My Agoraphobia Ladder: How I Show Up Without Shutting Down

I run a media platform. I host broadcasts. I speak at events when I can. And I also live with agoraphobia — a condition that makes leaving my safe spaces feel like walking into a wall of static. For a long time, I thought I had to choose: either hide completely or push through everything and pretend I was fine. Both options nearly broke me.

What actually works is something my therapist helped me build: a ladder of safe zones. Not a cure, not a hack — a system that respects where I am on any given day. My ladder has five rungs, and I check in with myself every morning to see which one I can reach. Rung one is my bedroom. Rung two is my home office. Rung three is my block. Rung four is a trusted friend's space or a quiet studio. Rung five is a public venue with an exit plan. Some days I only make it to rung two, and that is enough.

I used to shame myself for not being able to do what other founders do — the networking brunches, the packed conferences, the spontaneous collaborations. Now I design my work around what I can sustain. Most of my broadcasts are recorded from home. My team knows I need agendas before meetings and that I might join virtually even if I am in the same city. I have boundary scripts ready for when people push: 'I appreciate the invite, but I do my best work in smaller settings. Can we connect one-on-one instead?' Most people respect it. The ones who do not were not my people anyway.

Rest is not a reward I earn after I push too hard. Rest is the foundation that lets me show up at all. I block off full days every week where I do not schedule anything public-facing. No Lives, no calls, no content that requires me to be 'on'. I protect those days the same way I protect a studio session or a deadline. If I do not rest intentionally, my body will make me rest by shutting down completely — and that is a much longer recovery.

I also stopped apologizing for my access needs. I ask for green rooms at events. I request detailed venue layouts ahead of time. I bring a trusted person with me when I can. I leave early without explanation if I need to. These are not special accommodations — they are tools that let me participate without putting myself in danger. My worth is not measured by how much discomfort I can endure.

One thing that surprised me: being open about my agoraphobia has made my work stronger, not weaker. When I share my ladder on the blog or in a broadcast, people tell me it gave them permission to build their own. Artists with similar struggles reach out and say they thought they were the only ones. That connection is why I do this work — not in spite of my mental health, but because of what it has taught me about resilience and boundaries.

Living with agoraphobia while running a public platform means I move slower than the industry wants me to. I say no more than I say yes. I design around my nervous system instead of fighting it. And honestly? I am building something more sustainable because of it. This is not a before-and-after story. This is a daily practice of showing up in the ways I can and releasing the pressure to be everywhere all the time.

If you are navigating something similar, start with your own ladder. What are your safe zones? What does rung one look like for you? Build from there, not from what everyone else is doing. Your career does not have to look like anyone else's to be real, valuable, and worth protecting.

If you are in crisis, call or text 988 (US) or visit findahelpline.com.