When Rest Becomes Survival

A restorative practice for the nervous system, a reflection on perimenopause, panic, and the brave choice to ask for help

This week’s practice is a restorative flow for the nervous system, but if I’m being honest, this class is not just a nice idea or a soft theme. It is personal. It is necessary. It is coming from a place I know too well.

Perimenopause can bring so many changes that people do not talk about enough. We hear about hot flashes, sleep issues, and body changes, but not nearly enough about the mental and emotional toll. Not nearly enough about the anxiety that can rise out of nowhere. Not nearly enough about the way stress can feel louder in your body. Not nearly enough about the way panic can make you feel like you are dying, even when no one around you can see the storm you are in.

Last week, that storm found me.

On April 6, I went to the emergency room because of chest pain and panic attacks. I knew what panic felt like. I had been there before. I have taught through it, breathed through it, supported others through it. I know the tools. I know the grounding. I know the nervous system work. I kept telling myself, “I know this. I teach this. I have the tools to get better.”

But this time felt different.

The panic kept coming. My heart was racing day after day, and I started to feel terrified that it would not stop. On April 7, it got worse. I had panic attack after panic attack, one on top of the other, with no space to catch my breath, no chance to come back down. My mind started spiraling into a place that scared me deeply. I remember thinking, “I’m 40. If I have 40 more years to live, I do not want to live like this.”

That thought shook me to my core.

I had never felt that kind of darkness before. I had never felt that kind of fear inside my own mind. And in the middle of that terror, I recognized something important. I needed help.

At around 2:30 in the morning on April 8, I woke up my husband crying and told him, “I need to go somewhere. I need help.”

He drove me to a crisis center, and walking through those doors was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Signing those papers and admitting myself took more vulnerability than I knew I had. But for the first time in a very long time, I did something brave.

I chose myself.

How often do we really do that as women?

How often do we put ourselves first without guilt, without apology, without waiting until we are completely falling apart?

Usually not often enough.

I was there for eight days. Eight long, humbling, exhausting days. But with each day, I started to feel a little more like myself. I had support. I had care. I had people checking on me. I had group therapy, one on one therapy, and a psychiatrist who helped me begin medication for my anxiety.

And that came with its own grief too.

Because I am Spanish. I grew up in a home where mental health was not something we really talked about. Therapy was not normal. Medication was not normal. Psychiatry was not something people embraced. There is so much silence, so much judgment, so much misunderstanding around it. A part of me worried what my family would think. A part of me worried they would be disappointed. A part of me wondered if taking medication meant something was wrong with me.

But I had to face the truth.

This was my life.
This was my body.
This was my mind.
And I was the one living inside all of it.

Not my family. Not society. Not the version of me that thought she had to hold it all together. Me.

So I made the choice to get help anyway.

And inside that place, I met wonderful people. People from every age and every walk of life. Young people in college. Older people in their 60s. People who looked nothing like me and people who felt eerily similar. So many of us carrying panic. So many of us carrying pressure. So many of us silently drowning under the weight of expectations, perfectionism, survival, and the endless demand to keep going.

That experience reminded me of something I think so many women need to hear.

You are not weak because you need help.
You are not broken because your nervous system is overwhelmed.
You are not failing because you cannot push through one more thing.
You are human.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is rest.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is say, “I cannot do this alone.”

I am home now. I am healing. I am taking my time. I am trying to come back to my routine slowly and with more honesty. I also had to make a hard decision and leave one of my jobs so I can reduce stress and support my healing. That choice was painful, but necessary.

Right now, I am learning that taking care of myself is not selfish. It is essential.

So today’s practice is an offering from that place.

This restorative flow is for the woman whose body has been carrying too much. For the woman whose mind will not stop racing. For the woman who has been performing strength for so long that she forgot rest is strength too. For the woman who needs a breath, a pause, a place to land.

We live in a world that celebrates pushing, hustling, producing, and holding it all together. But our bodies were not built to live in constant survival mode. Our nervous systems need care. Our minds need support. Our hearts need softness. And especially in seasons like perimenopause, when cortisol can run high and anxiety can feel louder, we need practices that bring us back to ourselves.

Today, let this be enough.

Let this practice be your permission slip to soften.
To breathe.
To rest.
To choose yourself.

And if you are struggling right now, please hear me when I say this: do not be afraid to ask for help.

There is so much courage in reaching out.
There is so much bravery in choosing to stay.
There is so much power in deciding your life matters enough to care for it.

You matter enough to care for.
You matter enough to slow down.
You matter enough to heal.

What does real rest look like for me right now, not as escape, but as healing?

Put Her Where You Can See Her

Find a photo of yourself as a little girl and place it somewhere you will see it often. On your mirror. By your bed. On your desk. Somewhere your eyes can land on her when the inner critic gets loud.

Then ask yourself:

Would I speak to her the way I speak to myself?
Would I push her the way I push myself?
Would I expect her to hold it all together without rest, without help, without softness?
What would I want her to know?
What would I tell her to do if she were overwhelmed and hurting?

Sometimes we struggle to offer compassion to ourselves as we are now. But when we look at the younger version of us, the tenderness comes easier. The truth becomes clearer. She was never meant to earn rest. She was never meant to prove her worth through exhaustion. She deserved gentleness then, and you deserve gentleness now.

This week, let her remind you how to speak to yourself with more care. Not with pressure. Not with punishment. With love.

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Thank you for being here with me today, and for letting me share something so tender and personal.

If you are in a hard season right now, I hope this practice reminds you that rest is not weakness, slowing down is not failure, and asking for help is one of the bravest things you can do. You do not have to hold everything alone. You do not have to earn your softness. You do not have to wait until you completely fall apart to choose yourself.

I hope this class gives you a place to land, to breathe, and to remember that your life, your peace, and your well-being matter.

Take care of your nervous system. Take care of your mind. Take care of your heart.

And above all, take care of you.

If this newsletter spoke to something real in you, don’t stop here. Come join my paid subscription for full weekly classes every Saturday and deeper support for your body, your nervous system, and this season of life. This is a space for women learning to choose themselves again, and I’d love for you to be part of it.