Not Anxious ... to Share

I guess it is time to talk about it.

The first attack.

It was a quiet Friday in the office. No events, no deadlines, just jeans and a team birthday outing for lunch. Best case scenario … more than a year ago.

I remember feeling “off”. I sat alone at my desk, silently trying to self-assess. I couldn't decide if I was nauseated or needed to eat. I wasn't sure if I was hot or cold, but I felt sweaty. My hands were tingling and my head was spinning. Did I need a walk or to lie down? Did I need a drink or to go to the restroom? Was it my heart or all in my head?

Choosing another hour or so of denial, I faked it through lunch and conversations, light-headed with a heaviness in my chest. Taking things as easily as I could, I made it through.

Because my heart was racing and I could barely stand, I agreed to go to the clinic. I wanted to go home but was afraid to drive. I called my daughter to see if she could meet me. My blood pressure and heart rate were both high and I was encouraged to go the ER.

I remember feeling a measure of peace as I settled into the waiting room chair. If I was going to die, this would be the least chaotic, most appropriate place filled with capable personnel. I was calming into a sense of semi-safety. 

All vitals were normal, and each test and scan came back surprisingly negative. “So. I'm not gonna die, but I am possibly crazy. Cool, cool.” The intravenous muscle relaxers smoothed my thoughts into a blurry blend of relief, confusion, concern and embarrassment. 

“Are you under a lot of stress, Mrs. Johnson?”

My brain: um … no. Not at all. I just returned from a relaxing week at the beach, everything at home is happy and handled, and there are no important events or deadlines on the horizon.

My heart: um … not really. Family is good. Work is good. I love Jesus and He loves me. I feel fine, I think.

My body: um … are you friggin kidding me?!? I am NOT ok. I haven't been ok in a LONG time. I am sick of being ignored. I am freaking out, ok??

Dis-integration. 

I was discharged with a protocol referral to a cardiologist, advice to see my counselor, and a prescription for seven little pills with no refills available. 

Over the next couple of days, I downloaded a yoga app and made an appointment for a chair massage. I quietly got some sunshine. I cancelled commitments, and cleared the calendar … except for counseling appointments and the all-important chat with the vascular dude which had been “prioritized” three months out.

The day after the panic attack, I was rested and refreshed, driving my teenager to get her dress altered. I felt ok. I stayed in my comfy clothes and wouldn't need to interact with anyone. Just driving slow and smiling … then dropping her off. 

On the drive home, my phone buzzed. I glanced to see that it was a group text related to some volunteer ministry matters. Instantly, my chest seized up and both my hands went numb. I turned the phone over in an effort to reject and reverse what had just happened.

Perhaps this was the beginning to a problematic and nervy new normal.

As my family, close friends, and my counselor helped me unpack possible contributors to my sudden spin-out, I realized that while there were certainly a number of external contributors, there was also a troubling track record of internal personal neglect.

We identified recent stresses that I had underestimated. In the year leading up to the episode, we had moved into a rent house, and had begun building a house. We had faced multiple medical procedures, dreadful upheaval within our church, and persistent overwhelm with certain aspects of work. This was all manageable and to be expected (so I thought) but somehow collectively more weighty in this particular season.

“Johnsons have grit” provided a sense of stamina that kept overriding the caution flags … so in the midst of what I would have described as fine and relatively normal, my body was registering every jolt of nervous energy.

Noticing my tendency to gloss over the rough patches, I had to confess, that in many ways, this may have been a long time coming. I had no idea how consistently and chronically I ignored my body's signals and needs. All in the name of a productive pace and putting others’ needs ahead of my own, I had established a muffled habit of muting my own cries for attention. 

I was neither a maid nor a martyr. I was simply a mother who desperately wanted to care for her family well. Sometimes I did, and sometimes I did not. There was often a lot going on. And something as basic as eating, drinking, sleeping or using the restroom could be postponed if someone younger than I had coincidentally comparable needs.

“I'm thirsty. Oh, let me help him with this really quickly … [an hour passes] … I'm super thirsty.”

“I need to go to the restroom … not an option at the moment … oh, ok … I can wait.” 

“I'm sleepy. I need to give her a bath and I really wanted to chill for a bit and finish that chapter …”

All the perpetual setting aside had stealthily dulled my ability to perceive the presence and importance of my own body cues.

“I feel very sad about that … there is no time to process that … move along.”

“Every time that person approaches me, I feel instantly on edge … be kind … move along.”

“I did not sleep well [again] … have some coffee … move along.”

My body evidently had become embittered in the relentless neglect. It had endured the repetitive full force of multi-facted frenzie until one quiet, calm, unappointed Friday morning, when my system short-circuited and spontaneously spun out.

I share this because I suspect I am not the only one who has been pounced upon by her own panic.

I have spent a year and a half listening to my body. This task has proved unfamiliar, annoying and exhausting at times. Often, I honestly have no idea what I actually need. But I must faithfully attend to this.

Like a mother caring for a crying infant. This startled upset … what does it mean? What does she need? When clarity evades, the best approach is awareness, discernment, and courage. Calm confidence and a patient willingness to trouble-shoot and try various forms of relief and provision … this is the key.

Listening and responding to my internal signals is the wise and necessary course of action. Anything else is ignorance and abuse.

Externally, I've taken steps to minimize unnecessary or unreasonable stressors. I give every day an appropriate margin within which to properly process natural pressures. 

And I keep moving along. Johnsons do have grit. By God's grace, I am developing gentle, compassionate determination that soothes and settles whatever comes my way. 

And if anxiety flares unexpected and brash, I can quickly and calmly remind my senses of the current reality. I measure my breathing, slow and sure. I recite the things I can see and touch and hear. I implore my body to experience the truth.  Because I am listening and I am good … mind, heart, and body.

Integrated health.

Goals.