I’m pretty sure stress is killing me. In the past few years, I’ve battled insomnia, relied on physiotherapy and massage therapy to unlock cripplingly tense shoulders, taken an unhealthy shine to after-work drinks and found myself threatening to hurl my stapler across the office. Once, I asked a random doctor for anti-anxiety drugs (alarmingly easy to get, by the way) and then tore up the prescription the next day.

I’m not alone. According to the American Institute of Stress, up to 90 per cent of doctor visits are prompted in some way by stress.

But in an age where we’re always rushing, always overly committed and always on-call (by cell, email and Facebook), maybe the answer doesn’t lie with the dudes in the white coats. Maybe it’s a case of learning to slow down, shut up and unplug. With this in mind, I swallow my skepticism and venture out to give peace a chance.

YOGA
My first stop is Flow Yoga (408 Dupont, 416-570-6957), which attracted me with its small class sizes and discounted $12 introductory rate.

Convincing myself to show up requires ridiculous mental gymnastics. I’m wary of public exercise, and though yoga requires less coordination than, say, volleyball, I fear toned and perky Lululemon-heads the way I feared the mean girls in gym class.

But once I get there, it’s worth it. Although my body creaks its way through the downward dogs and sun salutations, the stretches ultimately feel good and help loosen the knots in my shoulders. As I focus on my breath, directing it to the rib cage, the belly and the back, I realize my mother was right: taking deep breaths really does calm you down.

It turns out you don’t require super-flexibility or $80 stretch pants to benefit from yoga — just clothing you can move in and a willingness to be fully present in your body (and in the moment) for an hour.

MEDITATION
Next, I head to the Shambhala Meditation Centre (670 Bloor W., 416-588-6465), where they offer free meditation instruction for beginners, as well as classes and open sittings for those who know what they’re doing (or, rather, what they’re not doing).

The hour-long introductory session familiarizes newbies with Shambhala’s style of mindfulness meditation, demonstrating how to sit (cross-legged on a firm cushion, with eyes open), where to rest your gaze (three to five feet ahead of you and down a bit) and what to do when you realize you’ve been carried away by a fantasy of quitting your job and moving to Portland (identify that you’re thinking, then re-centre yourself).

In terms of stress release, meditation lowers your blood pressure and slows your heart rate and breathing. Although guidance is useful in getting started, it’s something you can do anytime, anywhere, without special equipment. Even 10 minutes a day can provide a real calming effect on your life.

That said, doing nothing ain’t easy — especially at first. Within two minutes of beginning my meditation, my left foot falls asleep. Within five, my lower back begins to ache. I seem to be doing well at not thinking about anything, until I hear the voice in my head say, “Wow, I’m not thinking! I am so good at this! Oh… nevermind.”

FLOAT TANK
My weirdest stress-busting attempt happens courtesy of Tranquility Tanks at the Healing Arts Centre (717 Bloor W., 416-535-8777), home of the city’s only sensory-deprivation float tank. Often likened to a return to the womb, a 90-minute soak in the tank costs $90 and is said to be as restful as four to six hours of sleep.

The tank itself is about the size of a car, though it looks more like a ’60s mod space ship. Inside, the water contains 1,000 pounds of dissolved salt, which makes floating completely effortless, as well as hygienic. The closed dome eliminates sight and, since your ears are underwater, sound disappears too. Because the water is heated to the same temperature as the outside of your body (which is naked, by the way), once you stop moving, it’s hard to tell where your skin ends and the water begins.

“The idea is to remove the constant stimulation of the world around you,” says Nick Ashfield, director of the Healing Arts Centre. “A lot of people come out of the tank looking like they smoked their first joint.”

Although the float tank quells my senses, the real trick is getting my brain to shut up. First come paranoid fears about becoming the first person to drown in a float tank, then stress about work, then a capella versions of bad ’90s pop songs (the most torturous being Joan Osborne’s “One of Us”).

I focus on my breathing, and eventually the mental chatter ends. With my fingers laced together under my neck, I feel like I’m levitating, stretched out on a bed of nothingness.

I bliss out for a while, more silent and still than I can ever remember being, and when it finally occurs to me to start moving again, the sensation of water hitting skin feels tingly and new. Pushing my floating body from one side of the tank to the other, I laugh, “I am a fucking mermaid!” Ashfield wasn’t kidding about the drug trip.

I leave the tank relieved that peace is achievable — I’ve found it in the water, the meditation temple and the yoga studio. Now, my next real challenge is taking it out of these spaces and bringing it into my everyday life….