When Fear Takes Over: Navigating Panic, Perspective, and Hope
This week’s post is going to be a little longer and more personal than previous posts. I’ve debated whether or not to share this so publicly. It seems like a “better” message, coming from a therapist, would be to share that I have been feeling calm and measured about what is happening. But, truth be told: I went off the deep-end this week.
While I’ve never had a full-blown panic attack, I was in a state of panic from Saturday until Thursday afternoon. What set it off was the rapid passing of anti-trans bills—some with the potential to criminalize trans people simply for existing—and the alarming lack of media attention or public awareness. I went from “Maybe I’ll need to make a plan to leave the country someday” to “You need to start planning now. You might have to leave this summer,” basically overnight.
Between Saturday and Wednesday, I went from knowing literally nothing about the immigration process to researching every possible avenue. I learned that I could go to and stay in Canada or Mexico for up to 6 months without a visa. I discovered that I might be eligible for Italian citizenship by descent and began diving into my genealogy and the application process. I looked into digital nomad visas. I contacted my realtor for property management recommendations, in case I needed to rent out my home, and asked how difficult it would be to sell a house from another country. I started thinking about who could take care of my cats. I’ve got it on my list to photocopy legal documents and print out medical prescriptions. I researched whether or not inmates with type 1 diabetes are allowed insulin pumps and continuous glucose monitoring systems and whether or not they receive adequate insulin and supplies for low blood sugar. What I learned was not encouraging. I also got my oil changed.
The worst part, though, was thinking about leaving my daughter behind. All week long, any time I’d think about it, tears would well up and occasionally spilling over. My body was telling me I was planning for when, not if, I had to leave. Staying in flight mode—planning and researching—felt better than allowing myself to feel the full weight of what could happen.
I was tense, irritable. Well-meaning friends asked where I might go, whether my daughter would come with me, whether her mom would bring her to visit. Every question felt unbearable.
Since my daughter was born, I have had a deep fear of losing her. To a degree, I think all parents share that fear, particularly when their children are young, but mine seemed extreme. At one point, I sought out the guidance of a spiritual healer I had worked with in my hometown. I explained to him that I was losing sleep, and was intensely afraid of losing my kid either to death or through eventually rejection because we don’t share genetic ties.
He offered me a few things that soothed me then. He told me that, spiritually, my ancestors and her biological ancestors were all her ancestors. That blood ties are less relevant than we make them on Earth. That I had nothing to fear because our bond was undeniable. That my ancestors, and the ancestors through her biological lineage, were all essentially around my child, rooting her on in life. And then he told me something else:
My fear, he said, was not from this life. He believed my daughter and I had been parent and child before—in another lifetime. A lifetime where we were separated by a genocide and never reunited.
At the time, that eased my mind and settled my nervous system. If you’re skeptical, you might think, “That’s just a story he told to make you feel better.” Maybe. Frankly, it doesn’t matter to me. It helped. Whether consciously or not, I surely thought “that will never happen in this country, in this lifetime.”
Then last Saturday, as I read about these bills, that memory came rushing back. And I panicked.
What if it wasn’t a past-life memory? What if it was a premonition? What if history was repeating itself? Maybe that’s why my foot injury last summer led me to become fitter than I’ve been in years. Maybe that’s why my nine-year-old is finally sleeping through the night in her own bed—she’s preparing herself for my absence.
I WENT OFF THE DEEP END, y’all. I don’t go there often, but this is the one thing that can push me over.
I coped by planning obsessively and avoiding the most painful part: the thought of leaving my daughter. I asked friends not to bring it up, but when they did anyway, I became rigid, controlling, shutting down conversations. I thought that shoving it away was the only way to survive the week. I know better. But in that moment, I was preparing for the unbearable.
Wednesday night it came to a head after I abruptly left the house of a friend who had been asking me questions I didn’t want to answer. First I lashed out. My lashing out activated their defensiveness. Their defensiveness activated my shut down. We didn’t resolve it and I went home. And I sobbed. Not the kind where a few tears trickle out—the kind where you bury your face in a pillow and let it all out.
And then I remembered: I know how to swim.
Crying helped. I know this. I teach this. Repressing emotions does not work. It keeps us anxious, irritable, and stuck in panic. But allowing myself to feel it, to really really feel it, allowed me to release it. I came back to the present. I looked around. And I saw that the scariest bills were starting to be reversed. More people were paying attention.
On Thursday, I met with a spiritual guide and healer I’ve worked with before. I told her everything. She listened. She didn’t dismiss my fears, but she helped me zoom out. She helped me see this in historical and spiritual context. She gave me a lot to sit with. And I left feeling a mix of hope and deep knowing: my family and I will get through whatever comes next.
This past week was a whirlwind—a rollercoaster that sent me spinning. But I learned from it, and I want to share what helped me find my footing. If you’re struggling too, maybe these will help you.
What You Can Do for Yourself
Zoom out. When bills are being passed, take a step back before panicking. Find out if they have actually become laws and, if so, how they will be enforced.
Wait. Things are moving fast, but resistance is just as strong. Laws are being challenged, overturned, and delayed. Give things time to unfold before assuming the worst.
Let yourself feel. Fear makes sense right now. Sit with it. Let yourself cry, shout, and grieve if you need to. Suppressing it won’t help you feel better but letting it out probably will.
Don’t sit in it alone. Find a trusted friend who can help you take perspective. Ask: Is the danger immediate, or is it still a possibility on the horizon? Is the lion actually in front of you, or is it still locked away at the zoo?
If it will help, make a plan. If knowing your options makes you feel safer, explore them. You don’t have to act now, but having a roadmap can provide a sense of control.
Consider a news buffer. Ask a friend to filter the news for you. Let them know what you do and don’t want to hear about so you don’t become overwhelmed.
Remember, this feeling won’t last forever. Connect to things that bring you joy, to your daily routine, to the people and pets that help you feel grounded and safe.
What Our Loved Ones and Allies Can Do
Listen first. When we express fear, don’t rush to tell us “it will be fine.” That can feel dismissive. None of us truly know what will happen, and we need space to process that uncertainty.
Get comfortable with discomfort. Let us cry. Let us feel. You don’t have to fix it. Just being there, sitting with us in the big feelings, is enough.
Help us take perspective. When we feel overwhelmed, remind us of the bigger picture—not to dismiss our fears, but to ground us in reality.
Offer hope—thoughtfully. Ask before sharing hopeful stories. Sometimes we need them, and sometimes we just need to be heard.
Why I’m Sharing This
I debated whether to post this. But I’m not the only one who hit a breaking point this week. The people I saw struggling the most were:
Those who had previously felt safe and hadn’t explored the idea of leaving.
Those with ties that make leaving difficult—children they can’t take with them, elderly parents who need care.
Those who are disabled or don’t feel they have the means to leave, even if it becomes necessary.
I suspect we will continue to experience these waves of fear, at different times and in different ways. Knowing this can help us move through them with more awareness—both for ourselves and for each other. When we’re in survival mode, it’s easy to lose perspective. But understanding what’s happening can help us navigate it differently.
I also wanted to share this because, by nature, I’m not someone who panics easily. I usually have an unwavering belief that things will turn out okay, even when the outlook is bleak. I’m lucky to have stable brain chemistry that doesn’t require medication to keep me balanced. I’m a trained therapist with access to tools and knowledge to help myself. And even with all of that, I had a really hard week.
I needed to.
This experience gave me perspective—perspective I’m grateful to have gained now, rather than later. It reminded me of the deep need for community, for love, for support. We are going to need each other. And we are going to need our allies. None of us should have to face this alone.
