Coping with Panic
Keeping Anxiety and Panic Hidden So You Won’t Be a Burden?
By Shannon Knight
I almost didn’t write this because panic attacks can be hard to explain if you are embarrassed.
It feels like a full-body betrayal. When it hits, my thoughts are very scattered. My chest tightens. And the scariest part? I start to wonder if anyone could actually help me while I am in the middle of it if I did speak up about it in the moment.
I tell myself, Don’t say anything. You’ll worry them. Don’t bring it up. It’ll make things worse. Just get through it. No one will understand anyway.
It hijacks everything—my steady breathing becomes rapid, my thoughts are swirling, my ability to speak coherently is a challenge because of the fear. It feels like I’m trapped in my own body with no way out, as if I’m screaming inside while the outside world keeps moving like nothing’s wrong.
There’s this undeniable ache in my chest, this painful pressure, and my mind says, “Don’t let it show. Don’t scare anyone.” But I also can’t keep sitting silently with a fear that grips me and convinces me that danger is near—even when I’m standing in the middle of my own kitchen, with nothing visibly wrong.
For ten years, I’ve walked beside women with cancer, and I can tell you this: many of them experience panic and never say a word. They have sat across from me, composed and gracious, until I gently ask, “Do you ever feel sudden fear that makes no sense?” And their eyes fill up. They nod. They whisper, “Yes. But I thought it was just me.”
It’s not just you.
Panic doesn’t always show up with sirens. Sometimes it creeps in slowly, like a shifting shadow you didn’t notice until it’s right beside you—then suddenly, it roars inside your chest. You’re checking your mail. Folding laundry. Trying to take a walk. And suddenly, the floor drops beneath you. Your breath shortens. Your skin tingles. Your body feels like it wants to escape itself. But there’s no exit. And you still have to smile and get through the day.
I’ve had panic attacks since 2000, but in 2010—after being diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer and told I had months to live—they intensified. The trauma of that moment didn’t stay in that year. It planted itself deep in my nervous system. Even now, years later, that trauma can echo through my body with no warning. That’s what panic does. It finds the places that still feel unsafe and reminds you they’re there.
You can be years beyond the diagnosis. You can be healed physically. But panic is the reminder that fear doesn’t always obey time. The body remembers what it survived.
When it happens to me, I turn to prayer. I say the Lord’s Prayer out loud. Not in my head—out loud. It grounds me. It reminds me of who holds me. It doesn’t fix everything in an instant, but it pulls me into something steady.
A Grounding Exercise for When Panic Hits
When panic hits, your brain sends out an alarm that your life is in danger. Even when you’re safe, the amygdala doesn’t know that. It floods your body with adrenaline. It tells you to run, even if you’re just sitting on the couch. You need a way to bring your mind back to the truth: You are not in danger right now.
Step 1: Say what you feel out loud. “I feel afraid.” “I feel trapped.” “I feel like something bad is about to happen.” Naming it gives your thinking brain a chance to come back online.
Step 2: Name three things you see. “Couch.” “Book.” “Curtains.” This grounds you in your present surroundings. It’s a reminder: You are here. You are safe.
Step 3: Keep repeating. If it doesn’t help right away, that’s okay. Do it again. Your body needs more than one reminder sometimes. You’re not doing it wrong. You’re helping your nervous system come down from a false alarm.
And if you can, tell someone you trust.
Michael is that person for me. My husband. He doesn’t try to fix it. He just stays. Sometimes he gently reminds me of the steps when I forget. And that’s everything. If you’ve ever told yourself that asking for help makes you a burden, please hear me now:
You are not a burden. You are not too much. You are not weak.
You’ve been holding this in for a long time—probably longer than anyone around you would guess. Maybe you’ve learned how to laugh at the right moments and nod when someone asks how you’re doing. Maybe you’ve become the one who shows up for everyone else, and now you don’t know how to let someone show up for you.
You don’t have to keep holding it in. You’re not being too sensitive or dramatic. You’ve been through more than others may know, and you are deserving of love and support—not to fix you, but to help you feel safe—like you can finally take a deep breath without hiding what’s really going on inside.
I reached out to someone in the middle of anxiety today. I said the words I didn’t want to say: “I’m struggling, I need you.” She didn’t flinch. She stayed with me on the phone until it passed, reminding me of who I am and that this would end. I felt seen, and I could breathe again.
Keep this exercise close. Write it down. Practice it when you’re calm so it’s there when you need it. If the panic comes, you’ll be prepared.
I’m not fully free from panic. But I don’t feel helpless anymore. The attacks are further apart. I’m finally in a safe place—with a husband who reminds me I’m safe in love—and I’ve learned to stop apologizing for needing him.
I hope this meets you gently—right where you are.
Think On These Things
When panic begins to rise, it’s easy to believe something is wrong with your faith. I’ve been there—feeling the rush of fear and wondering why I can’t seem to “pray it away” fast enough. But panic isn’t proof that your faith is gone. It’s proof that you are human, and that your body still remembers hard things it has survived.
In those moments, I turn my mind toward what steadies me—God’s Word. Even when my heart is pounding, I can choose what I feed my mind. “You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you” (Isaiah 26:3). I say it out loud. I breathe. I remember: panic will pass, and God’s peace will keep me.
“The presence of fear does not mean the absence of your faith—it means you are human, and God is still holding you. Always remember that what you feed your mind will take root and become stronger. Feed your fear or your faith, and you choose which one flourishes.” – Shannon Knight
Prayer
Jesus, I feel the wave rising and it scares me. My chest is tight, my thoughts are scattered, and I want to hide so I don’t worry anyone. But I know I am not a burden to You. I am Yours—Your daughter—and You are with me. You will never walk away. You never see me as “too much” or “too broken.” You welcome me exactly as I am—in the middle of my shaking and short breaths—and You stay, holding me close.
Thank You for staying with me until my breathing slows, until the chaos inside me turns into the calm understanding that You are with me in all circumstances. Remind me that worry only feeds the fear of the unknown, but Your presence drives that fear away. Set Your peace like a guard over my heart and mind. You promise, “Peace I leave with you… do not let your heart be troubled” (John 14:27). I receive that now. When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the Rock that is higher than I am (Psalm 61:2). Perfect Your love in me and drive out this fear (1 John 4:18).
Remind me that Your hands are strong enough to hold me steady, even when my legs feel weak. You are not disappointed in me for feeling this way. You love me the same in my peace and in my panic, and You are never going to leave me.
Give me the courage to say, “I need help,” and the wisdom to reach for the person who will sit with me until this passes. I cast this anxiety on You because You care for me (1 Peter 5:7).
On my inhale: You are with me.
On my exhale: I am safe with You.
Thank You for loving me, for claiming me as Your own, and for staying right here until the storm inside me calms. Amen.
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