The Train I Never Got On

I think one of the first panic attacks I ever remember having happened when I was around 12 years old.

I was supposed to take the train from Winnipeg to Vancouver by myself to visit family in British Columbia. I had been on the train before with my family, but never alone.

I remember actually feeling excited about the trip. Excited to see my family. Excited about the train ride. Excited about all the little snacks and treats my mom had packed for me for the journey.

We drove into Winnipeg. My luggage was checked and loaded onto the train.

Everything was ready.

And then suddenly, right before it was time to say goodbye to my mom and board the train, something completely shifted in my body.

It felt like a switch flipped.

One moment I was okay, and the next I felt absolute panic.

I remember crying and begging not to go. I remember the train staff having to retrieve my luggage because there was no way I was getting on that train.

So we drove home.

I remember feeling so much shame on the drive back. Embarrassment. Confusion. Disappointment in myself. I had to call my family and tell them I wasn’t coming after all.

At 12, I didn’t understand what was happening in my nervous system.

Now I do.

Looking back, I can see that my body had moved into survival mode. It no longer mattered that logically, I would probably be okay. My body was responding as though I was in danger.

And the interesting thing is, some of the fears weren’t completely irrational.

What if I got lost?

What if the train left without me during a stop?

What if I got scared in the middle of the night and nobody was there?

What if something happened and I was alone?

That protector in me wasn’t trying to ruin my life.

It was trying to keep me safe.

I think that’s something we often miss when it comes to anxiety and overwhelm. We judge ourselves for our reactions instead of becoming curious about what our system is trying to do for us.

Because many survival responses actually make sense when you understand the fear underneath them.

Over time, I’ve realized that I still carry parts of this protector even now. I still notice how much easier things can feel when I have support, familiarity, or someone beside me while doing something that feels activating to my nervous system.

I think many people live this way without fully realizing it.

We begin organizing our lives around avoiding discomfort, uncertainty, vulnerability, fear, overwhelm, or emotional risk.

Sometimes we convince ourselves we’re simply “bad” at things.

Not independent enough.

Not confident enough.

Not capable enough.

But often, what’s really happening is that the body does not feel safe yet.

Years later, I revisited this memory through parts work and emotional processing.

In that process, I imagined going back to that younger version of myself, not to force her onto the train, but to help her feel safe enough to take the journey.

In a way, my older self went with her.

And in that reimagining, she got on the train.

She met kind people.

She felt proud of herself.

She experienced adventure and freedom instead of panic and shame.

She arrived safely and realized she was more capable than she thought.

For a long time, that experience became part of the story I told myself about who I was. The girl who couldn’t do hard things. The girl who got overwhelmed. The girl who stayed behind.

But over time, that story began to change too.

Sometimes healing is not just about processing old pain. Sometimes it’s about loosening the identities we formed around it.

I think that younger version of me would probably be amazed by some of the adventures, risks, and experiences I’ve had since then.

That experience stayed with me because it helped me understand something important:

Healing is not always about eliminating fear.

Sometimes it is about building enough safety, support, self-trust, and inner connection that we can begin moving forward even while fear is present.

I still see this pattern show up in everyday life.

Recently, I caught myself feeling overwhelmed before a full work day that my mind had already labeled as “too much.” I was also recovering from a cold and feeling physically run down, so part of my system was genuinely trying to protect my energy.

My body was reacting before the day had even happened.

But once I moved through it slowly and paced myself, it was actually manageable. Even good.

I think many of us do this.

We mentally and emotionally live through the stress before the thing even arrives.

Over time, this can leave us stuck in survival mode. Everything begins to feel urgent. Threatening. Heavy. Overwhelming.

And healing often begins in much smaller ways than people expect.

Getting outside again.

Making nourishing food.

Reaching out to a friend.

Booking the appointment.

Taking the walk.

Trying something new.

Letting yourself want more for your life again.

Little by little, these moments begin sending a new message to the body:

Maybe I’m safe enough to participate in life again.

Eventually, action becomes the healing.

And over time, life can begin to feel less like survival and more like living.