This isn’t a story that begins with a meltdown. It begins with the small things that quietly stack up.
I’ve never been a fan of closed spaces, but on a normal day I tolerate them like an adult. I also don’t particularly enjoy situations where I’m not in control, but most days it barely makes me think twice.
And roller coasters?
The big drops…heck yeah, but the ones that flip you upside down or send you into a vertical free fall?
Hard pass.
I’m all for adventure, just not the kind that rearranges my internal organs.
Individually, these are small discomforts, quirks of who I am.
But put them together… enclosed space, no control, free-fall sensations – and place them 30,000 feet in the air, and ding-ding-ding… suddenly you have the perfect recipe for a full-blown panic attack.
“People just don’t get it.”
Just the other day, I was talking to someone who gets frequent panic attacks, and he said, “People just don’t get it.” And it is so true. The term panic attack gets thrown around so casually now that it has almost lost its meaning. I recently heard someone say they had a “panic attack” because their nail polish shade looked different indoors and outdoors.
Then someone else asked me, half joking and half serious, “What is the most ridiculous situation someone has had a panic attack in?”
And it hit me again. We really do not understand what panic attacks actually are.
For me, it was the airplane.
For years, I battled the dreaded airplane.
Logically, I know it is the safest way to travel.
But another part of me, deep and instinctive, never got the memo.
And that is where this story begins.
My panic attacks have always happened silently, and believe me, no one has ever actually seen me have one.
NO ONE!
Not even the people closest to me.
They always happened on airplanes.
And when you’re surrounded by people at 30,000 feet, it doesn’t feel like the place to unravel.
It doesn’t feel right to terrify an entire cabin-full of people.
More importantly, I was usually with my kids…who love flying. They sit through 9–10 hour flights like they’re on a moving couch with unlimited snacks and movies. Eat, sleep, watch, games, repeat – Pure joy.
Meanwhile, I’d be beside them…heart pounding, hands sweating, breath uneven, counting the minutes to landing, trying to look calm, trying to be an adult.
I knew exactly how awful that fear felt. And I never wanted them to inherit it.
So I would quietly walk to the galley, stand by the exit door window, look out and just breathe.
If you saw me, you’d think I was a little nauseous.
But inside, it felt like a bomb detonating quietly in my chest. No noise. No warning. And absolutely no control.
No dramatic collapse.
No scene.
Just a storm happening inside a perfectly still, helpless body.
So what does a panic attack really feel like?
It feels like your body suddenly forgets how to be your body.
Like your heart is trying to escape your chest.
Like your mind is racing ahead of you, convinced something terrible is about to happen, even when nothing is actually wrong.
It feels like your breath is no longer yours.
Like no matter how much air you pull in, it never feels like enough.
Your hands may go cold or numb.
Your vision might blur.
Your legs may feel unsteady.
But the most overwhelming part is not the physical sensation.
It is the belief, in that moment, that you are not safe.
Even when you are.
There is no reason.
No obvious cause.
No visible trigger.
Everything looks perfectly fine on the outside, and yet inside, it feels like a silent emergency.
A panic attack is not fear.
Fear has an object.
A panic attack is the body sounding an alarm when there is no fire.
Silent panic is more common than you think.
I’ve spent years learning how to work with this. I have read books, read blogs, spoken to people, and slowly understood the nature of panic attacks, especially the silent kind. And I found they are incredibly common among caretakers, parents, and those who carry responsibility quietly. The panic has nowhere to go, so it moves inward.
People often ask me, has it gone away completely?
Hand on heart, the answer is no.
But the intensity and the power it once had have reduced more than I can explain. In fact, on most flights now, I actually end up enjoying myself. I’ll sit back, look out the window, chat with a passenger, feel completely relaxed.
And then there are the rare moments when the panic rises for absolutely no reason at all.
No trigger, no warning.
But now I don’t fight it.
I simply get through it.
And that, for me, has made all the difference.
What helped me (and now helps others)
There are several things that helped me find that sense of control again. They reduced the frequency, lightened the weight, and gave me breathing room. Everyone’s path is different, of course, but these are the tools that changed things for me and that I encourage others to try.
1. Strengthening the Mindset (Daily)
I cannot stress this enough. A weak mindset will make every bump in the road feel like an earthquake. You will crumble at the smallest thing, and everything will feel bigger than it actually is. A strong mindset, on the other hand, gives you resilience. It gives you steadiness. It gives you the ability to hold yourself together even when your whole world is shaking.
Mindset work is like building muscle. It only grows with repetition.
I used to lose sleep for days before flying. Now, my mind stays grounded and functional, even right up to take-off. I have reclaimed hours and days of my life simply by training my thinking.
2. Staying Ahead of the Panic
Knowing your triggers is not weakness, it is strategy. I prepare for flights the way some people prepare for exams.
I have my shows downloaded, my books ready, my work lined up, and my meals pre-ordered. I create structure before my mind can create chaos. It is my way of telling my brain, “You are safe. You don’t need to spiral.”
I’ve noticed when my mind is preoccupied, productive and positive, chances of panic rising are much less.
3. Regulating the Breath
When panic rises, the breath shortens.
So I don’t force deep breaths.
I simply lengthen the exhale.
Inhale for 4, exhale for 6.
It quietly signals safety.
4. Grounding Through Sensation
Anxiety happens in the mind.
Grounding happens in the body.
Feet on the floor.
Hand on the armrest.
Name what you see.
Feel something solid.
Come back to now.
The Two Hard Truths you Need to Know to Move Forward.
To add to these tools, there are two really important understandings I want to leave you with.
One, we often think the goal is to avoid what scares us.
So we don’t travel.
Don’t take the new job.
Don’t move.
Don’t try.
But avoidance does not keep us safe.
It only makes our world smaller.
Life is not meant to be lived in retreat.
It is meant to be lived here, even when it feels uncomfortable.
So if you struggle with panic attacks, know this: the fear is real, and the only way out is through.
You can keep running and keep shrinking your life… or you can turn toward it, one breath at a time, and slowly get your life back.
And secondly, a lot of people try to cope by leaning completely on someone else to steady them. A partner, a parent, a friend. And while support matters, it cannot replace inner strength. No one can breathe for you in that moment. No one can climb into your mind and calm the storm for you. And when you expect someone else to get you through it each time, it becomes a burden no one should have to carry.
If the problem is yours, the solution has to come from you. And that means the work has to be yours as well.
“No one really gets it.”
The one common thing everyone with panic attacks has told me is that “No one quite gets it.”
They are told they are overreacting.
That they are being dramatic.
And I agree. Unless you have battled your own panic attack – a real one, not the nail polish shade disaster – you can never truly understand what someone else is going through.
We rarely know the battles people are fighting inside.
The person standing quietly by the exit door, looking slightly pale, may not be queasy at all.
They may be holding themselves together through a storm no one else can see… especially if their children are watching.
And if there is one thing I have learned, it is this: what looks calm on the outside is often anything but. We never really know what someone is carrying.
So let us move through the world with a little more gentleness.
A little more patience.
A little more compassion.
Most of the hardest battles are fought quietly… on the inside.
And sometimes, the kindest thing we can do… is to simply remember that.