Words and images by Tori Hinn
It was this past summer. I was working freelance for a company in Brooklyn. The team was kind, easy to work with, flexible. I liked working there. But I was in the middle of a complicated relationship, where each day seemed new with winding turns. I hadn’t been doing very well for a few months, and I was trying to keep it all in—keep the ribbon taut around the mess inside of me.
Leaving work on a Thursday, I had been feeling “off” since the afternoon. I went to a doctor’s appointment, went back to work, had a meeting, and still couldn’t shake this strange feeling. Lightheaded, fatigued. My FitBit indicated my heart rate was much lower than normal. Usually, I hover around 65, but it was reading 59. Kind of odd, I thought, but I tried to put it out of my mind. I waited for the train and the platform was boiling. It was July and there were a lot of people. I remember just wanting to get home, and I looked at my wrist again. 58, 57, 56, 55, 54… The train came and as usual, there was only room to stand. I held onto the pole across from a man reading, and as the train pulled out of the station, my breath left me, too. I’m fainting… Right? I think I’m fainting.
53, 51, 50, 48…
The world was going dark, my vision was tunneling and my hearing was dampening to silence. I waited until the train pulled to a stop and I sat down on a newly vacant seat. I could feel the man next to me shuffle as I breathed heavily and tried to calm myself. I didn’t know what was happening. I got off the train a stop too early— I just had to get out. I made my way down the long street that would take me home. I called my mom, I debated going into the CityMD, I debated dying there on the sidewalk.
At home, I laid down on the couch and tried to figure out how EMTs might be able to get into my 118-year-old apartment building with messed up buzzers and locks. Can they get in? If I die? I’m having a heart attack, right? My insides are falling out of me. I’m not here.
79, 81, 82, 88, 89…
It was my first panic attack. A doctor told me that I have a vasovagal response to stress. This just means I experience overactivity of my vagus nerve which causes a sudden drop in blood pressure. My therapist called this panic attack my “10.” And the way I’m getting through panic disorder, beating it, is by getting to an 8 or 9 on a regular basis so I can practice getting through the panic. It sucks as much as you think it does.
The first days going back to work were really, really difficult. I had 1 more week left on my contract and I didn’t know how I’d get through it. I just wanted to stay home everyday. I believed I was safe at home (I’ve learned home is no safer than outside). The panic was all around me. Every conversation I had, every meeting I was in, the feeling of fainting was there. I went to my doctor because I was sure something physiological was wrong. “I feel like fainting all the time,” I told her. Tests were ran, blood was taken— clean bill of health. It seemed like I was dismissed with each worry I had, and she told me it was anxiety.
That’s the thing about panic attacks or panic disorder. You can tell yourself that your worst fear isn’t going to happen (because it probably isn’t going to), but the anxiety truly makes you feel as though something horrible is happening. It’s different for every person. In my case, I start to lose my balance, I get hot, my vision blurs, I truly feel as though I’m passing out. But it leaves, it ends, and I don’t pass out. And the worst thing has already happened: the panic attack itself. It can come back, again and again, as many times as it wants… but it does end. I know, anxiety is a real asshole.
A lot of psychologists and therapists believe the only way to manage or cure panic disorder/attacks is by exposure. I started therapy a few months after my first panic attack, and I barely got to the first appointment. I thought for sure I’d have an attack in the therapy session. I was terrified, and the terror only grew when my therapist said this:
“You’re afraid of panic itself. Why you had the first panic attack is not why you’ve been having more panic attacks. I want you to get to a 9 everyday. I want you to invite the panic, bring it on, so that you can practice sitting in it, facing it, and defeating it. The more you avoid panic, the worse it’ll get. But when you remove the fear, the panic attacks will leave, too.”
She was right.
I truly believed that my life, my career, everything about me, would be gone. Maybe I’d never be able to work in an office again, or hang out with my friends again. I didn’t recognize myself, and something had to change.
So I started small by doing things most people might not think twice about. Things that I never thought twice about a few months ago. Taking a walk in my neighborhood. Going to the grocery store at a busy time. Getting my haircut. Meeting someone for coffee. Honestly, these things were difficult to do. I had small panic attacks during all of them, but I made it through.
Then I had bigger challenges to take on: traveling, trips, interviews, presentations. I wasn’t sure how I’d get to the other side. So, I did all those things, I still do them, and I’m okay. Therapy is teaching me how to sit through the panic each time, and the panic truly does happen less frequently these days. That’s not to say it’s an easy process. The fight or flight response (panic) impacts my adrenals. After each panic attack, I experience intense fatigue and it feels as though I’ve just run a mile. Dealing with adrenal fatigue is a whole other challenge, so it’s important to know my limits and take rest when I need it.
I went back to working, eventually. Things are different than they used to be, but I feel just as capable (if not more than before) to handle things in front of me. I’m more equipped to weather storms I go through on a daily basis, whether that’s chaos at work or my own inner demons. Sitting in a meeting or giving feedback, I will feel faint or lightheaded. I will get panicked. I expect it. But I know now that typically, people don’t notice and even better, the anxiety will pass. It always passes. It doesn’t get in the way of me doing my job — I try to work with the panic, instead of against it. I welcome it, let it happen and I do what I need to do. Some days are harder than others, and I give myself the room to not be okay. To work from home if I need to or just take a walk outside.
Nowadays, making that space to feel whatever I’m feeling and having support that understands is a blessing. There were some people in my life that dropped off the map when I couldn’t get through dinner at a loud restaurant or grabbing a drink after work. And then there were those special, strong ones. The ones on the boat with me that still remind me of my identity and capability. I am endlessly thankful to them (and to my faith). In dark trials, their light cuts through and lifts me up. I can only hope to be there for them when they need me, unconditionally.
I used to say “I miss the old me” when this all started. But I don’t really miss her anymore. I’m stronger now, more empathetic, and less afraid. I’m learning that those of us who are prone to severe anxiety and panic are also usually more sensitive. I’d like to think this sensitivity and awareness help me in my work. Fear is a liar, and at the root of it, anxiety is fear. Fear gets smaller and smaller as we remove its power to intimidate us into not living freely.
There’s a long journey ahead for me. I know it may be many more months before I go a whole day without thinking of my panic, even longer for an entire week. That’s alright, and I can be patient. I still have moments where I feel like I can’t breathe, I have to sit down, and my world is spinning. But those moments are no longer a period. They’re a comma, leading into the next breath. The one that says: I’m alright, I’m here, I’m me.
