I used to panic the moment my console turned red.

"I've broken everything."

It usually happened late. I'd be deep into building something, feeling good, and then suddenly, errors. Lines of text flooding the console like accusations I didn't understand yet.

My instinct was always the same. Scroll frantically. Refresh. Undo things. Change random lines. Google the error without really reading it.

I wasn't trying to understand the bug. I was trying to escape the feeling.

One day, though, something small shifted.

I hit an error. Same red console. Same rush of panic. But instead of reacting, I paused.

Not because I was calm or disciplined, but because I was tired.

I literally said, "Okay. Let me actually read this."

So I did. Slowly. I noticed the line number. The file name. The part of the message I usually skipped because it looked intimidating.

And nothing magical happened. The bug didn't instantly disappear.

But the panic softened.

I realized something uncomfortable. Most of the time, the error message was already trying to help me. I just never gave it a chance because I was too busy assuming the worst.

That day, I fixed the bug faster than usual. Not because I was smarter. But because I stayed present long enough to understand what was wrong.

Since then, I still feel that initial jolt when things break. I don't think that ever fully goes away.

But I don't let it drive anymore.

Now, when the console screams, I take a breath. I read before reacting. I let confusion exist for a moment without turning it into panic.

It's funny how that habit didn't just change how I debug. It changed how I deal with mistakes in general.

Not everything that looks loud is an emergency. Sometimes it's just information waiting to be understood.

I'm still learning this. Still catching myself rushing. Still tempted to panic first.

But more often now, I pause.

And that pause makes all the difference.