A couple of Saturdays ago, I experienced my first full-blown panic attack in years. It was, without doubt, the most intense I'd ever experienced.
As I stepped off the treadmill, an eerie silence was present in the house. Ken was immersed in his laptop, oblivious to the storm brewing within me. I sank into the couch, a sense of unease creeping in. Despite my best efforts to distract myself and silence the persistent voice in my head, it grew louder and more insistent.
I fought against the rise of anxiety, trying to regain control. But in the end, the whispers of doubt and fear overwhelmed me, plunging me into the throes of a full-fledged panic attack.
As the panic attack took hold, my body’s physical reaction was intense. My ears began to throb, and a cold sweat broke out across my skin. The sensation in my hands faded to numbness, and I detected a metallic, blood-like scent in my nose. An insidious voice whispered, "This is it..."
Struggling to maintain composure, I made my way to the table and quietly sat beside Ken. To ground myself, I placed my palms flat on the table's surface. Ken looked up. I managed to say, "Something is wrong. I might pass out. You might have to call someone."
Instead of escalating the situation, he remained calm and reassuring. "You are fine," he said, immediately setting aside his laptop to focus on me. We sat in silence for about two minutes as he rubbed my back to help ease my anxiety.
Within ten minutes, the physical symptoms of my panic attack began to subside. My racing heart slowed, the numbness in my hands receded, and my breathing became more regular. However, while the bodily harm of panic had dimmed, the mental aftermath lingered.
Anxiety is as deceptive as it is potent. In the days following my panic attack, I found myself struggling with uncertainty. My ability to assess situations and make decisions—once a cornerstone of my self-reliance—now felt instable at best.
A question began to haunt me: How can I differentiate between a genuine medical emergency and the grip of anxiety or panic? The line between the two seemed to blur, leaving me in a state of constant vigilance and doubt – more than normal.
Scenarios played out in my mind: Would there come a day when, paralyzed by anxiety, I'd sink into the couch, mistaking a heart attack for another bout of panic? The thought of my life fading away, dismissed by anxiety, terrified me.
Even more distressing was the thought of Ken. What if, in some future crisis, his well-intentioned comfort—the gentle back rubs that had soothed me before—inadvertently delayed help? The prospect of him carrying such a burden of guilt is awful to consider.
These intrusive thoughts, born from the aftermath of my panic attack, served as a reminder of anxiety's impact. It wasn't just about the moments of distress, but the lingering doubts and fears that could reshape my entire view.
This experience became the centerpiece of my next therapy session. I find myself in the fortunate position of having an exceptional therapist—a statement I never imagined I'd utter.
She guided our conversation with her usual blend of empathy and insight. Then she posed a simple question that cut to the heart of the matter: "What are you afraid of?"
The question lingered in the air for a moment. Suddenly, without thought or hesitation, “Dying”.
Her response took me by surprise. Without missing a beat, she said, “That surprises me. Given what I know about you, I would expect you to approach life as if you were packing for an adventure.”
Her words opened a brand-new perspective I hadn’t considered. It was a reminder that my fears could coexist with the spirit of exploration that defines who I am.
In the days following our session, her words echoed in my mind. The more I thought, the more I realized the truth in her observation.
Life is not unlike preparing for an epic journey. We accumulate experiences—love in its myriad forms, memories, the ache of loss, the triumphs, the bursts of laughter—and these become the items we pack for our ultimate voyage.
These treasures are the only possessions we can carry with us when we depart this realm. They form the tapestry of our existence to create the unique story of our lives.
This realization brought a shift in perspective. Instead of fearing the end of the journey, I began to focus on the quality of what I was packing—the depth of my relationships, the intensity of my experiences, the wisdom gained from both triumphs and tribulations. It's not about the destination, but the richness of the journey and the precious cargo we accumulate along the way.
Pack for an adventure; an epic journey.
Also, fuck off anxiety.
And, I love you.
