
Two weeks before Christmas in 2022, I experienced my second panic attack ever.
I was up on stage, mid-song, when that awful sense of deathly dread and suffocating fear hit me. My heart rate shot up, the microphone slipped from my hand, I lost the ability to breathe and talk, and then I hit the deck.
The following morning, embarrassed and frightened, I walked away from the karaoke team I’d become a part of and left public performances behind. I haven’t returned to any stage since.
That’s why I’m so in awe of Lewis Capaldi.
When he walked out onto Glastonbury’s Pyramid Stage in June, and belted out a 35-minute set of his hits to some 200,000 festival-goers, I realised he’d put in the work and effort that I’ve been neglecting.
He’d faced a crippling fear, regained control over his health and his own body to return to doing what he loves, and in the process, he also outlined a hopeful path I’d never noticed.
For me, singing is a hobby. For Lewis, it’s his livelihood. So if he can come back, then why can’t I?
My panic attacks began three years ago when I’d not long recovered from Covid.
As someone with an autoimmune disorder and a family history of heart issues, my experience with the virus meant I spent the next few months in a state of constant hypervigilance. This then led to my first ever panic attack on a regular Friday night in 2022.
Out of absolutely nowhere, an awful feeling of deathly dread and suffocating fear washed over me. My heart rate shot up, my arms and fingers went numb, I lost the ability to breathe properly, and I couldn’t stand.

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I thought that was it. The final curtain.
It wasn’t, of course, but the fear something like that strikes into you is difficult to face. You lose trust in yourself, and any belief you have that your body can withstand emotional adversity is forever damaged in some way.
Around the same time though, in a bid to socialise after lockdown, I joined that local karaoke league – where pubs compete against each other in singing match-ups to win a trophy – in Stockport, my hometown. And yes, it’s as fantastic as it sounds.
Far from the drunken tunelessness you might associate with the word ‘karaoke’, the quality of these competitions is exemplary and it’s my firm belief that some of this country’s finest singers are in Stockport pubs every Monday night, performing to 20 people.
The spirit and enthusiasm of the team I joined was infectious. They’re a beautiful family of wonderful folks who’ll accept anyone who loves singing.

That said, it was a lot to juggle and I developed a nervous disposition around new people after the pandemic.
For months I was in a constant three-way battle between my love for singing, my uncertainty around new people, and the nagging fear that I’d have another panic episode.
Sure enough, that’s exactly what happened in December 2022.
I’ve made excuses for leaving my team in the lurch – my work hours changed, I didn’t have the time to commit to karaoke anymore, all that stuff – but the honest truth is that I’ve struggled so much with the idea of even facing them again, let alone performing.
Building their hopes up and then potentially having to deal with another panic attack is something I haven’t been able to confront. And the fear of collapsing again and letting everyone down, including myself, is still too big.
I want so badly to come back, I even rehearse new songs at home in my living room, but the panic always wins out.
I didn’t think I’d find a kindred spirit in Lewis Capaldi, but when I caught his devastating and emotional Glastonbury set in 2023, just six months after my own struggles on stage, things changed.
During his Pyramid Stage set two years ago, Lewis performed his Number One single ‘Someone You Loved’, but a Tourette’s episode made it difficult for him to sing.
The supportive crowd instead sang the lyrics in his place, making one of the most moving Glastonbury moments ever.
Tourrette’s and panic attacks are different things – although he’s been open about struggling with the latter too – but I was still watching somebody who loved to sing fighting against their own body and publicly losing that battle. And he was performing in front of thousands of people, never mind a couple dozen.
In that moment we were all with him, supporting him. But, as I well know, all the goodwill in the world can’t stop your body letting you down.
When you lose control like that – especially in front of other people – any confidence you might have had gets totally shattered and the mountain of embarrassment can feel too big to climb. You start to feel fearful of yourself.
So when Lewis walked off that Worthy Farm stage and walked away from live music I wondered if we’d ever see him again.

Part of me wondered if, like me, he was choosing to avoid certain situations – I’ve made almost no effort to control my panic attacks since 2023 – when in reality he was doing the work to reclaim his rightful place in the spotlight.
And when news of his industry comeback and surprise Glasto 2025 appearance broke, it hit me like a tonne of bricks.
From the moment I saw him walk from backstage towards his adoring, expectant fans – slightly nervous but still proud as punch – I was gripped.
I watched every second of his set, teared up slightly, and was inspired.
I realised I no longer had any room for excuses and started to wonder if it was possible for me to repeat his actions in the pubs of Stockport. If and when I hold a microphone once more, I’ll think only of Lewis Capaldi when I do so.
There will likely be a documentary one day, detailing Lewis’ return journey in more detail. But right now, I’m not interested in how he’s done it, I’m just bowled over that he’s managed it at all.
He’s touring again in autumn 2025, which will be his first tour for two years, and I’ve already got my ticket, because while his love ballads might not be written for me, his story has been.
As a pop star and a role model, he’s a shining example of what hope looks like for people with chronic conditions and major anxiety issues. And for that alone he deserves our loudest applause and longest ovations.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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