The Quiet Panic We Don’t Talk About

There’s the panic you can point to — the kind that makes your chest tight, your thoughts loud, your body restless. And then there’s the quiet panic.

The quiet panic doesn’t make headlines. It doesn’t spike your heart rate the same way a car swerving into your lane might. Instead, it sits underneath your day-to-day, shaping what you do, what you avoid, and what you can’t quite name.

It’s the tension in your shoulders that never leaves.
The urge to keep the news on in the background, “just in case.”
The way you scroll at midnight, chasing some piece of information that will make you feel safe.

It’s a different kind of fear — not the loud, sudden one, but the constant, low-grade hum that tells your nervous system: Something’s wrong. And it’s not going away anytime soon.

Why it’s happening now

We live in a cultural moment where uncertainty is the default. Economies feel fragile. Politics is loud and volatile. The climate is changing in ways we can see and feel. Technology is rewriting our social rules faster than we can understand them.

In generations past, big changes still happened, but they often unfolded at a pace people could absorb. Now, we can wake up to ten major crises before we’ve even made coffee — global, national, local, personal — all served in real time.

The human nervous system wasn’t built for that. It was built for immediate, tangible threats: the predator you could see, the storm you could smell coming. Now we’re bombarded with threats we can’t fight directly and can’t escape from — which means our bodies stay on alert without ever finding resolution.

That’s how the quiet panic sets in.

How it changes you without you noticing

One of the most disorienting parts of quiet panic is how sneaky it is. You might not say “I’m scared.” Instead, it might look like:

• Avoiding making plans for the future because it feels pointless or risky.
• Constantly scanning for bad news, as if anticipating it could help.
• Feeling irritable or shut down for “no reason.”
• Distracting yourself so thoroughly that the idea of sitting quietly feels unbearable.

In therapy, I’ve seen people talk around these feelings without naming them directly. “I just feel off.” “I can’t relax.” “Everything feels… fragile.” Those phrases are often the smoke that points to the fire of quiet panic.

What doesn’t help (but we all try anyway)

When that hum of panic is constant, it’s tempting to try and solve it by:

• Consuming more news so you can “stay prepared.”
• Trying to control every small part of your day so nothing unexpected happens.
• Numbing out completely — with work, with entertainment, with substances.

The problem is, those things don’t resolve the root tension — they reinforce it. The more you feed the nervous system uncertainty and fear, the more it believes it’s right to stay in high alert.

What can help

Quiet panic isn’t something you can “get rid of” instantly, but you can interrupt its cycle. Three things make a noticeable difference:

1. Name it out loud
   When you can put words to what’s happening, your brain has a better chance of shifting from pure emotional response to thoughtful observation. Try saying (even to yourself): “I’m feeling a constant background anxiety today. I don’t need to solve it all right now.”
2. Give your nervous system something concrete
   Quiet panic is fueled by vague, shapeless threats. Do something physical that has a clear start and end: walk around the block, wash dishes, stretch your arms over your head. This gives your body a sense of completion — the opposite of endless, unresolved tension.
3. Anchor in something unchanging
   That might be a ritual (making tea the same way every morning), a place you return to (a park bench, a trail), or a set of words you repeat. The world may be unpredictable, but your body learns safety through repetition.

The bigger picture

If you’ve been feeling this quiet panic for a long time, it’s not a personal failure. It’s a natural reaction to living in a cultural moment where safety feels optional and permanence feels like a joke.

We are all walking around trying to find steadiness in a world that rewards constant motion. The work isn’t to escape uncertainty — that’s impossible — but to find ways of living that let you keep your footing even as the ground shifts.

And maybe, just maybe, to remember that you’re not the only one feeling it. That’s the other trick of quiet panic — it makes you believe you’re alone. You’re not.

Author: Bodie Coates, LMFT-S, LCADC-S, NCC