The art of appearing fine while dying inside (Panic attacks in public)

The art of appearing fine while dying inside (Panic attacks in public)

Ever smiled through a scream only you could hear? That’s the quiet hell of a panic attack in public: the internal implosion masked by a polite nod or a casual scroll through Instagram. You’re melting down on the inside while convincing the outside world you’re just fine, thanks. This blog is your sign from the universe to stop faking it—and start understanding why so many of us do.

The mask we wear

Picture this: you’re on a subway, perfume fumes thick in the air, a stranger’s elbow pinning your side. Your heart starts galloping. Your vision narrows. And yet—you casually swipe through your playlist like you’re just waiting for your stop. Welcome to the invisible performance of survival mode. Panic attacks often arrive with no warning, and for many of us, they’re the most theatrical moments no one ever sees. The mask we wear isn’t vanity—it’s protection.

Act I: The dual reality of public anxiety

Inside, it’s chaos. Your chest tightens, your breath feels like it’s hiding somewhere behind your ribs, and maybe the world tilts just a bit too much. Sometimes your limbs buzz, or you feel like you might float away from your own skin. But outside? You’re the picture of composure, aimlessly comparing oat milk brands in the grocery aisle while your nervous system goes DEFCON 1. Maybe you’re even cracking a joke, just to keep up appearances. The chasm between your inner experience and your calm exterior can feel impossibly wide—like watching yourself in a movie where no one else sees the plot twist.

Act II: Why we fake fine

Why pretend, though? Blame society (a little). Most of us are taught early on: don’t cause a scene, keep it together, stay “normal.” There’s an unwritten rule that grown-ups shouldn’t fall apart in public—so we practice emotional camouflage. Embarrassment, fear of being judged, maybe even losing a job if we “seem unstable”—that’s enough to make anyone double-down on acting okay. Studies show that social stigma around mental health still runs deep, making vulnerability feel unsafe, especially in the glare of the public eye.

Picture this: you’re in an office meeting and panic wells up out of nowhere. Instead of bolting, you force a laugh, type noisily on your laptop, and hope no one notices you aren’t actually listening. You survive the meeting, but you leave the room exhausted by the performance.

Act III: Recognizing your triggers

Listen—panic rarely comes out of nowhere. We just miss the warning signs. Start paying attention to your “build-up” cues: sweaty hands, a sudden jolt of dread, racing thoughts, or maybe your smartwatch buzzes—heart rate’s spiking for “no reason.” Don’t ignore these clues. Journaling, even quick scribbles or phone notes, can help you connect the dots: “Stakeholder meeting = heart doing the cha-cha = need a break.”

Act IV: The art of internal grounding in public

So what do you do when you feel that storm rolling in? Here’s your discreet panic tool kit:

• Breathwork: Slow, intentional breaths (you can even count in your head).
• Object focus: “Find five things that are blue”—it hacks your anxious brain back to the present moment.
• Cold water, stat: Hold your icy coffee or run your fingers under a bathroom tap—cold sensations can disrupt panic’s grip.
• Name it: Give your panic a persona. “Here comes Brenda again, with her dramatic entrances”—sometimes, a little humour gives you distance.

Every time you ground yourself, you show your brain that, yes, you can survive this—even in plain sight.

Act V: Post-panic recovery + self-compassion

Once the worst is over, honor what just happened. Text a trusted friend (or your therapist), go for a slow walk around the block, or record a “debrief” voice note for yourself. Affirm what’s true: “I survived. Again. That moment didn’t define me.” Self-compassion isn’t just nice—it repairs the shame panic loves to leave behind. There’s a real superpower in surviving public panic. One Unburdened You reader described going from mortified to mindful, realizing these moments were nudges to treat herself gently, not judgments on her worth.

Truth as liberation

Here’s the secret nobody tells you: You’re not broken. You’re brilliant at surviving. Every “performance of fine” is proof of your incredible adaptability—yes, even while dying inside. Want to share your own story of panic in public? Drop it anonymously (if you like) in the form below or the comments—because naming the truth is how we break the spell. Every time you weather one of these storms, you’re adding grit and wisdom to your invisible resume. And if you’re reading this between subway stops or fluorescent supermarket aisles, know this: you’re not the only one holding it together while it feels like things are falling apart. Your courage? It counts—even when nobody else can see it.