Shira Braun🤍

@shirabraun67

Scrolling through TikTok, you might stumble on a video that feels like a quiet coffee chat with your most understanding friend. That’s the vibe Shira Braun🤍 (@shirabraun67) nails every time. With her soft pastel backgrounds and a sleepy gray tabby cat—Mochi—curled up somewhere in the frame, she turns everyday anxieties into something disarmingly relatable. Unlike the polished perfection flooding the app, Shira’s content thrives in the messy middle: shaky phone footage of her burning toast while whispering, "This is why my anxiety thinks I’m failing at life," cuts to Mochi batting at crumbs on the counter. Her magic isn’t in grand revelations but in tiny, human moments—like showing her doodled journal pages filled with crossed-out to-do lists and scribbled "it’s okay, tomorrow’s a new day."

What sets her apart is how she frames mental health struggles without clinical jargon. Remember that video where she filmed herself agonizing over replying to a simple text ("They definitely hate me," the caption reads), only to reveal the friend’s reply was just "lol k"? It blew up for a reason—it’s the overthinking spiral we’ve all lived. Shira’s not lecturing; she’s sitting cross-legged on her apartment floor in thrifted sweaters, admitting she once hid in a grocery store bathroom to avoid small talk. Her editing is intentionally raw: no fancy filters, just jump cuts that feel like thoughts tumbling out. You’ll spot her phone charging under a pile of colored pencils—she’s a freelance graphic designer, after all—blending her creative hustle with vulnerability.

Her authenticity stems from real life, not algorithms. Based in Los Angeles, she’s open about her journey with generalized anxiety, which she’s managed since college. She once shared how therapy taught her to "treat panic attacks like a stubborn browser tab—not emergency-level, just… needs closing." Off-camera, she’s a quiet observer: posting about finding solace in baking sourdough (even when it collapses) or rescuing Mochi from a shelter. There’s no influencer facade here; her "day in my life" videos include mundane blocks like "3 p.m.: debating if cold coffee counts as iced." It’s this refusal to curate perfection that makes her feel like someone you’d swap therapist memes with IRL.

The impact? Her comments section is a rare TikTok oasis of "me too" solidarity. Followers tag friends in videos about burnout, writing things like "you made me feel less alone during my meltdown yesterday." She’s sparked mini-movements too—like her #AnxietyChecksIn challenge, where users share tiny coping wins (e.g., "today I watered my plants AND didn’t catastrophize"). Brands have reached out, but she sticks to mental health nonprofits, recently partnering with a free therapy fund for students. It’s clear her audience isn’t just watching; they’re showing up for each other, turning her corner of TikTok into a community garden of compassion.

In a space oversaturated with "fix your life" hacks, Shira’s power is in the pause. She’ll film herself staring at a blank canvas, sighing, "some days, the art just won’t come—and that’s the art." No forced positivity, no five-step solutions. Just Mochi pawing at her sleeve, the hum of a laptop, and the quiet reminder that it’s okay to be beautifully, imperfectly human. That’s why you’ll keep scrolling back to her profile—not for answers, but for the rare comfort of being seen.