A Therapist & Survivor's Journey to Healing
Article and Photos by: Megan Fordon, LLMSW
With recent media coverage circulating around the story of a meteorologist’s on-air panic attacks, I’ve felt inclined to reflect on my own experience as both a sufferer and mental health professional. It is my hope that by sharing my story, I can offer guidance and understanding.
My first encounter with a panic attack was a jarring surprise that left me feeling helpless and alone. Not only did I not understand what was occurring, but I didn’t know how to stop it. I ended up in a treacherous loop for hours, gravitating back and forth between panic attacks and worrying obsessively about their recurrence.
A crucial step in my recovery was coming to the understanding that I was experiencing a panic attack. Once I was able to comprehend this, I could take the necessary steps to feel safe again.
The Defining Characteristics of a Panic Attack
Intense Physical Symptoms, including (but not limited to):
Increased heart rate
Muscle tension
Trembling/Shaking
Nausea/Vomiting
Difficulty breathing
Numbness
Tightness in the throat
Hot flashes
Excessive perspiration
Catastrophic, all-consuming thoughts, surrounding fears of:
Impending doom
Death
Extreme illness
Something being terribly wrong
My First Panic Attack Experience
My first experience with a full-blown panic attack took place in the middle of the night, far away from home. I had driven to Canada to celebrate my friend’s 21st birthday. I stayed the night in an Airbnb with my friend and her friends, who I did not know. Reflecting on these events, I can now identify the factors that contributed to my experience, but at the time, I was naive.
Upon arrival at our Airbnb, I experienced a sudden, intense abdominal pain that confined me to bed. Through deep breathing and stretching, I managed to alleviate some of the discomfort, allowing me to join everyone for the celebratory evening out. Returning home late, we ate food and reminisced, before crowding into the small one-bedroom apartment and going to bed.
It was in the early hours of the morning that the abdominal pain returned with a fierce intensity, prompting my heart rate to accelerate and my body to flee to the bathroom. What would follow would be a moment that changed my life forever.
To capture the intensity of this experience, here’s a journal entry I wrote from the aftermath:
April 19th, 2019
My heart pounded in my chest as I stepped into the bathroom. Suddenly, my vision became blurred, and I crumpled to the floor, my body heavy and unresponsive. Crawling to the toilet, I clung to it for support, my muscles trembling uncontrollably. A wave of nausea washed over me, but nothing came up. The room seemed to be on fire, while my body was encased in ice. Desperation clawed at me as I stripped off my clothes and collapsed onto the cold tiles, silent tears and sweat streaming down my face as I cried under my breath for help. Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, as I lay there on the ground, paralyzed by fear.
I cozied up there in fetal position with my body shaking, until I was able to catch my breath. Then, I forced myself out of the bathroom to rouse my friend, who was asleep in the other room. She couldn’t have been more than 100 feet away, but my blurred vision, dissociated state, and convulsing body, made the journey nearly impossible. Tripping over my own feet, I guided her back to the bathroom, trying my best to articulate what had happened.”
The Fall Out
After waking my friend, the following hours were spent desperately attempting to quell my panic. When all else failed, I asked someone to drive me home. The four-and-a-half-hour car ride was a harrowing ordeal, but upon my arrival home, a sense of calm washed over me. For a brief moment, I started to feel a semblance of peace. However, as nightfall approached, panic returned with it, casting a dark shadow over my moment of tranquility.
“Relief proved elusive. The obsessive dread of recurrence haunted me for hours, leaving me with no choice other than to make the arduous trek home. What felt like the answer, proved to be only a temporary solution, as night after night, the panic attacks returned, a relentless and insidious force. Confined to my living room couch, I was enduring a living hell. The fear of solitude kept me awake at night, reliving the initial attack over and over again in my head.
Agoraphobia set in as the memory of the first attack paralyzed me. My mother became an anchor, her presence a shield against the unknown. But the anticipation of the next attack still lurked in the background.
The fear was all-consuming, dictating my actions and eroding my sense of self. In the battle against panic, I was undoubtedly defeated. I worked tirelessly to decipher every unexplained physical sensation for signs of my impending doom. Even the most basic activities, like eating, were overshadowed by anxiety. How else was I supposed to respond to something so inexplicable? So terrifying? Panic was a whole different kind of beast and I had no idea how to defeat it.”
The Great War
After several nights of back-to-back panic attacks, I was left exhausted, starving, and a mere shadow of my old self. My mom took me to the doctor, whose only suggestion was Xanax, an option I was too fearful at the time to try.
My body was clearly sending distress signals, so I decided to try the process of healing from within. In the months that would follow, I took on a complete health renovation. I committed to mindfulness and movement in daily life and a rigid, anti-inflammatory diet.
Slowly, but surely, my body responded. And with the addition of antidepressants, I felt regulated enough to take on the world again. I began exposing myself to the situations I feared, and little -by-little, I regained my confidence.
Hello Darkness, My Old Friend
After four years free of panic attacks, my sense of security was shattered once again when my old friend, panic, joined me on a family outing over Labor Day weekend last year. In the four years that had lapsed, I had graduated Summa Cum Laude from my Honors Psychology program, received my LLMSW, and became a licensed mental health therapist. Yet, all my accomplishments proved insignificant against panic's cruel, undying nature.
I was devastated and couldn’t escape the catastrophic thoughts that I would never be free from panic’s torment, ultimately resulting in the end of my career, and life thereafter.
Naturally, depression set in, along with a few more panic attacks. But eventually, I started to feel better.
And that’s one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned in all of this:
Nothing - not even panic - lasts forever.
I wish I could end this article by saying I'm fully recovered, but the truth is that I still experience panic attacks. Each time, I fear it's the end. However, I've learned that panic attacks, while excruciatingly painful, cannot destroy me. In fact, I've grown stronger with each one.
So, if I can offer any hope to those struggling, let it be this:
The worst is behind you.
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