Inside My Anxiety

People often exaggerate stressful situations as “the worst thing ever,” or something unexpected as “nearly giving them a heart attack.” I find these statements misguided and careless. For anyone who has had even one panic attack, when they describe it as “the worst feeling,” it is as genuine and accurate as a description could be, and dare I say, an understatement.

Whatever is happening inside our bodies and minds during a panic attack brings on sheer terror, even in the most rational and calm people.

I spoke with a man who told me he once contracted a horrible stomach bug which made him vomit for four days straight. He said, "That was nothing compared to my panic attacks."

Another man who suffered repeated panic attacks said he would not wish them on his worst enemy.

Some combat veterans who experience panic attacks have claimed they preferred the battlefield.

You get the idea.

Many people who first meet me today are surprised to learn that I suffered from Panic Disorder for several years, because today, I am calmer, less anxious. I view panic attacks differently. But this was not always the case. Those who have known me well for many years still see the remnants of it. 

During the years I suffered with frequent panic attacks, I too described them as worse than anything I had ever experienced. Nothing was more horrible than having one, and the fear of having one was comparably unthinkable. Even though I had a 100% success rate of making it through them, I was always too exhausted after each one to celebrate.

Although everyone experiences different symptoms when they have panic attacks, the hopelessness and trauma are commonly felt by all those who have had even one. So, what’s going on inside our bodies that causes us to feel so awful, that we would literally rather die on the battlefield or vomit for four days than have an attack?

Biologically, when we interpret a threat (become triggered), our adrenal glands secrete cortisol, the stress hormone. Our sympathetic nervous system—responsible for the “fight or flight” response—is activated. This in turn, brings on the onslaught of symptoms. Our digestive system shuts down (diarrhea, nausea anyone?), our heart rates go up (feels like a heart attack), so that our bodies can prepare to fight or flee. But when we experience this in everyday life, with no one to fight and nowhere to run, we have this rush of adrenaline that feels terrifying. We begin to feel trapped and start to panic.

But what about the emotional component? I’ve often wondered what it is about panic attacks that rid the most rational people of their logic. We know the plane won’t crash, we know we have never actually thrown up in public, we know we won’t actually die, so why would it happen now? We know we are safe, logically, but somehow, this logic is inaccessible in the moment of anxiety.
 

When I suffered from panic attacks several years ago, they were triggered by the fear of feeling nauseous. I knew I would start to feel nauseous if my blood sugar was too low. So, I would binge eat, because I didn’t want to risk feeling hungry (which translated to nausea).

Space between meals became a threat to me, and I began to panic if I started to feel even a little hungry. Even when I was full, I would sit in fear of where and when my next meal would be. The slightest hunger sensation would immediately make me assume I would not get to food in time, and therefore I'd become nauseous.

The was the end-all absolute thing I was trying to avoid. And once I felt it, there was no recovering from it (that’s how it felt in my mind, anyway).

The fact that I had so many food sensitivities further heightened the fear that I wouldn't be able to eat in time. Just grabbing a yogurt or a granola bar wasn't an option for me, because those were foods I couldn’t tolerate. So, having those foods as an option posed a different anxiety: I had to decide which was worse, not eating/feeling nauseous, or, eating a yogurt and having an epic digestive reaction. 

This way of living spiraled out of control, to the extent that I could no longer identify natural hunger inside my own body. When I became nervous about anything, it ignited the feeling of hunger in me, even if I had just eaten a big meal. Eating was the only thing that calmed me down. Likewise, feeling hungry made me nervous and panicky. A perfectly normal sensation for most people became a source of dread for me. I carried food with me everywhere and ate every hour to ensure I never felt hungry, anxious, or nauseous. Of course this didn’t work, because I was always anxious, and became obsessive about eating. I was hungry all the time, and I could never seem to satiate myself.

I had done my due diligence, ruling out blood sugar and thyroid problems. I had seen many doctors and was given a clean bill of health. There was no medical explanation for my frequent, insatiable hunger. All my intelligence knew there was nothing biologically wrong with me. Yet, I was not imagining the intense hunger I was feeling, or the sweating and shaking that would start if I skipped a snack. Clearly I was having physical reactions in response to not eating.

What I had trouble wrapping my mind around at the time was that, anxiety alone was responsible for all these symptoms, and not some undiagnosed hypoglycemia. 

I found solace in others who had gone through panic attacks, especially recurring ones like I was having. I was desperate to know how they got better and how I could break free of the cycle. But no one could give me a promise of an end date. I just had to work through it, tolerate it. And that’s what I did. It didn’t happen overnight. Even as I made slow progress and I was having fewer and shorter attacks, every panic attack felt like a devastating setback. It seemed like I would never fully recover. 

Part of my progress was learning how to slow down. I had to practice, to really notice the triggers, and arm myself with knowledge and coping skills to approach each situation differently than how I was used to. At the first sign of hunger, instead of reaching for my bag of food, I had to train myself to restrain and just notice the hunger, calmly. I had to constantly remind myself that I’d gone longer without eating and that my body was fully capable of handling a little low blood sugar for a few minutes — it wouldn’t kill me.

I can’t possibly tell you all the information, tools, and methods that have worked for me to help me get better. Anxiety is a very personal experience, and everyone will respond differently to various types, intensities, and lengths of treatments. I spent a lot of time in cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) and practiced various forms of mindfulness. This worked well for me. But again, this did not happen fast or easy. If you're on the road to recovery, it will likely be as unique as you are and it will take some time. So give yourself some grace.

I have faith in you that you’ll get better, too. In the meantime, here are some things that can help:

1- Feel your anxiety and try to view it neutrally. Slow down as it approaches and you’ll have more opportunity make it through more calmly and quickly.

2- View your anxiety as just a feeling, not a dangerous or damaging one, but something to tolerate that you know will pass.

3- Remember that anxiety is something you are creating in your body. It may feel like it has complete power over you, but it's quite the opposite—it's happening inside your body and you can choose to fuel it with more anxious thoughts, or not.

4- Anxiety is energy with no where to go. It's the fight or flight response in a sedentary body. So, if you can, jump, run, drop down on the floor and do some crunches. Physical activity helps dissipate the energy.