Panic attacks were ruining my life. I couldn’t drive, couldn’t sleep, and couldn’t breathe. Every day felt like a battle against an invisible enemy that knew all my weaknesses. My chest would tighten, my heart would race, and my thoughts would spiral into worst-case scenarios. I was exhausted—physically, emotionally, spiritually.
I tried everything: therapy, medication, meditation. Some helped for a while, but nothing truly freed me. Then one night, in the middle of a panic episode, I reached for my Bible. Not out of habit, but out of desperation. I opened to Psalm 23 and read it out loud: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” My voice trembled, but I kept going. “He makes me lie down in green pastures…”
Something shifted.
The words didn’t just comfort me—they empowered me. I began reading scripture aloud every day. Not quietly, not passively, but boldly. I spoke truth into the chaos. Verses became my armor, my sword, my shield. Isaiah 41:10 reminded me I wasn’t alone. Philippians 4:6-7 taught me to trade anxiety for peace. 2 Timothy 1:7 declared I had power, love, and a sound mind.
Each time anxiety knocked, I answered with scripture. And slowly, it stopped coming so often.
I started driving again—first around the block, then across town. I slept through the night without waking in terror. I breathed deeply, freely. The panic attacks didn’t vanish overnight, but they lost their grip. They no longer dictated my life.
Now, anxiety still knocks. It whispers old lies, tries to stir old fears. But I don’t answer. I know who I am. I know whose I am. I’ve learned that truth spoken aloud has power. Scripture isn’t just ink on a page—it’s life to the weary, strength to the weak, peace to the anxious.
I’m not the same person I was. I’m stronger. I’m freer. I’m living proof that healing is possible, that faith can fight fear, and that even in the darkest valley, light breaks through.
Anxiety may knock—but I’ve changed the locks.
