Gemini in the Summer

Blood in the Soil by Gemini In The Summer

I Wrote This While My Heart Was Racing: Creating as a Way to Cope Through a Panic Attack

Sometimes healing doesn’t look calm.
It doesn’t look peaceful or perfectly put together.
Sometimes healing looks like trembling hands hovering over a keyboard, trying to breathe through a moment your mind swears you won’t survive.

This blog was written in one of those moments.

A panic attack hit me — unexpected, heavy, loud. My body reacted faster than my thoughts could catch up. My chest tightened. My heart scattered like birds startled from a tree. Every breath felt like work. And in that space, I had two options: surrender to the fear, or reach for something to anchor me.

I chose to write.

Not because I felt brave.
But because I needed something to hold on to.

---

Writing became my breathing.

With every sentence, I pulled myself back into my body.
With every word, I reclaimed a piece of peace.
The keyboard became a rhythm.
A lifeline.
A reminder that even in the storm, I could still create.

There’s something powerful about turning pain into expression — not to deny what you’re feeling, but to guide yourself through it. I wasn’t writing for perfection. I was writing for survival. I was writing to keep from sinking. I was writing so my mind could move, even when my body felt frozen.

Maybe you know that feeling too.

---

Coping doesn’t always look graceful — but it can be meaningful.

People don’t often talk about how creativity can be medicine. We talk about journaling and deep breathing as wellness tools, but we rarely honor the raw truth that sometimes creativity is a door out of the panic room.

I didn’t need the words to be pretty.

I just needed them to exist.

And as they formed — imperfect, emotional, honest — I realized something:

I was still in control.
Even when my body told me I wasn’t.
Even when my thoughts were loud.
Even when fear tried to convince me otherwise.

Each paragraph became a breadcrumb leading me back to myself.

---

Why I’m sharing this

Not for sympathy.
Not because I have all the answers.
But because someone out there might be trying to hold themselves together too — quietly, privately, desperately.

And I want you to know:

You’re not weak.
You’re human.

If all you can do today is write one sentence, breathe one mindful breath, play one song, sketch one shaky line, pray one quiet prayer — that is enough. Healing doesn’t have to look big to be real.

Some of our most powerful creations are born in moments we almost didn’t make it through.

---

What this piece taught me

• I’m still capable in chaos.
• I can create while afraid.
• My voice matters even when it quivers.
• My healing is nonlinear, but it’s happening.

And maybe — just maybe — someone reading this will feel a little less alone.
If this reached you today, I hope it reminds you:

You can do hard things.
You can breathe through the storm.
You can turn trembling into testimony.

I wrote this while coping — and I’m still here.
Writing. Healing. Growing. Surviving.
And so are you.