When the storm passes, you are left standing. Tired. Confused. But here.
In this reflection we rest after the wave recedes.
It hit you like a wall. Your heart pounding. Your chest tight. Your thoughts spiraling into worst-case scenarios that felt as real as the chair you were gripping. You could not breathe, could not think, could not convince yourself that you were safe even though some part of you knew you were.
And then it passed. As suddenly as it came. Like a wave that crashes and then retreats, leaving the shore wet and scattered but still there.
This is the part nobody talks about. The quiet after panic. The strange calm that follows the storm. You are exhausted. Disoriented. Embarrassed, maybe. Wondering what just happened and why your body betrayed you like that.
Panic is not a character flaw. It is a nervous system doing what it thinks it needs to do. A false alarm. An overreaction to a threat that does not exist, but your body does not know that. It is trying to save you from something. It just cannot tell the difference between a real tiger and an email from your boss.
The quiet after is its own kind of strange. You feel hollowed out. Like you just ran a marathon sitting still. Everything is muted. Colors seem less bright. Sounds come from far away.
This is not weakness leaving the body. This is your system recalibrating. Coming back online. Finding its way home.
Let yourself rest here. Do not rush back to normal. Do not pretend it did not happen. Drink water. Breathe slowly. Let your body remember that it is safe.
You survived. Again. That matters more than you think.
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