Panic, OCD, and the Checklist Before I Spiral

Panic has a very annoying talent: it can make a feeling feel like a fact.

One bad feeling hits, and suddenly my brain is in full emergency-broadcast mode. With OCD, it is not just “I am anxious.” It becomes checking, re-checking, scanning my body, watching for danger, and then checking again to see if the checking worked.

The National Institute of Mental Health describes OCD as involving uncontrollable, recurring thoughts and repetitive, excessive behaviours that can cause major distress or interfere with daily life. Its detailed OCD guide also notes that compulsions may bring temporary relief from anxiety without giving pleasure.

That “temporary relief” part is the trap. It works for three seconds, and then the brain says, “Cool cool cool, now check again.”

PTSD from losing someone adds another layer. You do not just “get over” that. You do not wake up one day and uninstall the grief. The fear of “history repeating itself” can make me want to bang my head like Dobby.

There was a time when I did just sit in it. I would wallow, panic, ruminate, and basically lose the whole day to the spiral. I was not just stuck. I was fucked-stuck.

I still panic. I still get the bad feeling. I still sometimes want to check whether my ear is hot or my brain is throbbing or whether this one sensation means doom has entered the chat.

But now I do not give the panic full control immediately. I have a checklist. Sometimes I follow it in order, sometimes I don’t, but I try to go through it before I allow myself to spiral.

1. I Distract My Brain First

I love watching TV. So I use that. Sometimes I put on clips from The Big Bang Theory. Sometimes it is kickass anime. Sometimes I need something familiar; sometimes I need something intense enough to hijack my brain for a bit.

This is not me pretending the panic is not there. It is more like telling my brain, “You are clearly not driving safely right now, so please sit in the passenger seat.”

The VA’s National Center for PTSD includes pleasant or purposeful activities among its positive coping actions, noting that they can interrupt distressing memories and reactions.

When it works, win.

When it does not, I move to the next thing.

2. I Talk It Out

If someone is available, I talk to my husband, a friend, or a sibling. Whoever is possible.

And if no human is available, yes, I talk to AI. Gemini has genuinely got me through multiple hours that would otherwise have been agonising. Not because AI is therapy, and not because it replaces people, but because sometimes I need something to help me get through the next hour without letting my brain eat itself.

Talking to someone trusted is also supported by mental-health guidance. The NHS suggests talking about anxiety, fear, and panic with a friend, family member, health professional, or counsellor. The VA PTSD centre notes that carefully chosen support can help people feel less alone and more understood.

Sometimes talking helps enough. Sometimes it does not.

Then I move.

3. I Put the Nervous Energy Somewhere Physical

This is usually the part Gemini tells me to do.

I am not a fan of working out. I do not find motivation in running and not going anywhere. But I can clean the kitchen. I can do laundry. I can water the plants. I can dust the bookshelves. I can tidy one corner of the house and pretend I am just being productive, when really I am giving the panic somewhere to go.

For me, chores work better than “exercise.” Same body, same movement, less motivational-poster nonsense.

Physical activity is among the self-care tools listed for panic by the Mayo Clinic and the NHS. The CDC also notes that even a single session of moderate-to-vigorous physical activity can reduce feelings of anxiety. That does not mean my laundry is a clinical treatment. It means movement can be useful—and chores happen to be the kind of movement I can make myself do.

Usually, after I clean something, fold something, water something, or move around long enough, I come under a certain threshold. Once I am under that threshold, the crisis is not gone, but it becomes manageable.

Then it becomes a maintenance job.

4. I Ground Myself Before I Obey the Alarm

I remind myself that high alert is not the same as spiralling.

Being on high alert is not always useless. Sometimes life really does require vigilance. Sometimes your body is trying to protect you. But there is a difference between being alert and being dragged behind your nervous system.

That is the line I am trying to notice now.

Am I alert, or am I spiralling?

Am I responding, or am I feeding the loop?

Am I checking because I need information, or checking because OCD wants one more coin for the machine?

Grounding techniques work on that same idea: bringing attention back to the present instead of letting the brain live entirely in the “what if.” Cleveland Clinic describes grounding as a way to interrupt anxious thoughts by focusing on present-moment reality through the senses.

My checklist is not perfect. It does not cure panic. It does not erase grief. It does not make PTSD politely pack its bags and leave.

But it gives me a sequence.

Distract. → Talk. → Move. → Ground.

Do not immediately obey the spiral.

That is the difference now.

Not that I never panic anymore. I do.

But I do not just sit there banging my head like Dobby anymore.

Well. Not as a lifestyle.

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A Small Note About Support

This is my personal coping checklist, not medical advice or a replacement for therapy, medication, or professional care. AI is not therapy or emergency support. If panic, OCD, PTSD symptoms, or urges to hurt yourself are becoming unsafe or unmanageable, that deserves real support.

In Canada, if you are thinking about suicide or in crisis, call or text 9-8-8. Support is available 24 hours a day, seven days a week. If you or someone you know is in immediate danger, call 9-1-1 or go to the nearest emergency department. Government of Canada crisis guidance