I remember having a panic attack in the car, once. I can’t tell you why, but I can tell you the exact bend in the road, that the hedgerows were in their full greenery, and the air felt thicker than custard.
I had others. Some alone, some with my then-partner. All of them made me feel like I was being crushed by the very physical, very real weight of my anxiety. A claustrophobia. Some sharp downwards pull into the depths of a heaviness that no amount of breathing-deeply seemed to mitigate.
Until they passed, of course. And I just sort of carried on with my life. This is what happens, isn’t it? When you run your own business, have adult-decisions on your shoulders, and a credit card that hasn’t seen much black lately.
I’ve spoken about my time at university before — having panic attacks in my halls of residence and wondering if it was a heart attack — but this was later. This was in my blooming career as a yoga teacher in my twenties; surely I should’ve known better?
I knew how to lead a joyful, heart-opening, award-winning movement class, sure. But I didn’t know how to take action and actually improve my own mental health. I don’t honestly know if I saw it as a significant problem. Everyone deals with this, right?
I now know that they don’t; that regular panic attacks, crushing anxiety, overwhelming stress isn’t a normal state for our bodies and minds — even as business-owning, big-decisioning, credit-card handling adults.
I left a problematic relationship, then another, and abandoned my business for a while before finally reaching this place I’m at now: an actively healing, nourishing, joyful place. The last time I had a panic attack was in 2022. And I want to share with you some of the goodness I’ve found along the way to support this journey from darkness to light.
10 low-effort habits that improved my mental health
1. I learned to slow down.
By reading ‘un-productive’ novels. Napping. Yoga nidra. Writing. Making ritual out of my tea. I learned that it’s these small, seemingly insignificant nuggets of ease that impact my wellbeing in a big way. I sleep better. Have more energy. Feel calmer and more grounded. Nervous system regulation (learn about this here), is a huge component of this, but you don’t need to learn the mechanics if you don’t have the capacity. Slowing down, finding softness, and doing so without guilt — this is more impactful than you know.
2. I limited my screen time.
This isn’t perhaps the easiest thing to do, in a world where phones are programmed to be addictive, where our attention spans are shot, and the tiny drops of dopamine from IG reels might be the only way we find joy in our day. But it’s worth it.
I used an app blocker for a while, then realised I actually just needed to delete them entirely. Now, I don’t use social media at all (except for the occasional work-related post I’ll schedule from my desktop). It’s giving me back my sense of spaciousness, my attention span is returning, and there’s absolutely zero FOMO.
3. I schedule tech-free time weekly.
Sometimes it’s just an afternoon, sometimes it’s a full day; either way, I purposefully ritualise a slot in my week to separate myself from my devices and to allow myself to be a bit bored. If we’re talking nervous system restoration, this is it.
4. I’ve quit skinny jeans and yoga pants.
Sure, I might wear yoga pants if I’m teaching a class, but even that I’m phasing out. The concept of wearing synthetic fibres, or tight, constrictive fabrics all day (or worse: both), now makes my skin crawl. The way I dress everyday impacts my nervous system. Now, I wear loose, natural-fibres, go barefoot as often as possible, and feel so much better for it.
5. I listen to music every day.
A small thing, but impactful. My favourite go-to for my morning music sessions right now is Khruangbin — floaty, guitar-based music that makes me dance like an idiot. And I can’t tell you how much I love it.
6. I play music, too.
My piano has taught me that yes, I can do impossible things. Hard passages on my latest Mozart piece that look so complicated I’ll never be able to master them in this lifetime, I’m now able to play. Practicing my piano (and occasionally my squeaky violin), always takes my head away from my anxiety and into a new kind of problem. One that feels creative, fascinating, and makes me feel more accomplished every day.
7. I quit multi-tasking.
It sounds silly, but I sit down to brush my teeth now. I don’t double-screen. I have WAY fewer tabs open, and try to get one task done at once (I know, profound). It helps in immeasurable ways with my overwhelm. I feel more grounded, my attention-span is growing, and I’m less likely to feel like abandoning tasks entirely.
8. I eat slowly.
This one I’ve had to be continuously on myself for, as I’ve a tendency to rush food, but it’s also been one of the most joyful experiences ever. Slowing down when I eat takes simple snacking into the realm of utter pleasure. Sometimes I have to stop myself from making inappropriate noises in restaurants with my partner. Food tastes that good when you slow down enough. Plus, I’m way less likely to emotionally eat. Bonus.
9. I journal Good To Be Alive Moments (GTBAMs) daily.
This stemmed from a play I saw in York: Every Brilliant Thing, by Duncan Macmillan (read about the play here). Since I saw the play, I’ve journaled about a GTBAM every day. Sometimes it’s a moment that happened, other times it’s a thing I really enjoyed. Mostly, it’s garlic, cheese, or something else food-related. Either way, having this list to look back on is my own personal joy-collection
10. I allow myself to feel.
We recently lost our family dog, Teddy, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do—be in the vets with him at the end. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel okay about that.
One of the hardest parts is the aftermath—the feelings you’re left with, pulling you down, threatening to overpower you. And the ironic reality is: if you allow the feelings to be hard, if you allow yourself to be hollow and heavy and unbelievably sad, instead of getting trapped there, you allow yourself the freedom to process them. So that’s been my mission, with the loss of Teddy, with relationship breakdowns, with the darkness of not really wanting to be here anymore—I’ve allowed myself (alongside the best therapist ever, Ashley Parker) to wallow, to feel, to accept, and to come out the other side.
Bonus: And speaking of therapy…
I know this might not fit with the low-effort list I’m writing, but it needs to be said: one of the biggest mental-health positive things I’ve done is hiring a therapist. Ashley has been one of the most profound influences on my healing. I’d go as far to say she’s been the best investment of my entire life.
She’s walked me through relationship trauma. Helped me understand the inner workings of my own mind. Shown me what softness, acceptance, and maturity actually look like. I can safely say I wouldn’t be in the most healing, nurturing, and loving relationship of my life without Ash. I wouldn’t be this supported, content, joyful. I still see her every week, even those weeks I feel bright and shiny. And I encourage you, my friend, to seek out your own Ashley (or Ashley herself), even just for maintenance. You’ve no idea what you’ve no idea about, and talking therapy — if you’re willing to be open, honest, vulnerable, and share things you think make you look like an arsehole — is both revealing and incredibly healing.
All of these work for me and my own personal twisty life. Maybe some of them will work for you, too. I just encourage you to jump in with both feet and give one or two of them a go.
And most of all, know that constant and overwhelming anxiety, stress, or ennui isn’t what the universe intended for you when she landed you here.
You’re meant for more than that. Not in the do-more sense, but in the feel-more-alive sense.
Because life, after all, is supposed to be joyful.
Chloe
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This post made me feel less guilt about rest. I have been feeling guilty for resting because it felt unproductive in terms of standards of society. Thank you Chloe
This feels helpful.
Thank you sharing this.