The thing.

I never quite know where to pick up here. I was gone. Now I am back. I got a job that requires a fair amount of writing so it’s been more difficult to write in my own time. Also, I’ve had some fairly elevated anxiety. Duh, right? Even though I’ve done “everything right.” Even though I’ve taken my medication and rested and gone to counseling and talked about it and prayed about it and blogged about it and on and on. It, somehow, still caught me off guard. And I had a panic attack or five. I had one in my boss’ office (Hi Lindsey!). I had one in an airport. So, what do I do with this? Where do I go? I’ve had a hard time moving on. I got so mad. So mad that this thing has a foothold.

And it feels like a thing. A tangible, gross, thing. Otherwordly, almost.

I don’t have a good moral for this story. Except that anxiety is mean and tough and sometimes it wins the battle, but it never wins the war.

The war is won. Even in my anxiety, my soul can rest in that.

Practically: Anxiety

Anxiety’s primary goal is to paralyze us. The more we can find things we enjoy in spite of anxiety, we are teaching the anxiety that it doesn’t have the power it wants to have.

Taking care of myself in an anxious state can help keep me from a state of panic. Even better is when I am aware enough to take care of myself in a non-anxious state so I don’t get too into the anxiety, but, that’s a topic for another day.

I notice a few things when I start to get anxious. I usually first notice my breathing slowing down in response to the anxiety. Our bodies are unbelievable indicators of anxiety, which is why it is so important to pay attention to what it is telling you. I will hear my heart beating fast, my breathing will change, and I may experience a headache or stomach ache. This is when I know my body is responding to some anxiety I have stored away and I need to start working to reverse it.

Here are a few things that help me enjoy my life in this state of heightened anxiety.

Heightened Anxiety

• Your body is responding to something going on internally, but that doesn’t mean you have to focus internally immediately. Sometimes the best thing you can do is shut down your brain for a few minutes (or hours). If you have the ability and room to rest, do it! Meditate, breathe deeply, take a few minutes to yourself in the bathroom at work. Wherever you are, step away.
• Get outside! The sun is a wonder. Sitting outside and reading a book is a miracle for me. But then sometimes I get too hot or the book is too sad and I start to get panicky. And then I go inside. Or bring a cool drink out with me. Or read buzzfeed instead of The Glass Castle.
• Be flexible. As my last bullet might have alluded, it takes time and patience to figure out what works for you. Allow yourself time to work through different options. Maybe you think going to work out will feel good but you get there and start to feel overwhelmed. It’s ok to turn around and leave right when you get there. Those front desk people don’t know you, and even if they do, who cares?
• I absolutely cannot do caffeine or anything that raises my heart rate too high. My body follows my heart rate. If it gets too high, the rest of my body follows in it’s normal anxious patterns. So, if I can keep my heart rate low until my anxiety is more under control, I have a much better chance of not panicking. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to stop Luke on walks (walks, people) because I could feel my heart rate getting too high.
• This doesn’t mean don’t be active! Especially if you are an active person by nature (good for you…), you will want to keep on with your routine as much as feels good. Going on walks or lifting weights or riding your bike can be very good. As long as you are paying attention to how your body is responding and changing what you are doing as needed.
• Massages. Do it. You won’t regret it. It is the best.

Again, this is not a one size fits all situation. The most important thing is that you keep trying. Do yoga. Try guided meditation. Get a massage. Call your sister. Read your favorite book. Sing along to your favorite song. Keep teaching your body that anxiety does not dictate how it feels. Most importantly, be gentle when the anxiety does.

Practically: Panic

I’m not a medical professional. I’m not even a mental health professional. I have studied a lot about mental health and worked in the mental health field. Perhaps more importantly, I have experienced mental illness personally. Because of this, I know a fair amount about coping skills, and have probably tried most of them. I want to share with you some things that have helped and some things that have not.

Everyone is different physically and mentally and emotionally, so this is not not one-size-fits-all situation. There is no guaranteed playbook for mental health. But there is a lot of research and a lot of personal experience out there to be found.

I have found that different things work at different levels of anxiety, so where writing things out may be helpful in a slightly elevated anxious state, it is not as helpful for me in a high anxious state.

High anxiety to panic attacks

• This is going to be your survival mode. Your body is responding as if there is a bear chasing you, or at least that is how it feels to me. At this level, the best thing I can do is to breathe. Breathe. Breathe. This is not an easy task. It takes a lot of concentration to breathe. I like to breathe for 4 seconds in and 4 seconds out. If there is someone with you, they can help count with you. Working on breath not only gets your body calmer, but gives your mind something besides panic to focus on.
• Getting cool is also very helpful to me. I tend to get very hot and feel feverish when I panic, so splashing cold water on my face, or taking a cool shower can feel very calming. Taking care of your physical needs at this point is going to help influence your internal panic.
• Grounding yourself is going to be key. A panic attack takes you outside your body so anything you can do to bring your mind back into the physical world is great. There are a ton of great breathing/grounding exercises. One of my favorites is drawing a square on your leg, breathing in while moving up and left and then breathing out while moving down and right. You can also use ice or tea or nuggets to eat slowly and deliberately, focusing on every taste and smell and feeling you have in your mouth. Ok so the nuggets are my favorite exercise. Again, this forces you to breathe slowly and focus on something other than the panic.
• Having something soft that you like to hold on to is another great option. I tend to grab a pillow and hug it tight because it feels like my chest might explode.

Again, this is a very short list of the options that are out there. If there is something you’ve been wondering about, I’ve probably tried it, so feel free to ask me about it!

Next time I’m going to come back with some ways I have learned to take care of myself in the medium anxiety levels.

On Bravery

I am not what you might consider an “adventurous” person. In fact, one of the first times I knew I was having a panic attack was at base camp on Mt. Shasta (Thanks, JH Ranch..). But, man alive, I want to be brave and courageous and adventurous. It would fit in with the way I want to see myself (see: me attempting to climb a mountain where I had no business being). I like the adventurous girls, or, I’m jealous of them, but I don’t know how to be them. I’m a “go half-way” person, I’m a lazy person. I’m not brave, not really, not in the traditional sense.

I used to be good at pretending to be adventurous. I jumped off the high cliffs. I caught the frogs. I climbed the rocks. I went to Zimbabwe. My anxiety pushed at me when I would do these things, but I was able to suppress it. Well, not in Zimbabwe. In Zimbabwe it suppressed me. Around 17 I got to the point where my anxiety overruled me and I lost my ability to pretend to be brave. I planned to go to India and backed out the day we were supposed to leave. I planned to work at a camp all summer and backed out a week before it began. I planned to go on a backpacking trip around Europe and backed out a month before I would leave. I disappointed a lot of people, lost a lot of money and didn’t know why I couldn’t just GO. I finally got the hint and stopped agreeing to big trips. I only just started to learn how to stop trying to be something I’m not. I’m not a brave girl. I’m a homebody. I’m introverted and get tired and overwhelmed easily. I need some routine and rest. I’m a comfort zone dweller, because my anxiety pushes me around enough that I don’t want to do it to myself too.

I’m working on balance. I’ve vacillated between pushing myself to the brink and complete complacency. I’m hoping to settle somewhere between those two. Moving was a big part of that. For a lot of people, making a move a couple states away would be no big deal. For me, it is world altering. So, maybe I’m not adventurous or super outdoorsy, but maybe that is ok. I’m learning how to be brave where I am. I’m learning how to follow through, how to not be quite so half-way. I’m learning how to be myself. That is the one of bravest things I think we can do. I tried to push myself too far and that didn’t work. I tried to stay safe and comfortable and that didn’t work. My anxiety and depression found me in both places. I could neither out run it, nor hide from it. I can only face it. I can only look at it and try to find out who I am and how to live my life in a way that is healthy for me and glorifying to God. So, take the time with me to figure out where this place is, for the both of us.

I’ve had this quote on the desktop of my laptop for three years.

“Go all the way with it. Do not back off. For once, go all the goddamn way with what matters.”

— Ernest Hemingway, The Complete Short Stories

I want to be brave where it matters. I want to go all the way.

Panic Attacks

I’ve spent the past few days trying to figure out how to describe what a panic attack is like for me. I’ve written and deleted this post over and over. The last time I was in counseling I couldn’t even talk about the actual major panic attack without feeling like it would happen again. My heart would race and my chest would get tight and my hands would go numb just thinking about it. It has been three years since that attack and I feel able to talk about it now, but the ones I have experienced over the past few weeks are too near. All of my panic attacks are different, but I’m going to use the worst one I experienced as an example.

I was in my second semester of graduate school when it happened. I’d had a few triggering events over a few weeks time and the anxiety began to grow. I got to a point where I was skipping class (sorry mom and dad) and spending as much time at home as possible. I wasn’t eating much and I felt like… what did I even feel? This is where I get stuck every time I write or talk about it. I don’t have the words to describe what it’s like to be paralyzed with anxiety. It’s like there is this expectation of the worst thing happening. There was no clear “worst thing,” just an assurance that it was coming. I told myself for days and weeks that it was unreasonable. I KNEW it was unreasonable, but it didn’t matter. I had a physical and emotional reaction with no way to stop.

Part of my anxiety is that I get sick to my stomach. Not a pleasant side effect, but one I’ve had at least since 15 years old. So, I’ve gotten myself into this cycle of anxiety, throwing up, not eating, getting weaker, growing anxiety, you get the picture. After a while of this, I broke. I honestly don’t remember how I got there but I know my sweet roommate found me in the middle of the night on the bathroom floor, rocking myself, crying, throwing up. I’m struggling to explain what was happening inside my head and body at that moment. I remember the feeling of absolute and unending terror. I remember thinking that it would always be this way. I remember thinking briefly that I could understand why people kill themselves. I don’t say that to sound scary, but to be truthful, because that is where I was in that moment. I have never seriously considered suicide but I do know the feeling that it might be easier to just… stop.

I was crying out to God saying, “I CANNOT DO THIS. HELP ME.” and I didn’t feel like I was being heard. I tried to breathe but my lungs felt like stone. My chest felt like it might burst. This is why people often go to the hospital when experiencing panic attacks. It feels like a heart attack, and your anxious brain is telling you you are dying. My hands and face were numb and spasming. And that’s how I was found.

My roommate got into nurse mode and had me taking deep breaths. She got our other roommate and they called my boyfriend (who is now my husband, bless his soul). I could hear them on the phone with him, telling him what was going on, and as awful as it was in that moment I was so grateful to have these people who were working together to figure out how best to take care of me, all of who had jobs to get to the next morning (and Luke, my husband’s, began at 4AM, that saint). The way that I have been cared for is a whole other post but let me just say that you all deserve all of the awards.

I decided I didn’t want to go to the ER. So my roommates sat with me, helping me breathe, and I talked to Luke on the phone. I’m ended up taking some medicine to help me get to sleep, which thankfully worked. I went to the doctor the next day and got set up with a counselor in a week.

I had more panic attacks after that, but they haven’t yet gotten quite that bad again. It took me probably a month or so to really start to feel normal again. By that time I had a lot of school work to make up and had lost a lot of weight. Don’t worry, I gained back all the weight (plus some) and had some heart-to-hearts with my teachers about what had been going on with me. They were kind to me. I’m learning to be kind to myself.

 

“Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say ‘My tooth is aching’ than to say ‘My heart is broken.'”
― C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain

On Self-Awareness

I’m overwhelmed by the support and love I have received after my first post. Y’all are the best and I’m humbled. I feel privileged to share my story with you.

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I didn’t realize something might be wrong until high school. I had good friends, the best family, and a strong relationship with Jesus. And yet, there was this thing lingering in me. There was a little monster that would weigh me down. Not all the time. Not every day. But sometimes. Enough to make me wonder. These are what I began to refer to as my “dark days.” It didn’t cross my mind at that point that it might be depression. I didn’t feel sad exactly and I didn’t cry much. I felt hopeless. I felt broken. I felt dark. I felt nothing.

Now, as an adult, I can more easily identify when I’m experiencing depression or anxiety, but it is still hard to always know. Being self-aware is hard work, and sometimes I just don’t feel like putting the work in to figure it out. Self-awareness also forces me to acknowledge that sometimes I’m not still in bed because I’m feeling depressed, sometimes I’m just being lazy. I hate that. I hate trying to figure out what is part of my personality and what is part of my brokenness. But then, does it even matter? Does it matter which part of my insides it comes from? From my DNA, from my brain patterns, or from my soul. All of those things are still me and I’m still ultimately held responsible for them. But then does that mean my depression and anxiety is my fault? No, I could never claim to believe that. This is where so much shame comes attached to mental illness.

What I do believe is that I have a responsibility to myself, to my family, to my friends to learn more about myself, whether I’m struggling with mental illness or not. This is why I love counseling and why I encourage it to everyone I meet. It is about so much more than “fixing.” It’s about knowing ourselves in a way that promotes healthy relationships. I don’t pretend this is easy. Even though I trained to be a counselor, I am still resistant to it. My flesh tells me to hide and cover up what might hurt me and cause me shame. I can’t bury these experiences and struggles. We’ve all tried that. Burying something doesn’t mean it is dead.

This is the hardest part. Opening up, asking for help, but we can’t heal what we don’t know is broken.

Jesus answered them, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”

Luke 5:31-32

The beginning.

I had my first panic attack in elementary school. Or, I don’t know, maybe in middle school. I recently tried to get my mom to help me remember when this moment was because I thought it would make a strong opening line for my blog, but we disagreed on the timeline. I say elementary school; she says middle school. You can see that I wanted it to be the more dramatic of the two. Either way, I do remember what it felt like. I remember laying on our green leather sofa in the evening. I remember desperately trying to catch my breath. I remember being so confused and thinking that this may be it for me; me, a child. I remember my parents leaning over me, trying to help. I don’t remember what did help. But something must have helped considering I didn’t end up in the hospital. Over the next few days and weeks I went to doctors looking for asthma or allergies and went home with an unnecessary inhaler and no real answers. It wasn’t until a few years ago, while writing a paper for graduate school, that I realized that I hadn’t had an allergic reaction or asthma attack. I’d had a panic attack.

Since then I have had a lot of panic attacks. I’ve been in a lot of counseling. I’ve taken a fair amount of psychiatric drugs. I’ve written, thought, and talked a lot about my life with anxiety and depression. I’ve gotten a masters degree in counseling. I’ve gotten married. I’ve had serious bouts of depression. I’ve moved! I’ve moved. For reasons I am still teasing out, the moving triggered one of the worst seasons of anxiety that I have ever experienced. I’m still in it, really. That’s why I wanted to write now. Now, when it is fresh in me. When it is raw and here and accessible. I want to share some of my experiences with mental health, not because I’ve done it especially well, but because I can. Because 10 years ago I would sit up at night on the computer vacillating between binging MTV shows and frantically searching for remedies to my “dark days.” I felt alone and scared and confused for a long time. Sometimes I still do. My hope is that those of you who have experience with these things can find some small grain of hope and comfort, and that those of you who love someone who deals with these things can find out what it is like and how to help the ones you love (but also how to take care of yourself).

I’m open to basically any question about my experience. Please ask.

P.S. my diagnosis as a child was “exercise induced asthma.” I’m basically sure I was just so terribly unathletic that I had panic attacks during P.E. due to embarrassment and shame.