I didn’t begin building Pausa because I had a perfect morning routine. I started it because I had a panic attack after losing my pet, and for a few minutes my body convinced me I was in real danger.
Grief has a strange way of slipping past your thoughts and landing in your chest. One day you’re “managing”, the next your heart is racing, your breath won’t settle, and the room feels too small. If you’ve been there, you’re not weak, and you’re not alone.
This is a personal story, but it’s also a practical one. It’s about what helped when I couldn’t think straight, why breathing was the first tool that worked, and how that became Pausa. This isn’t medical advice, and it can’t replace proper care. If you feel unsafe, overwhelmed, or you’re worried about your health, getting support from a clinician matters. For structured self-help information, the NHS has clear guidance on getting help with anxiety, fear or panic.
Losing my pet made everything feel unsafe
I didn’t expect losing a pet to change my nervous system, but it did. The bond is quiet and constant, the small routines, the footsteps, the way the house feels lived in. Then one day, it isn’t.
After the loss, daily life kept moving, but my body didn’t get the memo. Sleep got lighter. Food felt less appealing. Focus became slippery, like I was reading the same line again and again. I’d start tasks, forget why I’d opened a tab, then scroll for no reason. On paper, nothing “urgent” was happening. Inside, everything felt urgent.
Grief can be emotional, but it’s also physical. It shows up as a tight throat, a knot in the stomach, a tiredness that doesn’t fix itself with one early night. It can sit in the body like static, always there, always humming. If you want a grounded explanation of how bereavement can affect mood, thoughts, and behaviour, this bereavement and grief self-help guide is a supportive starting point.
How grief showed up in my body before I had words for it
I didn’t call it anxiety at first. I just noticed I was tense more often.
My jaw would clamp without me noticing. My shoulders sat higher. I’d take shallow breaths, mostly into the top of my chest. I’d check my phone in any quiet moment, not because I needed to, but because silence left too much room for feeling.
At night, I’d lie down and my body would act like it was still on shift. My heart rate felt louder. My breathing got smaller. Some days I’d feel a heavy chest and assume I was just tired. Looking back, it was my system staying alert when it didn’t need to.
Those signs can look like “stress” on the surface. The root can be sadness. Both are real.
The moment I realised I was not coping as well as I thought
The trigger wasn’t dramatic. It was ordinary.
It was an empty routine that used to include my pet. A quiet room, the sense that something was missing, and the sudden rush of memory. I felt the shift before I could name it. My chest tightened, my breath sped up, and my mind tried to solve a feeling with logic.
It didn’t work. My body had already decided something was wrong.
My panic attack did not feel like fear, it felt like I could not breathe
People describe panic attacks in different ways. For me, the headline wasn’t “I’m scared”. It was, “I can’t breathe”.
It started with a sharp awareness of my heartbeat. Then my breathing turned fast and thin, like my lungs forgot what to do. I tried to take a deep breath, but it didn’t satisfy the urge. That made me try harder, which made the spiral worse.
My thoughts became simple and repetitive. Something is happening. Fix it now. But panic doesn’t respond to force. It responds to safety.
One of the most confusing parts is that panic can feel like danger even when you are not in danger. Your nervous system hits the alarm, adrenaline shows up, and your body does what it’s built to do. The problem is that you’re usually not running from a real threat, you’re sitting in a room, trying to breathe normally, while your body acts like it’s sprinting.
For a calm, step-by-step explanation of what panic is and what keeps it going, this panic self-help guide is one of the clearest resources I’ve seen.
What I wish someone had told me in that moment
Here are a few truths I needed to hear, said plainly:
- You’re not going crazy. Panic can be intense, but it’s a known body response.
- It will pass. Even if it feels endless, a panic surge peaks and drops.
- Your body is trying to protect you. The alarm is misfiring, not “broken”.
- Slower breathing can help. Not as a magic trick, but as a signal of safety.
If it’s your first time, or if the symptoms feel like they could be heart-related, it’s sensible to get medical advice. You don’t have to guess.
Why simple breathing helped when nothing else could
In that moment, long meditation wasn’t realistic. Deep reflection wasn’t realistic. Even “thinking positive” felt impossible.
Breathing was different because it was physical and immediate. Panic pushed my breath to speed up. That speed made my body feel even more threatened. When I slowed the breath down, gently, my body started to get a new message: maybe we’re safe.
I’m careful with claims here. Breathing isn’t a cure-all, and it won’t erase grief. But it can change the intensity of the moment. It can create enough space to stop the spiral and choose the next step, whether that’s calling someone, stepping outside, or getting help.
I went to the mountains to be alone, and I started finding answers in breath
After the panic attacks, I needed quiet. Not the “scroll in bed” kind of quiet, but real quiet. So I went to the mountains.
The setting helped, but it wasn’t a miracle reset. I still woke up with weight in my chest. I still had memories that hit hard. The difference was that the noise dropped enough for me to notice patterns.
In the city, your body can stay switched on because everything around you is switched on. Notifications, traffic, deadlines, bright screens. In the mountains, there’s less to react to, so you start seeing what you’re carrying.
That’s where breathing became a practice, not just a last resort. I tried different techniques and paid attention to one simple question: does this make me feel steadier? Not euphoric, not perfect, just steadier.
I learned something important there. When your mind is loud, you don’t need more complexity. You need something small enough to repeat on a bad day.
The turning point was practising short, repeatable breathing sessions
Five minutes mattered because I could actually do it. I didn’t need special equipment. I didn’t need a silent house. I didn’t need to “get it right”.
I experimented with a few patterns that people often use for stress and focus, like box breathing, resonant-style breathing, and Wim Hof-style breathing. I’m not going to give risky instructions here, because breathwork should be done with common sense, and some methods are not right for everyone. What mattered most wasn’t the label, it was the principle: short sessions that I could repeat.
Over time, those small pauses became something I could trust. Not as a way to avoid emotion, but as a way to stay with it without being crushed by it.
What I learned about anxiety, you do not need to escape your life to feel better
The mountains were helpful, but I couldn’t live there. The real test was coming back to normal life.
The day doesn’t wait. Messages keep arriving. Meetings still happen. Grief still shows up at inconvenient times. What changed was my belief about when calm is allowed.
I used to treat calm like an end-of-day reward, something you earn after you finish everything. Now I see it as something you can practise inside the day. A short pause after a difficult call. A reset before you walk into your home. A few breaths before you reply to the message that spikes your chest.
And here’s the simplest truth I’ve found: not everyone wants to meditate, but everyone breathes. That makes breathing a rare kind of tool. It meets you where you are.
Building Pausa, a simple app for the moments you need calm now
Pausa came from a very practical problem: when I felt panic or intense stress, I needed help fast, and I needed it to be simple.
During months of anxiety, I tried plenty of options. Some were useful, but many felt like they asked too much. Too many steps. Too much explanation. Too much time. In the moments when my heart was racing, I didn’t want complexity. I wanted guidance.
That became the core of Pausa: guided breathing that works from day one, even if you’ve never meditated. Sessions are short, clear, and designed for real-life moments, the ones where your chest feels tight, your thoughts race, and you just need your body to settle enough to carry on.
Midway through building, I made a promise to myself: this app wouldn’t be another thing that steals attention. It should do the opposite. It should help reduce mindless screen time by giving you a reason to put the phone down after the pause, not keep scrolling.
If you want to try it, you can download Pausa in English. It’s available on iOS and Android.
What makes Pausa different, it is built for real life, not perfect routines
A lot of wellbeing tools fail because they’re designed for an ideal day. Pausa is designed for messy days.
It’s for the five minutes you actually have. It’s for people who feel anxious and don’t want to read a long lesson before they can breathe. It’s for the moments where you need calm now, not after a 30-minute routine.
Pausa also tries to reduce the feeling of doing this alone. When you’re anxious, isolation can creep in fast, even if you’re surrounded by people. Guided audio can feel like someone steady beside you, helping you keep pace when your mind is running.
For habit support, Pausa uses simple streaks and short journeys that make consistency feel possible. And for self-awareness, there’s a stress and anxiety quiz that’s meant to help you notice patterns and choose a better next step, not to diagnose you.
If you want more reading on breathing and mental wellbeing, the Pausa App blog on conscious breathing collects practical guides and routines.
If you are dealing with panic, start with one small pause today
When panic hits, you don’t need to win a battle. You need to ride a wave.
A simple plan can help:
- Notice the signs: tight chest, fast breath, racing thoughts, shaky hands.
- Make your position safe: sit down, or stand somewhere steady.
- Use guidance: follow a short guided breathing session, or a simple slow rhythm.
- Return to one next action: water, a short walk, a message to someone you trust.
If you need in-the-moment support, Rethink Mental Illness has a practical page on how to manage a panic attack. If panic is frequent, or if you’re avoiding parts of life because of it, professional support can make a real difference.
Conclusion
I started Pausa because a panic attack showed me how quickly the body can flip into alarm, and how hard it is to think your way out of it. Losing my pet cracked something open, and breathing was the first thing that helped me close the gap between stress and calm.
What I’ve learned since is simple: small pauses add up. A few minutes, repeated in the right moments, can change how your day feels. If you want to follow more of my work and the ideas behind Pausa, you can find my personal page at andynadal.com.