I live in Amsterdam, a city that is always moving, always planning the next event, always offering somewhere to go. There are festivals in the summer, concerts in old industrial venues, club nights that stretch into the early hours, and I genuinely want to be part of that energy. I am 35, and I do not want anxiety to quietly shrink my world or decide for me that busy places are simply not for me anymore.
I live with social anxiety and panic attacks, and although I have learned to manage them over the years, they still arrive without warning. Most days I function well. I meet friends, I say yes to plans, I step into crowded spaces telling myself it will be fine. And often, at first, it is. But noise builds, lights flash, conversations overlap, and slowly my body starts reacting before my mind has caught up. The Netherlands is, in many ways, an understanding country. People are generally open about mental health, and there is a culture of tolerance and respect. But when panic rises in the middle of a crowd, that broader understanding does not automatically make it easier to explain what is happening in that exact moment, especially when your heart is racing and your thoughts are scattered.
When Overstimulation Turns Into Panic
Recently I went to a medium sized concert in Amsterdam with friends. It felt like a small victory just being there. The music was good, the atmosphere was warm, and for a while I felt completely present. Then the room filled up more, the air became heavier, and the sound felt sharper, almost physical. I became hyper aware of how little space there was to move, how far away the exits seemed, and how quickly my breathing was changing.
Panic can switch on suddenly, even when nothing looks wrong from the outside. In those moments, speaking clearly becomes difficult. Trying to explain to security or staff that you are not drunk, not dramatic, not causing trouble, but simply overwhelmed, can feel like an impossible task.
That is why I carry the International Disability Card. It does not describe my diagnosis in detail, and it does not list every symptom I experience, but it signals that there is a legitimate, invisible condition behind what might otherwise look like overreaction. It creates a starting point for understanding before I even begin to speak.
When I felt the panic rising at the concert, I walked toward a staff member near the side of the venue and showed the card. I explained briefly that I struggle with anxiety and needed a quieter space for a few minutes. The response was calm and professional. They guided me to an area near an exit where it was less crowded and where I could sit down and focus on breathing until my body settled.
