Two hours. That’s how long it took me to manage my most recent panic attack. When I looked back at the triggers, I could see the usual culprits: PTSD, anticipatory stress, and adrenal fatigue. They form a toxic cocktail that brews in my mind and body, leaving me shaken and overwhelmed.
This is often how my panic attacks begin—caught in a trauma loop. Flashes of memory, intrusive thoughts, and surges of emotion invade without warning. It doesn’t matter where I am. Whether walking with Radha or standing in a crowded store, these thoughts are relentless. Sometimes I’m so lost in them that I’ll find myself crying without even realising it.
Radha, my service dog, is my constant support in public. She helps me feel safe when I’m overwhelmed, which is almost all the time. That’s my normal: a state of perpetual emotional tension. But every so often, that normal unravels into a full-blown breakdown—a rupture I can’t avoid.
The Trauma Loop
When the trauma loop tightens its grip, it’s like a dam bursting. Memories and emotions come flooding in, faster than I can process. My body reacts violently: nausea churns in my stomach, my muscles camp, and my breathing becomes shallow. Sometimes, I cry for hours, unable to stop. At its worst, I’ve harmed myself, though Radha’s presence has made that far less likely now.
Even so, when I’m caught in the loop, I struggle to find a way out. The thoughts repeat endlessly, amplifying unbearable emotions. I start catastrophising, envisioning the worst-case scenarios, and the cycle feeds itself until I’m completely drained. The constant flood of cortisol and adrenaline leaves me in a state of hyper-vigillance, leading to adrenal fatigue and burnout.
Ignoring the Signs
My body tries to warn me before the breakdown comes. Cramping in my calves, a racing heart, and a white film on my tongue—these are the signs. My temper flares more easily, and I lash out in frustration. But I ignore it all because slowing down means facing the storm in my mind, and I’ll do anything to avoid that.
Recently, during another breakdown, I called the crisis team. “I can’t feel my legs or feet,” I told the clinician on the other end of the line. I explained that Radha still needed her walk, and I was too overwhelmed to even leave the house.
The clinician suggested a progressive muscle relaxation exercise, a technique I recognised from teaching yoga. I knew it worked—both for me and for my students. After the call, I put on a short YouTube video, lay down, and began breathing deeply, releasing tension bit by bit.
Radha’s Intuition
Radha had been quietly watching the entire time. What she did next left me in awe.
As I focused on my breathing, she approached me and gently applied pressure to my throat—a technique she’s been trained to do when I’m in distress. But this time, she went further. Sensing that I was still disconnected from my body, she started playfully nuzzling my fingers and toes.
Before I knew it, I was laughing uncontrollably. The absurdity of it—going from sobbing to laughing in seconds—was like stepping into a completely different reality. Her playful energy pulled me back into the present, grounding me in my body again.
But that wasn’t all.
A Gentle Push
As I sat up, still giggling, Radha turned her attention to a couple of journals on my bedside table. She nudged them with her nose, one after the other. I hadn’t written in years—two decades, in fact. Writing used to be a way to process my emotions, but I stopped when the pain became too much to face.
“Do you want me to write, Radha?” I asked her, half-joking. She responded with her enthusiastic little “yes” signal, and I couldn’t help but smile.
The next morning, I tried something different. I sat in bed with my notebook, breathing deeply as Radha curled up beside me. She let out her soft, contented sounds, a signal of approval. “That’s a good girl,” I whispered, more to her than to myself.
At that moment, I realised she wasn’t just pulling me out of the trauma loop. She was gently guiding me toward something I had been avoiding for years: the act of confronting my feelings through writing.
A New Routine
Radha’s intuitive support didn’t just save me from a breakdown; it gave me a new way to cope. Writing has become part of my routine again, a tool to process what I once thought was too painful to face. And every time I pick up my pen, Radha is there, my constant companion, reminding me that healing doesn’t have to be a solitary journey.
Radha’s presence is more than comforting—it’s transformative. She doesn’t just pull me back from the edge; she helps me reclaim pieces of myself I thought were lost forever.
With love.
Karmic Rebelle