The One Thing My Panic Attack Didn’t Steal From Me
Okay, deep breath. Deep breath. I know, I know—I’ve been the queen of skipping this step for decades. Like, literally the queen. My panic attacks used to feel like my brain was screaming, “YOU’RE A DISASTER! RUN!” And my automatic response? “Yes, I am. And I deserve this.” Ugh. The worst kind of self-sabotage.
Here’s the thing nobody wants to say out loud: the single most radical act of self-kindness I’ve ever practiced is simply… taking a breath. Not a deep, yogic, “I’m so zen” breath. Just… a breath. When my chest feels like it’s collapsing, I pause. I don’t say, “Stop being weak.” I say, “Okay, heart. You’re doing your best right now. I’m here with you.”
Why does this tiny thing matter? Because for 20 years, I’d treated my anxiety like a personal failing. Like I was broken because I felt broken. But taking that breath? It’s the first time I’ve ever listened to myself instead of yelling at myself. It’s not about fixing the panic—it’s about saying, “I see you. I’m not leaving.”
It changed me. Slowly. Like a stubborn weed pushing through concrete. Now, when the world feels like it’s ending, I don’t spiral into “I’m a mess.” I whisper, “Breathe. You’re still here.” And that tiny shift? It’s the difference between drowning and just… floating.
So here’s what I want you to know: Self-kindness isn’t about being perfect. It’s about not being your own enemy. It’s the quiet “I’ve got you” you whisper when the storm hits. It’s not selfish. It’s survival. And it’s the only thing that’s ever truly saved me.
So next time you feel like you’re falling apart? Don’t try to glue yourself back together. Just… breathe. Let yourself be held, even if it’s just by your own hand. You’re not broken. You’re trying. And that’s enough.
— Sheila Bishop, laughing so I don't cry
— Kyle Smith, holding space