague into something manageable, and the manageable into something you can acknowledge, set aside, and return to later — instead of something that keeps tapping you on the shoulder while you’re trying to think.
Elite performers, like surgeons, competitive athletes and world-class public speakers, often report experiencing significant anxiety before high-pressure moments. What sets them apart is not that they feel less of it. It’s that they’ve learned to interpret it differently.
Psychologists make a distinction between two ways of appraising a stressful situation: as a threat, in which the demands feel greater than your resources to cope, or as a challenge, in which the demands feel significant but manageable, even energizing. The physiological arousal in both cases is nearly identical. What differs is the meaning assigned to it, and that meaning has real consequences for performance.
In a 2010 study published in the Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, students were taught to reappraise their stress arousal before a high-stakes math exam as adaptive and functional. They were prompted to see it as a signal that their body was preparing to perform, rather than as a warning that something was wrong.
Compared to a control group instructed simply to ignore stress, the reappraisal students reported lower math evaluation anxiety and, critically, performed better on the actual exam. The mediating factor, the researchers found, was a shift in resource appraisal: students who reappraised felt more capable of handling the demands in front of them.
The practical implication here is more dispositional than tactical. When anxiety surfaces before something important, try asking yourself a single question: “What is this feeling telling me?” More often than not, the honest answer is that something meaningful is at stake: that you care about the outcome, that you’ve invested in being prepared.
That reframe doesn’t dissolve the anxiety. It transforms it from a signal that something is wrong into confirmation that you’re engaged. And engagement, not calmness, is what sustained focus is actually built on.
Anxiety has been culturally positioned as a performance liability. But the science tells a more nuanced story. The arousal that produces anxiety is the same arousal that sharpens attention, raises motivation and primes the brain for its best work. What separates those who are derailed by it from those who are driven by it is rarely a difference in how much anxiety they feel. It’s a difference in what they do with it.
The next time you feel your heart rate climb before something that matters, consider that it might not be your body failing you. It might be your body showing up.
Want to know your tolerance for feelings like anxiety? Take my science-inspired Stress Recovery Test to find out how quickly you bounce back from stressful situations.
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