How to Cope with Panic

By Shannon Knight

Keeping Anxiety and Panic Hidden So You Won’t Be a Burden?

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.

And then I do something I also teach to my coaching clients. A simple practice. One you can carry with you.

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.

Here’s what I do:

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.

If that’s true, I get it. And I want to tell you something that took me a long time to believe:

You don’t have to keep holding it in. You’re not being too sensitive. You’re not being dramatic. You’re someone who’s been through more than others may know, because you’ve hidden it for so long—and you are deserving of love and support through this—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.

You don’t have to explain it if you’re not ready. And if you do need to talk, someone who truly cares will listen. But even if you don’t have the words yet—if all you can do is sit in the silence and feel—it matters that someone is there. Someone who will listen if you need to explain, or just be there when you can’t find the words—because they care, will remind you that you're going to get through it and they will stay with you until the panic passes.

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." And the person didn’t flinch. They didn’t panic. They got on the phone with me and validated me in that moment, I didn’t feel like a problem. I felt like I mattered and she reminded me that she knew who I was and that this is going to pass.  She talked with me until it passed and I was smiling and feeling that sense of peace and safety I needed.

Keep this exercise close. Write it down. Carry it in your phone or your heart. Practice it. You don’t have to wait for a crisis to practice it. And 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. And I believe that’s because I’m finally in a safe place. I’m married to someone who shows me that 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.

With all my love,
Shannon Knight