Keep this in your

Back Pocket

For when your brain gets loud.

🐶

Pocket Tap me. I have thoughts.

Breathe with the bubble

Big feelings run on fast breathing. Slow the breath, and the feeling has to slow down too. It's just how bodies work.

ready

3 rounds is usually enough

Find 5 things

Worry lives in the future. This drags your brain back to the room you're standing in. Tap each one when you've done it.

5things you can see — say them out loud if you can

4things you can touch — press your feet into the floor

3things you can hear — even boring ones count

2things you can smell

1slow breath, all the way out

Ride the wave

A panicky feeling is a wave. It climbs, it peaks, and then it comes down — every single time, whether you do anything or not.

You don't have to make it stop. You just have to still be here when it passes.

Brains lie. That's the whole thing.

Your brain's job is to keep you safe, so it guesses at what could go wrong. It guesses a lot. And it says the guess like it's a fact.

Your job isn't to argue with it. Your job is to tell it the truth back.

Tap a lie to see the truth.

Something bad is happening to Mom right now.

That's a guess, not news. Nobody told me that. My brain made it up and handed it to me like a headline. Guessing isn't knowing.

I'm going to throw up.

Scared and sick feel exactly the same in a stomach. Same flip, same knot. Almost every time, it's scared — and scared can't actually make me sick just because it's loud.

I can't handle this.

I have handled every single hard day I've ever had. Every one. That's a perfect record and I'm still here reading this.

This feeling is never going to stop.

Feelings are weather, not climate. It has never once stayed forever. Not once.

If I check one more time, I'll feel better.

Checking is the trap. It feels like relief for about ten seconds, and then the worry comes back bigger and wants another check. Not checking is how it gets smaller.

Everyone else can do this easily.

I have no idea what's happening inside anybody else. I only get to see their outside. Lots of people are quietly working just as hard.

The two-question test

1. Is this a fact, or a feeling wearing a fact costume?

2. If a friend said this to me about herself — would I believe her?

If the answer to #2 is "no, that's not true, you're great" — then it isn't true about me either.

She comes back.

Mom has come back every single time. That is a 100% record. Nothing in my life is more reliable than that.
Her leaving and something bad happening are two different things that my brain glued together.
The scared feeling shows up right at the door and it is loudest in the first few minutes. If I can get past the first few minutes, it drops.
Feeling scared while she's gone doesn't mean I'm in danger. It means I love her and my alarm is oversensitive.
She is thinking about me too. She just isn't scared, because she knows how the story ends.

When is she back?

Not knowing is the worst part. A number is easier to hold than a fog.

Mom is back at

Saved on this device. Change it whenever.

Give the waiting a job

Waiting with nothing to do is when the brain starts writing horror stories. Pick one and start it before the door even closes.

Build the whole stuffie pile. Full pile. Sort them by size, or by who's friends with who.
Draw something for her to see the second she walks in.
Put on something loud enough to fill the house.
Do one thing that will surprise her — dishes, your bed, whatever.
Write down the worry so you can hand it to her later instead of carrying it.

Scared tummy and sick tummy feel the same

This isn't a trick anyone's playing on you. Fear and nausea use the same nerves. When you get scared, your stomach genuinely flips — so your brain says "see? sick!" and you get more scared, which flips it more.

That's the loop. Knowing it's a loop is how you step out of it.

The question nobody asks out loud

"But what if I actually do?"

Then it would be over in about a minute. It would be gross and I would hate it. And then I'd rinse my mouth out and go lie down and it would be done.

It's unpleasant, not dangerous. I've been scared of it far more times than it's ever happened.

What to actually do

Helps

Slow breath out, longer than in
Cool air on your face — window, fan, outside
Small sips of cold water
Sit up, feet on the floor
Go back to what you were doing

Feeds it

Scanning your stomach to check if it still feels weird
Asking "do you think I'll be sick?" over and over
Googling it
Skipping the thing you were scared to go to
Standing near the bathroom just in case

The "feeds it" list all feels like it's helping. That's what makes it sneaky. Every single one of them tells your brain the danger was real.

Then what?

Go back to the thing. Not because you feel better yet — before you feel better. That's the part that teaches your brain it was wrong.

Violet's Back Pocket

My brain lies to me. My job is to tell it the truth back.

When it's loud right now

Breathe out longer than you breathe in. Three rounds.
Name 5 things you see, 4 you can touch, 3 you hear, 2 you smell, 1 slow breath.
It's a wave. It climbs, it peaks, it comes down. Every time.

The lies & the truth

"Something bad happened to Mom." → That's a guess, not news. Guessing isn't knowing.
"I'm going to throw up." → Scared and sick feel the same. It's almost always scared.
"I can't handle this." → I've handled every hard day so far. Perfect record.
"This will never stop." → Feelings are weather. It always changes.
"One more check will help." → Checking makes it bigger, not smaller.

When Mom's gone

She has come back every single time. 100%.
The scared part is loudest in the first few minutes. Then it drops.
Give the waiting a job before she even leaves.

When my tummy is scared

Helps: slow breath out, cool air, cold sips, sit up, go back to what you were doing.
Feeds it: checking my stomach, asking again, googling, skipping the thing, hovering by the bathroom.
And if it did happen? Over in a minute. Gross, not dangerous.

— fold here, then again —