Panic stations. It happens.
There are few things scarier than feeling like you are unable to breathe, that everything is spiralling, feeling out of control and completely overwhelmed.
If you’ve ever had a panic attack, this will sound very familiar to you.
I am not immune to this either. So let me share from a lived experience, what it looks like for a therapist to experience a panic attack from start to finish.
It was borne from deep fear. An event/incident tipped me over the edge and tapped into deep seated childhood shit, which later would be compounded by layers of trauma moments from adulthood. It was about fear of having no-one, nothing, being alone and being invaded. My safety and sacredness was invaded, I did not feel safe. And the enormous efforts to build foundations of security had been fractured. And the fear was about having nothing left.
After resolving the actual present-day crisis itself immediately with good action (fight response), it hit. Once I knew I’d done everything I could to restore and resolve the crisis, my whole system collapsed and went into panic and shock:
my body collapsed in foetal position on the bed, hands covering my face as I loudly cried and wailed sentences of fear-based statements. This went on for what felt like ages, but probably around 5-10 minutes.
my best friend happened to be with me and was half awkwardly hugging/holding me from a standing position. They were silent and applying a gentle, firm pressure. I noticed it felt helpful.
my breathing became rapid and shallow, too rapid and too shallow. I rolled onto my back, eyes squeezed tightly shut, tears streaming down my face, pulling at my collar to make room to breathe at my throat. My best friend saw this, took me by the shoulders gently, calmly, clearly and said: “Come on, breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth”, on repeat until I eventually did it after not being able to for about another 5 minutes. It slowed me down a little.
my eyes could still not open.
my body was tight, tense, rigid, wound, stiff.
I remember thinking, “fuck, I’m going to have to go to hospital, fuck fuck fuck”.
my best friend, still with hands on shoulders as I tried to breathe, calmly and slowly said “Look at me, open your eyes, look at me” on repeat until I eventually did. And it helped.
I noticed I felt young, still very scared, I was non-verbal. I just gave very teary eye contact while attempting to breathe, keeping another round of panic barely at bay.
I noticed if my thoughts of fear crept back in, my breathing would quicken again, still at high risk of repeating the cycle. I had to concentrate on eye contact and breathing only.
my body stayed in this position for a few more minutes. I started nodding. “You’re ok”, he said. “I’m ok”, I eventually said. We repeated this a few times, I think.
my body felt tight and exhausted. “Cleanse”, was the only thought I had. Somehow I said, “I need to go sit in the shower”. My friend slowly helped me up, held me so I didn’t fall over. I shuffled to the shower where I washed my hair and body while moving shakily slowly, letting groans and moans out, not making sense, feeling like an animal.
I emerged slowly, needing soft, comfortable clothes. I sat down. A warm tea was brought to me. I was very grateful. Best tea I’ve ever tasted. I nursed the warm mug with heavy eyelids.
I was aware of a different level of cognition… brain function was barely happening. I did not want to think, plan, analyse, reflect or even talk, really. I could not even if I tried.
Another friend happened to be present, and suggested if a meditation might be nice to do. It would, I said, noticing my head feel eager to surrender to someone else’s guidance, and my body already feeling lighter at the thought.
I sat in my bed, under the covers, dressing gown on, tea in hand, meditation playing on my phone. I chose the one whose voice I know I already feel soothed by; Ofosu on the Balance App, I chose the gratitude one, hoping it wasn’t too much of a stretch. Thankfully, it was simple and real enough. 15 minutes later, I emerged feeling softer and more connected.
The urge to write came. To get things out of my head and get clarity on it through putting it on paper. I picked up my journal, a blank page of possibility staring back at me. I wrote sentences that came to me, without plan or known goal. Just that I should write what was on my mind. Turns out it was helpful, motivating, calming mantras. Things I could cling to. Things that felt right. Things I could believe in in those moments. Post fear.
I felt more myself but still fragile. Returning to my friend in the lounge room, they lovingly said, “You look like you’ve returned to yourself”. I had, a little.
Then it was the urge to move, but only gently. And to get out of the cage and confines of a house, of the walls. Nature, nature was calling. My friend and I took a trip to the nearby mountain. We looked out. And we walked. In the trees. For two hours.
My hands moved naturally to touch tree trunks, wet green moss, trickling streams of cold fresh water. I intentionally breathed long, slow breaths. My eyes soaked in the various shades of green, my face muscles relaxing.
Afterwards, we drove home, smiling, making silly jokes. I was able to laugh. More myself, coming back to myself bit by bit.
My partner had been working and unavailable all day until this time, so when I’d arrived back home, she brought over some dinner for nourishment. My body had to eat, to be cared for. It took me some time to figure out if my stomach was nauseas or hungry, but I tried. I ate. Slowly. It felt good.
I was held, my body was hugged, a blanket on the couch, a mindless drama TV series playing.
Fatigue set in, rest was needed. I was taken to bed, held through the night, calmly, lovingly, protectively, securely. I felt so supported, so safe, so grateful. I slept deeply.
The next day I woke with a calm sense of normalcy. Life continued, things had to be attended to. And I felt capable to do them.
These elements meant I was successful in the ability to move through and recover from the most severe panic attack I’d had to date:
allowing my body to simply do it’s thing. To give it permission, to surrender.
to suspend judgement on what it needed and what I was doing, how it sounded or looked.
to pay attention to my body’s needs as they changed, and go with it.
to let myself receive care.
to allow my beloveds to step in, to help, to support. Mainly I had no choice, my system was in such a state. But even as I came to, I knew enough of what was happening to know I needed help. Consciously, I let myself be vulnerable. It felt vulnerable, real, raw but necessary. Completely necessary.
Debriefing with my therapist about it later that week, we dissected the keys elements that made the panic attack experience and recovery so well managed. The themes and stages were: primal shock, somatic processing, basic needs met, and connection.
The after math, the shock waves, were just as much a real part of processing as the acute panic attack itself. I know in my bones that if that stage had been rushed or performed for the social sake of ‘getting on with things’, I’d have not recovered to authentically, deeply or quickly. It could not be short cut. My body needed to complete the stress cycle, to know that it was capable of moving through it. Otherwise the stress held in my body would have gotten stuck, and remained unresolved, festering.. becoming accumulated stress over time, with other life issues being added to it.
I became so incredibly grateful for the attuned and loving tribe I had around me to get through such a tumultuous rollercoaster. One of the key learnings for me was that even if my biggest deep rooted fear actually happened, I’d be ok. Because I have myself and a tribe around me. I can start from scratch if I have to and it’s ok. This lesson also notably came at a time when I’d already grown substantially on this particular topic and even recently shed some old narratives. I’d been feeling more stable and confident regarding that particular wound. Perhaps I was ready for another layer of development.
I was accepted in my humanity, my pain, my vulnerability. There was no judgement from my tribe or from me. Only acceptance and support. And to be held in that state (literally and metaphorically) was the most healing part. Not only did it heal the immediate problem and impact of the panic attack in present day, it helped heal the deeper wounds that the trigger incident erupted. Returning to people who know and love you after a crisis and body shock is key. My body was needing to feel belonging and safety. And it found it. The sanctuary and healing of secure attachment.
