Graduating from the Big House

For most people, big events mean excitement, energy, and fun. For me, they have often meant something very different.

For as long as I can remember, big crowds have made me feel disconnected, distracted, and strangely numb. Sounds blur together, lights feel too bright, and my whole system seems to tighten. For years I told myself that something must be wrong with me. Why couldn’t I just enjoy concerts, games, or large events like everyone else?

I tried to push through it, convincing myself that if I kept showing up, maybe I would eventually get used to it. But that never really worked. Then, a few years ago, at a George Strait concert at the MetLife Stadium, things reached a new level. As I moved through the crowd to use the bathroom, everything around me started to tilt. I saw people talking, but their voices were muffled and delayed. My chest tightened, and I could not catch my breath. I just wanted to press my back against a wall, close my eyes, and disappear. Looking back, I think that was my first panic attack.

Since then, I have learned a lot about myself. The hardest part for me is not necessarily being in a big event, it is moving through crowds. Once I am seated, I can use my tools. Breathing. Havening. Awareness. Those help me stay present. But navigating through a mass of people is sensory overload at its peak.

So I have learned to get creative. When I find myself in crowded hallways or moving through a sea of people, I turn my back to the crowd, hold on to my husband’s hand or belt, look down, and focus on just putting one foot in front of the other until we are through. My husband is incredibly supportive, and this simple strategy has become part of my toolkit. It allows me to take part in moments I used to avoid.

Yesterday was a big one, the ultimate test. We went to a college football game at the University of Michigan’s Big House. The stadium holds 113,000 people. That is not a typo. One hundred and thirteen thousand.

And you know what? I did it.

It was not easy, but I used everything I have learned. I stayed curious instead of judgmental. I focused on what I could do instead of what I could not. I gave myself permission to step back, to breathe, to look down, and to move at my own pace.

For so long, I felt like I was missing out on life because I thought something was wrong with me. Now I see it differently. This is simply a challenge I have, and one I can manage with the right tools, awareness, and support. Trading judgment for curiosity has been a game changer.

Yesterday, standing in that sea of maize and blue, I realized something. I may not be a student, but I graduated from the Big House too.

Have you ever avoided something fun because it felt too overwhelming? What might it look like to approach it with curiosity instead of judgment?