"They don't need Oz."

I run up the steps of the old stage, nearly out of breath, mic in hand, hair bow flopping. I face a mass of lively middle schoolers in a rural town: truly, an ideal crowd. My co-host turns to me, his voice booming over the speakers.

"And Stephanie, can you share some of your favorite coping strategies?"

It's the first time he's thrown me the question; we're expanding the script as the day goes on. I share about my therapy journey and some of the tools I've learned in the process. I ramble a bit about journaling, and body scans, and breathing exercises.

"Could you lead us through a breathing exercise right now?"

I've never led a breathing exercise before — I'm usually the one following. But the boisterous bunch turns surprisingly quiet. Curious. Expectant. And before I know it, I'm guiding 300 kids in a box-breathing exercise. I feel like a conductor.

Inhale, 2, 3, 4. Hold, 2, 3, 4. Exhale, 2, 3, 4. Hold, 2, 3, 4.

"Great job, y'all!" I grip my mic tightly. "A breathing exercise like this one can help me to take a beat when I'm feeling big feelings. Maybe I'm really frustrated, or sad, or angry. And when I'm done with the breathing exercise, the stressor's probably still there, but at least I know I'm grounded. And when I'm grounded, it's easier to remember that I won't always feel that way."

Three nights later, I am in my head — unable to sleep, unable to calm myself, unable to stop feeling this looming worry.

I forget to breathe.

It's been hard for me not to feel anxious lately — a mix of nervousness and powerlessness — like I'm too small to make a difference, but I'm still somehow not doing enough. The world feels out of control, and I don't feel strong enough to protect myself or others. From chaos. Tragedy. Cruelty.

In therapy, I stop fighting the tears I know have been coming. I feel like a failure, a fraud.

Who am I to teach anything about grounding when I still get stuck in spirals? To spread hope even when I feel afraid?

"They don't need Oz."

My therapist continues.

"They don't need a wizard — some guy who's pulling levers in the back behind a curtain."

"Who better," she says, "to guide them through a breathing exercise than a girl with anxiety who actually needs to use them?"

The spiral stops. We breathe. It feels like my lungs are inflating again.

Maybe you've also felt small, or overwhelmed, or helpless lately. Like you've been trying to keep your sanity & safety, while also figuring out how to exist & do right by your neighbors. In a time where much feels uncertain and, honestly, just plain bad, I hope you hear from a fellow anxious girlie,

1. You are not in this alone.

2. Remember to breathe.

— s

No Buttercups were harmed in the making of this photo, despite Karma's stalking stance.

Speak your mind, even if your voice shakes. — Maggie Kuhn