When I started this blog, I wrote a lot about my over-thinking tendencies.  They were part of what drew me to writing, and I thought they were part of me.  I’d grown up being told I was a worrier, and my personality certainly seemed predisposed to worrying, so worry was what I did.  I worried about all sorts of things that never happened, and I made this part of who I was.  I’d drift away into fretting reveries and become lost to the world around me as I played out all the worst-case scenarios my busy brain could come up with, in order to (somehow) prevent these imaginary disasters from occurring. 

Except now I don’t do that.  I very rarely catastrophise, and rarely spin around imaginary conversations or outcomes in a loop in my head.  So, who am I now if I’m not a worrier?  Well, I’m me of course, just me without the over-active imagination. 

My blog tells the story of how I got to this point.  Writing has been very therapeutic for me, and regular meditation has been a game-changer (if you think you haven’t got time, work out how much time a day you spend worrying and tell me it’s not better to just do the damn meditation).  But those worry-tracks are still present in my brain; they might be dusty and unused, but I’m under no illusion that my thought train can jump back onto them with enough of a jolt.

The jolt

I can’t recall every writing about having panic attacks.  Partly because they happened years before I wrote this blog, but mostly because I don’t think I thought of them as panic attacks.  I just knew that when I got onto an underground train my insides would turn to water and I’d spend the journey fighting a growing urge to flee (followed by a trip to the nearest toilet upon arrival).  From the outside I’d look as if I was sitting there with my eyes closed, or engrossed in reading my kindle, but on the inside was a battle for control over my own body.  The panic lasted one summer and seemed to disappear as quickly as it had started.  I attributed this to my sorting out my diet/exercise, and generally taking better care of myself, and moved on. 

The panic returns (good title for a horror movie)

It was a total surprise to me then, to step onto a subway train in New York this year and feel the familiar sensation grip my bowels, followed by the icy fingers of fear gripping my chest as I became aware of the irregularity of my breathing, (how was it I should properly breathe again?) I was blindsided: this didn’t happen to be anymore.  I found a quiet corner on the train and began to meditate.  The feeling came in waves.  Each time I thought I had a handle on it and loosened my grip the fear rushed in and I doubled down on the fight.  Each time we stopped at a station and the doors opened I fought the urge to run.  By the time we made it to our stop I was exhausted. The journey back was blissfully uneventful, and I put it down to a blip.  But when we went to get on the subway again that evening I found I couldn’t step on the train, and instead my lovely husband walked the few miles with me to our hotel in silence, aware that I was using all my concentration to keep control of my body.

Blip

I called it a blip and put it down to the discombobulation of travel.  Since lockdown we hadn’t travelled abroad much, and I was very much out of routine on this holiday: the time difference, the change in diet, I hadn’t meditated frequently or rested enough, and I’d drunk more alcohol than I was used to the night before the panic attack.

So I panic now?

Then it happened again on a recent flight back from Venice.  We got onto the bus to take us to the plane, the doors closed but the bus didn’t move.  I had the stomach dropping feeling followed by the icy fear in my chest and the oddly disjointed breathing. The cycle began again, worsening when we got on the plane and they closed the doors but told us we might be stuck on the ground for at least an hour.

This time I put the experience down to too much coffee before the flight.  I mostly drink decaf, but the Italian coffee was too good to resist; that must be it. Except the feeling kept trying to creep in for weeks afterwards. In traffic jams, when the doors wouldn’t open to let us off the car ferry in Ireland, and at the thought of getting on a tram to go to a gig.   What the heck was going on?

It’s all in the thoughts

Whilst not exactly the same as my catastrophising, the panic attacks run on a similar escalation of thoughts. They appear to begin with a feeling in the body, (though this feeling likely arises from a thought in the subconscious), which gives rise to more thoughts (oh no, not that feeling), which fan the fire of feelings, which give rise to more thoughts, which exacerbate the feelings and lead to the body becoming locked in an adrenal draining fight or flight response.  From the outside I look tickety-boo, just sitting there reading my book, or staring into space.  Maybe my face is a little pale and pinched, but even my husband couldn’t tell the voracity of the inner war raging inside me.  (I know this because he offered me a travel sweet…very kind, but no thanks).

Feeling Better

On a recent flight to Vienna with my girl-friends we were stuck on the plane for at least an hour and I didn’t have one stomach dropping, ‘I have to get off’ feeling.  It could have had something to do with the half pint of lager I consumed before the flight (flying also worries one of my friends and she swears by a lager before take-off to calm the nerves), except we didn’t have a pint on the way back and I was fine then too.  We did, however, chat non-stop, so maybe there wasn’t time for the thoughts or feelings to gain purchase. There was one point on holiday whilst waiting for a taxi that the feeling presented itself; I acknowledged it (hi sweetie, how are you?  I know you’re trying to keep me safe, but I am safe, look I’m here with my friends), and all was well.  Vienna was a short trip, so maybe I didn’t have enough time to become too discombobulated, but I also exercised a little each morning, meditated and made sure I was nil by mouth on the day we flew home, which gave me some added peace of mind.

Why am I telling you this?

When my friend confided that she too had been struggling to fly lately because of panic, and that this had come on all-of-a-sudden with no prior anxieties, it helped me to relax.  Knowing she’d experienced similar feelings but was also getting through it seemed to bolster my confidence that I could get through it too, and I think it worked the same for her because she didn’t panic either.  It also got me thinking that there could be more to it than coffee, alcohol or routine: could it be hormonal? Could it be something to do with mid-life? Could it be an interplay of all these factors?  I might never know for sure.  But the most important thing is to recognise it’s normal, and with one trip down without incident, the chances of keeping my body in a state of calm the next time I travel increase, and that’s progress.

Celebrate the wins

All too often it’s easy to dismiss our progress.  When a pattern of behaviour or a problem we’ve previously thought overcome rears its head, it can be easy to think, ‘this is it, this is just who I am’ or, ‘this is the way it’s always going to be.’   But this way of thinking negates the progress we’ve made.   I’ve gone years without a panic attack, and already after 6 months of experiencing my first for a long time, I’m getting a handle on it.  That’s progress, and we need to give ourselves credit for the progress we make, however small.  So whatever you’ve achieved lately; whether you ate an apple instead of a biscuit, made time for a walk, passed a course, or had a good nights sleep, don’t let the next blip negate the progress you’ve made, because you are making progress.  I see it, and you should too. 

One step at a time is all it takes to get you there.

Emily Dickinson

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What progress have you been making lately?

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Here are a few links to some of my earlier blog posts that tie in with this theme, I hope you find them useful.

Overthinking is my nemesis, so why do I treat it as my friend?

Beating the Overwhelm with Turtle Steps

New Year, Same Worries: overcoming the merry-go-round of rumination

The slippery quality of change: can we ever make it stick?