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panic attack

Another panicky post

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I would say about 99% of my panic (today) is caused by worrying that I might have a panic attack.

This is not uncommon.

People with anxiety and panic typically have a lot of panic about panic, almost as if it’s a PTSD response.

My heart skips a beat, because sometimes hearts skip beats, and that triggers a thought: Ohmygod. What was that? Was that panic? AM I GOING TO HAVE ANOTHER PANIC ATTACK? What do I do if that happens?! And THAT makes me anxious, so my heart races faster, which solidifies my belief that it is indeed a panic attack, and before I know it it’s a full attack all because of a stupid trigger. Not because of anything even legitimate! (Not that panic is legitimate – but you know what I mean.)

There are people I have had panic attacks in front of before – even a full decade ago – and I still get anxious when I am with them. Not because of THEM, but because deep in my brain, there is still an association there. Every time I go to Whole Foods I get on the verge of a panic attack because that happened one time last summer. Today I wore a sweater that I once wore during a panic attack and that brief memory put me on edge.

It’s annoying and exhausting.

But I think it’s important in distinguishing that difference between a true isolated panic attack and one that’s really just a traumatic response because panic attacks are freaking traumatic. For me at least it helps me understand that it’s my brain responding in faulty, stuck ways (just like with PTSD) and not because I am designed to panic in response to everything. I don’t know – it makes sense to me.

It also motivates me to find ways to break that faulty cycle.

Exercise is a huge one. There’s a lot of research that says that exercise helps panic and anxiety but I didn’t care about that until I understood why. And a big reason (aside from that the neurotransmitters that get released and bind to receptors, causing calming the same way medication would) is because your brain makes new associations. You learn to associate a pounding heart and sweating palms with the feeling of a good workout, instead of panic that’s going to leave you vomiting and passed out on the ground. And it works, for sure. Following an immensely panic-filled summer and fall, I made it a priority to make sure I got even 15 minutes of a good workout multiple times a week, and I saw a difference when I did.

Sometimes I face the panic head on. I know it’s likely to happen, given where I’m going or who I’m going to be with, and I do things to counteract it. Holding onto my cold water bottle is grounding. I choose where I sit and ensure I have an exit. I rub my oils on my wrists before I enter that situation. I remind myself that I can just get up and leave if I need to and it doesn’t matter what people think. (Although as an aside, having people know about my panic is immensely helpful because then the fear of what they would think is eliminated). I try to do something to get my heart moving before a potentially hard situation, even if it’s just walking up a flight of stairs or three jumping jacks.

I try ,and lately I’ve been succeeding. Sometimes I don’t, and I hate when I don’t, but that’s the journey, right? Also, sometimes when I get annoyed about it, I remember myself from 3, 5, 10 years ago and I am comforted by how much more I understand now, how much more control I’m in now. So while my brain can sometimes take hold and spin me out of control, the magnitude and frequency is negligible compared to what it used to be – and that, my friends, is freaking wonderful.

The intimacy of a panic attack

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There was a recent episode of “This is Us” that had people talking (this is not a spoiler, not to worry). It involved Randall coping with anxiety that quickly increased in severity, and eventually showed him in the midst of a full-blown panic/anxiety attack.

It hurt my heart. It was gut-wrenching and painful and beautiful, too, because during his panic attack, his brother came and sat on the floor with him and just held him.

There are few things so vulnerable, so intimate.

I can count on one hand the number of people who I have wanted to see me in the middle of a panic attack. Some people have witnessed it just because it happened when they were around. But usually? I prefer to ride it out on my own, touching base after the wave has passed.

I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way to do it. You get through the hard times however you get through them. Some people want to be physically hugged through a panic attack – others push loved ones away. You do what you need to do.

There have been very, VERY few times in my life that during a panic attack that I have actively sought out someone. It is hard to be that vulnerable. It’s hard to be that intimate. It’s hard to let someone bear witness to your struggle.

What I CAN tell you, is that the times I have sat in front of someone, allowing them to see me at my most vulnerable, as I shook and sweat and gasped and hyperventilated and felt the color draining from my face – those times ended, interestingly, with me feeling more empowered after. I think it’s similar to how being upfront and telling it like it is in a medical setting has a positive result. There’s something very empowering about thinking, I could not be more vulnerable right now – and yet I’m going to let someone bear witness to my struggle. I’m going to trust them to love me through it and I’m not going to tell them what to do or what to say. I’m going to ride out what’s happening right now, and they will figure out how to help or what to do. It’s empowering because it’s allowing me to be me, and not feeling shame or embarrassment about it.

Like I said – it’s rare. I much prefer to handle it on my own. But from time to time, there’s something special about it. There’s something beautifully intimate about experiencing a hard time with someone else, and something powerful about embracing the struggle, and letting it float out there freely, letting it move through you, and not feeling like you need to hide.

You be you. You do you. You embrace you. And the right ones, the loved ones, those special ones that are in your tribe for a reason, will love you for it, and love you through it.

On not fleeing

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Last week, my husband and I were flying home from vacation. I hadn’t been feeling well the morning of our flight – my stomach was a little upset and I felt slightly dizzy. On the way to the airport the car was warm and I overheated and felt faint, my pulse was high, and I was emotional about vacation being over and leaving loved ones. When we walked into the airport, Husband asked if I was okay and if I needed a minute, and I said I was fine – because I was, in that moment.

But as we waited in the line for security, I felt it start to come on. Fight-or-flight kicked in. While it almost always happens during medical situations, it can also occasionally happen for seemingly no reason at all. Shit, I initially thought. It’s panic or it’s a vasovagal syncope, but either way this is not good. My heart began to beat too fast, I started to sweat, and I felt that horrible hot sickening feeling wash over me – the one that signals, You’re going down. Literally. So I tried to lengthen my exhales as I took off my coat and shoes and put my carry-on on the conveyor belt. But that hot feeling kept coming in waves and I felt my stomach start to tighten – I was going to throw up, or faint, or need to use the bathroom immediately.

I evaluated my options – I had one person in front of me before I could go through security, and for a second, I turned around, deciding to let others go before me and sit down before it overcame me. But the security guard motioned to me, and told me it was my turn. One minute, I told myself. Hold on for one minute. And then, whatever happens, happens. I made it through security. And the minute it was over, I ignored my belongings, knowing Husband behind me would gather them, grabbed a nearby trashcan, and sat down on the ground, dry-heaving, spots floating in my vision, bowels clenching.

I stayed seated for a while and Husband came to check on me, but I was okay. A few people glanced at me but most didn’t give me a second look. One woman asked if I was okay, and I told her I wasn’t feeling well. She sympathetically smiled and moved on.

And then I was okay. And I didn’t spend the next hour ruminating on what happened and why and trying to understand every part of it. Instead, we got some cold water, walked to our gate, and then moved on.

Years ago, I would’ve fought. I wouldn’t have even made it through security because the thought of Oh heavens, somebody is going to see and someone is going to know, and they’re going to wonder what’s wrong with me, and I don’t even know what’s happening or why, and it’s going to be humiliating would magnify it immensely. And that fear of someone seeing, of knowing, and therefore of deciding I needed to fight it, just made the situation worse. But facing it, letting myself be vulnerable, is what helped it pass quicker than it ever would’ve years ago.

A few weeks ago I was talking with my therapist, discussing an upcoming situation in which realistically I am likely to have one of these attacks/situations, and she asked what my goal was in envisioning how I’d like it to happen. Was my goal to “be okay” with what was happening in the situation and therefore not panic/not have my body respond in this physiological way?

No, I realized. The point isn’t to make it go away. Maybe it will, maybe it won’t, but the point is to be okay with whatever happens. So if I have a panic attack – it’s okay. If I throw up – it’s okay. If I pass out – it’s okay.

And deciding to float, to face it, and not to run or fight it – that’s what gets you through. That’s the bigger life lesson anyway, right? That we will be okay. Whatever happens. And we don’t have to run, because it will not destroy us.