I sat my three kids down to give
them the news. I was losing control, overwhelmed by the divorce. I felt my brain on overload and I was inches
away from a breakdown. I needed their
help. I needed them to take care of me while I rode out this storm.
All
three sat there stunned. In their early
twenties, they were barely adult enough to care for themselves, and I was “the
strong one,” the one parent they relied on, their tether while they tested
their wings on their own. I had always
warned them not to put me on a pedestal.
My feet were made of clay. I was
mortal and finite. And just as human as they.
Right
now, I was moments from slipping into a serious anxiety attack. I knew this
because it wasn’t the first time I’d had one. Twenty years prior I froze in
front of an auditorium full of educators who had come to hear me speak about
the use of a computerized reading program.
I was legally separated (from the same man) back then, so my mind was on
more important things than selling an expensive product to school
administrators. The sales person who had
invited me to testify took over, but I doubt many sales were made that day.
When
none of my kids stepped forward, I didn’t blame them. They too were traumatized by their father’s
abandonment, so losing me scared them beyond words. We were all a mess, so I called my mother and
told her I was packed and on my way to her house. I gave her the route I would take and ETA,
then I drove to her house on autopilot.
She took care of me for four days, the time it took for me to come out
of my dreamlike state of detachment, and I found my purpose and determination
again.
I
always wonder why people do not die from a broken heart. I guess some do; those who do not have
healthy bodies. The rest of us keep on
living and the closest we come to dying is through anxiety attacks.
I had another one a few months later. I
was still feeling a little wobbly when my brother-in-law passed away suddenly
and my sister and niece asked for my help with the arrangements. I was supposed to read Scripture at his
funeral mass but when it came time, I froze.
I grew roots to the floor and panicked.
At the same time, I wanted to run out of the church but I could not
move. I could not do anything, so I looked at my sister and niece and choked
out something. They calmed me down and
covered for me. The grief for my
brother-in-law plus my own personal tragedy was more than my brain and my heart
could handle. It only lasted for a few hours, but it proved I was a fraud. I
wasn’t as strong as EVERYONE thought I was.
I was human and I hurt just like everyone else.
I
hadn’t had a panic attack in sixteen years, so I do not understand what
triggered the one that visited me last week in the middle of the night while I
slept. I was dreaming nonsense, some humdrum, boring conversation between me
and some faceless person about some nothing subject, when – bam! – I woke up
with a jolt, a whiplash like one experiences when a roller coaster makes a sudden
stop. All my muscles were immobile, frozen, mummified. My heart was racing and
I felt an overwhelming fear as if Satan himself was in the room. I looked over
in the dark at HoneyBunch, but I could not move nor talk. It would take an
effort I did not possess to tell him what was happening, so it was up to me to
help myself.
I
assessed the damage. I was not having a
heart attack or stroke. I recognized it
as a panic attack. I searched my brain
for the cause of anxiety but found nothing that would cause a reaction this
extreme. I took three deep, slow breaths.
I grounded myself, noting three things to identify my surroundings. I forced myself to relax using the yoga
technique where you start with your toes and work your way up the body. I kept taking deep breaths and felt myself
regaining calm. As I thought of three,
good things in my life that make me smile, I got into a comfortable sleeping position,
and I prayed myself to sleep.
I
shared this with HoneyBunch the next day and he and I have discussed it several
times since. Our best guess is this time
of year. Many sad things have happened
to us in the month of July over the years, so that might have triggered the
panic attack. All I know is I am alive. I
am human and my feet are on the ground and not on a pedestal.
I'm reading your blogs! I recognize some of me in there, and I remember many of your moments when you were "in the process" of becoming "you." I also remember those moments when "I" was on the verge of a panic attack, and you talked me through it! Thank you, my mentor! You were and are a good friend! ILY
ReplyDeleteMarilyn Childers
Meme - I love you, too. I owe you so much!
ReplyDelete