How to Draw a Panic Attack (And Why It's Weirdly Helpful)

Panic attacks are like that one friend who shows up unannounced, eats all your food, and then complains about the mess. You can't reason with them, but you can at least make them sit still long enough to draw their portrait. Here's how it works: grab whatever writing utensil is nearby - pen, crayon, lipstick, it doesn't matter. The uglier the better. Set a timer for however long you can stand it - two minutes, five, whatever. Then just let your hand move. Don't try to make art, try to make a mess. Draw the tightness in your chest as a boa constrictor. Sketch the racing thoughts as angry bees. Doodle the dizziness as a tilting house.

The magic happens when you step back and realize your panic now exists outside of you. That scribble monster on the page? It's not you. It's just something visiting you. My client Mark drew his social anxiety as a cage full of staring eyes. After a few rounds of this, he started adding doors to the cage. Another client turned her insomnia into a tangled ball of yarn she could slowly unravel in her mind. Me? I once drew mine as a black hole, then accidentally turned it into a donut by coloring outside the lines. Turns out panic looks much less scary with sprinkles.

There's science behind why this helps - something about how moving your hands tells your nervous system you're handling things - but who cares? What matters is that for those five minutes, you're the one holding the crayon instead of the other way around. When you're done, you can tear it up, burn it (safely), or frame it as a reminder that you survived. My favorite is when people tuck it in their wallet and pull it out during future attacks like, "Oh right, we've met before. You're not as scary the second time around."

The best part? No skills required. In fact, the worse you are at drawing, the better this works. If anyone questions your abstract expressionist phase, just tell them it's a therapeutic technique. Or that you're preparing for your modern art exhibit titled "Anxiety in Crayola: A Retrospective." Either way, you've just turned your panic into something you can literally crumple up and throw away. And isn't that a power worth scribbling about?

Remember, this isn't about making art. It's about making the invisible visible, the overwhelming manageable, and the terrifying kind of funny. Your panic might still visit, but now you get to decide if it gets a front row seat or gets doodled into a silly cartoon you can laugh at later. The choice, like the crayon, is in your hands.

Ready to dive deeper? Kaia's book Therapeutic Art walks you through 50+ powerful exercises that blend creativity with healing – no artistic skills needed. Each activity comes with short, grounding meditations to help you process emotions when words fail. Get your copy here and start turning your struggles into strength, one brushstroke at a time.