Some Days I’m Fine. Other Days I Forget How to Breathe.

I wake up to sunlight filtering through the blinds. It’s a beautiful morning. Birds are chirping, the world seems peaceful, and for once, I feel okay. I shower, make my bed, and even hum to a song playing on the radio. These are the "fine" days — days when I can smile without forcing it, when the air doesn’t feel like it weighs a hundred pounds.

But then, there are days when I forget how to breathe.

It doesn’t happen suddenly. It starts subtly, like a quiet shift in the wind. A strange heaviness settles on my chest — invisible, but suffocating. My thoughts spiral. I try to focus, but my mind becomes a crowded highway of fear, self-doubt, and voices telling me I’m not enough. That I’ll never be enough.

My name is Leena. I’m 28, a graphic designer by profession, and a master of pretending everything is okay.

From the outside, no one would know. I laugh at the right jokes, hit deadlines, smile in selfies. But beneath that surface is a story I rarely share — a daily wrestling match with anxiety that feels like drowning while everyone else is breathing just fine.


---

The First Time I Couldn’t Breathe

I was 15 when I had my first panic attack. I remember sitting in algebra class, my hands trembling, heart racing. It felt like the walls were closing in. I tried to raise my hand, but couldn’t. My throat tightened. I couldn’t speak. I couldn't breathe.

Everyone thought I was sick. Maybe I was. But not in a way that could be cured with Tylenol or sleep.

The doctors said it was “just anxiety.” Like it was small. Like it was temporary.

But anxiety doesn’t leave quietly. It becomes a roommate, an unwelcome shadow that follows you into every room. It steals your breath, your confidence, your peace.


---

Living in Two Worlds

Living with anxiety means existing in two worlds.

In one world, I’m productive, put-together, a “high-functioning adult.” In the other, I’m unraveling. I cancel plans at the last minute. I replay conversations in my head, convinced I sounded stupid. I cry without knowing why.

My brain is constantly playing defense — what if I fail? What if they hate me? What if something bad happens? What if I’m just... broken?

And then there’s the guilt. Because I should be fine, right? I have a job, a roof over my head, people who care. What right do I have to feel like this?

That’s the thing about mental health — it doesn’t care about logic.


---

The Mask We Wear

Social media doesn't help. It’s filled with highlight reels — friends getting promoted, traveling, falling in love. Meanwhile, I’m proud if I can make it out of bed and eat something that isn’t instant noodles.

I used to think I was alone in this. But slowly, I learned that many people are quietly suffering behind filters and curated captions. Smiling doesn’t mean healing. Productivity doesn’t mean peace.

The strongest people I know are often the ones hiding their pain the deepest.


---

A Turning Point

The turning point came when I hit what people call “rock bottom.” It was a cold November evening. I sat on my apartment floor, sobbing, surrounded by unopened mail, dirty laundry, and silence. I felt so tired. So invisible.

That night, I reached out. Not to a friend. Not to social media. But to a therapist.

It took everything in me to make that call, but it changed my life.

Therapy didn’t “fix” me — but it helped me understand myself. I learned tools to navigate the storm. I learned it’s okay to not be okay. I learned how to breathe again, even when it feels impossible.


---

Healing Isn’t Linear

Recovery isn’t a straight line. Some days I laugh freely. Other days I cancel everything and lie in bed.

But I’ve stopped shaming myself for the bad days. Because healing isn’t about perfection — it’s about resilience. It’s about choosing to stay. To keep going, even when your mind tells you not to.

I’ve also started journaling, meditating, walking more. I keep a sticky note on my mirror that says, “You’ve survived 100% of your worst days.” Some days, that’s enough.


---

If You’re Reading This...

If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt like you’re drowning — please know you're not alone.

There is no shame in struggling. There is no weakness in asking for help. You are not broken. You are human. And some days, being human is incredibly hard.

But you're still here. And that matters more than you know.


---

Final Words

“Some days I’m fine. Other days I forget how to breathe.”

That sentence used to feel like defeat. Now, it feels like truth. And in truth, there’s power. Because acknowledging the struggle is the first step to healing.

If you feel seen by this story, I hope it gives you the courage to speak your own. To reach out. To hold on.

Because even on the worst days — especially on the worst days — your story still matters.

You still matter.