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International: findahelpline.com
US crisis: Call or text 988
Text: HOME to 741741
If you take nothing else from this:
Notice.
That's the practice. Not "fix." Not "change." Not "stop."
Just: notice.
Notice what you're feeling. Notice it's feedback — not punishment, not proof you're broken. Just your system telling you something.
You're suffering because you're not at steady state yet. That's all. Not a verdict. Just: not there yet.
With noticing, choice appears. You can notice you're panicking and keep panicking. You don't have to do anything about it.
But now you have a choice you didn't have before.
Day by day when you can. Hour by hour when you can't. Minute by minute when an hour is too long. Breath by breath when a minute is impossible.
There's always a frame small enough to survive. Find it. Stay in it.
You're not crazy.
Read that again.
You're not crazy.
You're overwhelmed. That's different.
Here's how you know you're still here:
Look at one thing in front of you. Name it. Out loud if you can.
You're still here.
If this might be a medical emergency (chest pain, first-time symptoms) — call 911 now.
If you've been here before and know it's panic:
You are not dying. You are not going crazy. Your body is wrong about the danger, but it is not broken.
Your only job: do not make permanent decisions while this wave is peaking.
The way out is through. Let it pass over you.
"I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me."
Chronic illness, chronic pain, disability, a body you hate — none of that disqualifies you from this practice.
This pamphlet doesn't require a body that works. It requires only that you notice you exist.
If you can notice any sensation at all — pain included — you're here. That's enough.
Restlessness, looping thoughts, skin-crawling energy.
If you can move — move. Walk, shake, push against a wall.
If you can't — clench every muscle for five seconds, release. Repeat.
If even that's too much — just name it: "This is restlessness."
You don't have to fix it. You just have to survive it.
Sometimes nothing works. Sometimes you just endure.
Time stretches because you're measuring every second.
Shrink the frame until it fits:
Find the smallest survivable unit. Stay there.
Your only job tonight: no permanent decisions.
Grief is love with nowhere to go.
You can't grieve what you didn't love. The size of the grief is the size of the love.
The pain is the collision between the world you had and the world you have now.
You can't undo the collision. You can be with it.
You know what you're doing is wrong and you're doing it anyway.
Shame doesn't help. If it worked, you'd have stopped.
Try dropping the judgment layer, not the behavior (you may not be able to drop that yet).
If the behavior harms you or others — get professional help. You can drop shame and still get help.
No big trauma. Just endless small disappointments stacking up.
The weight is cumulative. You're not weak — you're carrying fifty pounds of pebbles.
You don't need permission to set the backpack down for a minute.
Stop adding new pebbles today. That's enough.
5 things you see. 4 you can touch. 3 you hear. 2 you smell. 1 you taste.
Name it out loud: "This is anxiety." Write it if you can.
Find anything remotely funny, even dark. Laughter is your body saying "I can still release."
I have arrived. I am home. — This too. — Just this.
Get professional help if you:
If you have prescribed rescue medication — this is the moment to use it.
Crisis survival is not healing. You deserve both.
You never actually left.
You've been here the whole time — reading, noticing, breathing.
You're already home.
Print this pamphlet
This is not medical advice.
It's one person's perspective on surviving hard moments.
It cannot replace professional care.
This is not medical advice.
It's one person's perspective on surviving hard moments.
It cannot replace professional care.
If you're thinking about suicide,
stop here and call or text 988 (US)
or go to findahelpline.com
Find the chapter that names what you're in. Read it. That's all.
If nothing fits, start with "You're Not Crazy."
If you take nothing else from this pamphlet:
That's the practice. Not "fix." Not "change." Not "stop."
Just: notice.
Notice what you're feeling. Notice it's feedback — not punishment, not proof you're broken. Just your system telling you something.
You're suffering because you're not at steady state yet. That's all. Not a verdict. Just: not there yet.
With noticing, choice appears. You can notice you're panicking and keep panicking. You don't have to do anything about it.
But now you have a choice you didn't have before.
Day by day when you can. Hour by hour when you can't. Minute by minute when an hour is too long. Breath by breath when a minute is impossible.
There's always a frame small enough to survive. Find it. Stay in it.
You're not crazy.
Read that again.
You're not crazy.
You're overwhelmed. That's different.
Here's how you know you're still here:
Look at one thing in front of you. Name it. Out loud if you can.
You're still here.
If this might be a medical emergency (chest pain, first-time symptoms, etc.) — call 911 now.
If you've been here before and know it's panic:
You are not dying. You are not going crazy. Your body is wrong about the danger, but it is not broken.
Your only job: do not make permanent decisions while this wave is peaking.
The way out is through. Let it pass over you.
One phrase that sometimes helps:
"I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me."
Chronic illness, chronic pain, disability, a body you hate — none of that disqualifies you from this practice.
This pamphlet doesn't require a body that works. It requires only that you notice you exist.
If you can notice any sensation at all — pain included — you're here. That's enough.
Restlessness, looping thoughts, skin-crawling energy.
If you can move — move. Walk, shake, push against a wall.
If you can't — clench every muscle for five seconds, release. Repeat.
If even that's too much — just name it: "This is restlessness." You don't have to fix it. You just have to survive it.
Sometimes nothing works. Sometimes you just endure.
Time stretches because you're measuring every second.
Shrink the frame until it fits:
Find the smallest survivable unit. Stay there.
Your only job tonight: no permanent decisions.
Grief is love with nowhere to go.
You can't grieve what you didn't love. The size of the grief is the size of the love.
The pain is the collision between the world you had and the world you have now.
You can't undo the collision. You can be with it.
You know what you're doing is wrong and you're doing it anyway.
Shame doesn't help. If it worked, you'd have stopped.
Try dropping the judgment layer, not the behavior (you may not be able to drop that yet).
If the behavior harms you or others — get professional help. You can drop shame and still get help.
No big trauma. Just endless small disappointments stacking up.
The weight is cumulative. You're not weak — you're carrying fifty pounds of pebbles.
You don't need permission to set the backpack down for a minute.
Stop adding new pebbles today. That's enough.
5-4-3-2-1 Grounding
5 things you see. 4 you can touch. 3 you hear. 2 you smell. 1 you taste.
If stuck in thought
Name it out loud: "This is anxiety." Write it if you can.
If you can laugh
Find anything remotely funny, even dark. Laughter is your body saying "I can still release."
Phrases
I have arrived. I am home. — This too. — Just this.
Get professional help if you:
If you have prescribed rescue medication — this is the moment to use it.
Crisis survival is not healing. You deserve both.
You never actually left.
You've been here the whole time — reading, noticing, breathing.
You're already home.
If you're still breathing,
you haven't lost yet.
International: findahelpline.com
US crisis: 988
Text HOME to 741741
staypamphlet.com