What my anxious dog taught me about language anxiety

This weekend, we were in the Harz mountains and decided to take a Seilbahn—one of those gondola lifts that glides above the trees and gives you a sweeping view of the hills.

It was Neo’s first time. He's our rescue dog, and he’s scared of… well, most things 😅

New environments, sudden movements, unfamiliar sounds—they all overwhelm his nervous system. His body tenses up, his tail drops, and every muscle prepares for flight. It’s heartbreaking to watch sometimes, but it’s also part of who he is. We’ve learned to work with it patiently.

So stepping into a gondola and floating high above the treetops wasn’t just a fun little outing for him. It was a big deal.

As we took off, he was visibly terrified—ears back, body stiff, claws digging into us like he was trying to escape. I could feel his entire body vibrating with fear. But we held him gently, stayed calm, and gave him time. We didn’t try to force anything or distract him. Eventually, slowly, he stopped clawing to get away. His breathing slowed. His eyes began to take in the movement around us—the trees passing by, the cables overhead, the quiet hum of the machinery.

And in that moment, I couldn’t help but about language anxiety.

When I coach people—especially German professionals learning English—I often see the same kind of panic. Not in their bodies necessarily, but in their minds.

You’re in a new situation. Maybe a meeting, a conversation with a native speaker, or a presentation. Words are flying at you fast. The pressure is high. You’re trying to understand and respond at the same time. And suddenly—your brain goes blank. You can’t follow. You freeze. All you want is for it to be over.

That’s not a knowledge problem. That’s a nervous system response. Just like Neo, your body is doing what it thinks it needs to do to survive. It’s not that you can’t speak English, it’s that your brain is flooded with too much input and too much pressure to process any of it clearly.

And here’s what I’ve learned from both coaching and raising Neo: When the pressure is taken off—even just a little—when someone feels safe, seen, and not judged—something shifts.

They can slow down.

Observe.

Be present.

And once that happens, the words start to come. The brain begins to process. Communication becomes possible again.

That’s what I try to create in my coaching: Not pressure to perform, but a space where people feel okay trying.

Because confidence doesn’t usually come before action. It builds through it. One moment at a time.

Or in Neo’s case—one Seilbahn ride at a time 🌱.