Lifestyle
Today, I had lunch with my partner at my favorite taco spot in the city, and during the drive, I couldn’t stop thinking about the queso. However, as I pulled into the parking garage, I was taken aback by the lack of available spaces. After retrieving my 8-month-old from the backseat, I eagerly made my way towards what I envisioned as taco bliss (though that’s not the restaurant’s name, it certainly should be).
As I approached the entrance, my mind froze. The place was bustling with people. I spotted my partner in the line and joined him, feeling my heart rate spike. “So many people. I wasn’t ready for this,” I exclaimed. He understood instantly and offered to step outside for a moment. “No,” I replied. “It’ll pass.” He knew exactly what I meant.
He held our daughter while I braced myself for the impending panic attack. My breathing quickened, and my throat tightened. Desperately, I scanned for exits – the restroom, the back door, or the escape to the parking garage. But I remained rooted in place as the wave of anxiety peaked and, gradually, began to recede. By the time our food arrived, I was back to normal, and the queso was everything I dreamed it would be.
I’ve been grappling with similar moments of panic since I was a child. At six, I found myself overwhelmed in a packed cafeteria, feeling as though I might cry and be sick at once. I didn’t know it was anxiety back then; I just knew I was scared. As a teenager, I began to understand that what I felt had a name. I immersed myself in understanding the science behind it, convinced that if I could outsmart my anxiety, I could eliminate it for good. Little did I know, that mindset was misguided.
I recognized that my brain was reacting in a primitive way, signaling danger. I felt I had two choices: fight or flight. When I chose to fight, I employed breathing techniques or mentally yelled at my anxiety, trying to subdue it. Yet more often than not, I opted for flight.
As an adult, I would escape from my office to the parking garage, waiting for the moment I felt ‘normal’ enough to reenter. The situation escalated when I became pregnant. Daily panic attacks became my new normal, and I feared the impact of my anxiety on my unborn child. My doctor expressed concern over my blood pressure, and I confided in my understanding boss about my medical issues, opting to work from home, which greatly eased my anxious mind.
However, I kept my anxiety under wraps. I preferred my boss to think I was simply unwell rather than acknowledge my struggle with anxiety. Isn’t that absurd?
After my first daughter arrived, things calmed down. Yet, as she grew into a toddler and then a preschooler, my anxiety resurfaced. Her unpredictability heightened my fears about escaping when needed, especially since she was now old enough to sense my anxiety. I found myself going out less and allowing my partner to take her on outings while I stayed home, fostering a deep resentment towards myself.
Eventually, I sought help and met with a therapist named Mark, who I believe everyone should have in their life. Each person’s mental health journey is unique, and whether it involves medication or not, it is essential to find the right approach. For me, Mark and I decided to pursue Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), which felt like practicing being anxious. The goal was to start in environments where I felt only slightly uncomfortable and gradually work my way up.
You might be surprised to learn that one of my greatest fears is Target. It’s perplexing why my anxiety spikes there, but it often leads to panic attacks, especially the further I venture into the store. I began my gradual exposure at Lowe’s, a surprisingly comfortable environment, and slowly made my way to Target. While it’s not my favorite destination, I no longer view it as my personal hell.
Through CBT, I learned that I have more options than just fight or flight; I can choose to confront the discomfort. I can surrender to my feelings, recognizing that they will pass, no matter how overwhelming they may seem. Surrendering doesn’t equate to defeat; it means allowing my primal instincts to react while employing the rational part of my brain to practice patience. After all, I’ve been navigating this for most of my life. Although it’s uncomfortable, I trust that the feeling will eventually dissipate.
There are difficult days, especially when the relentless demands of parenting feel insurmountable. Anxiety can be draining, with my mind racing both day and night. On those tough days, I remind myself it’s okay to rest.
I still experience anxiety, but I no longer harbor the same fears. I want my daughters to witness my journey with anxiety, understanding that it’s not something to hide or endure in silence. I’m still a loving mom, and they recognize that. While I may not openly discuss my anxiety with them, I’m willing to answer their questions. I find joy in life again, going out more and engaging in activities they enjoy. Yes, I may feel anxious when we arrive, but that’s perfectly fine. By choosing to confront my fears, I also choose a path towards freedom.