Courage in the Face of Fear
If life feels like a tanker truck of uncertainty right now, you’re not alone. Worries about exposure to COVID-19, volatility in our economy, and continued racial unrest are enough to put any of us on edge. Add to these, concerns about the quality of education our children are receiving, securing employment if you are out of work, and wondering how and when the Presidential race will resolve; and you may feel consumed with fear.
Nearly 40 million Americans are said to have struggled with anxiety pre-COVID; and now, due to all of the uncertainty in the world, there are many newcomers to the fold. My question to you today is, “Are you one of them?”
It’s not uncommon for those with mental health challenges to struggle in silence. In my mid-twenties, I lived through what I now refer to as my “month of terror.” It was April when I experienced my first panic attack. Newly divorced, I was driving on a busy highway and was suddenly consumed with fear. My knuckles were pale as I clenched the steering wheel and my heart raced faster than if I had been sprinting. I began to sweat profusely and then it happened. I had my first irrational, anxiety-driven thought. I began to worry, “What if I actually go blind while driving?”
Luckily, I was only minutes from home and fought the urge to pull over — knowing that if I did, I may never have the courage to drive again. I pulled my car in front of my home and quite literally limped into the house. I recall collapsing onto the couch and giving thanks for having made it home. With no reference point for acute anxiety, I decided that I must be coming down with something and quickly got into bed. As my thoughts raced and I replayed the frightening driving scenario over in my mind, I diagnosed myself as feverish and decided to sleep it off.
The following morning, I set about getting to work. Fortunately, my drive was uneventful, and I relaxed — thinking it must have been a bug that plagued me the day before. Later, however, when it was time to attend a meeting, the sweating returned. Stricken with utter panic, I called upon prayer in hopes that I might summon the courage necessary to enter the meeting room. Everything in my body urged me to run away. I could hear my heart racing and I was confused, since confidence was never something I lacked at work; and yet I was convinced that something awful would occur if I attended the gathering. Once in the room, and with my thoughts racing, I barely paid attention to the agenda and was hugely relieved when the session was over. I struggled to my feet, told my boss I wasn’t feeling well, and excused myself from the office for the remainder of the day.
Sure enough, the minute I was headed home and back behind the wheel, I was again overcome with dread and a feeling of impending doom. Again, I worried that if I continued driving I might somehow lose my eyesight and this time I could not fight the compulsion to pull over. Once safe on the shoulder, I began to cry. I knew I was not physically sick, but I also knew I was far from well. One thing was certain, I had no intention of telling anyone what I was experiencing. I thought I was losing my mind. I promised myself that this weakness would be kept a secret and that somehow, I would overcome it on my own. After nearly an hour on the side of the road, I somehow summoned the courage to restart the car.
Unlike the evening before when I crawled into bed and slept, I remained awake the entire night in utter terror. I paced the floor and wondered, “What if this never ends?” and “Will I ever feel normal again?” I was not astute or aware enough to label what I was experiencing as anxiety. It wasn’t something I knew much about, and in the early 1990s it wasn’t a topic of conversation in the media as it is today. What followed, was literally weeks of fear.
Sleep eluded me. Irrational thoughts came and went. What if I unintentionally hurt myself? What if woke one morning unable to walk? What if someone discovered my secret — that I was weak and feeling out of control. After four weeks of this unyielding worry, I noticed that my clothing no longer fit. I found myself swimming in my jeans and when it occurred to me to get on the scale, I had lost nearly 15 pounds. Later that day, I noticed that my hair had begun falling out and that was when I knew I was in serious trouble.
Seeing clearly, for the first time, how worry was making me physically ill, I made the difficult, but life-saving decision to confide in a trusted colleague. She was an outstanding social worker and a close friend and knowing that I could pull her aside after a student support meeting at school the next day helped me to get through the night. While I did not sleep, I did rehearse what I was going to tell her about the month I’d just encountered. I decided to leave the scariest parts out, specifically the worry that I might harm myself — but I was determined to tell her everything else.
You can imagine my surprise that when attending the student support meeting, a young person in the grips of anxiety was first on our agenda. As the school psychologist described the child’s struggles and ongoing symptoms, it was as if she were describing me in full detail. This young person was not sleeping, frequently had the urge to run out of the classroom, and had irrational fears like, “What if I drank dishwashing liquid?” She regularly had panic attacks and often felt her heart beating loudly in her throat. As the psychologist described the young girl’s treatment plan, I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that what I had was anxiety and that with treatment available, I may have a chance of beating this nightmare.
As the meeting disbanded, I grabbed my social worker colleague and explained all I had been fighting for weeks. She was compassionate, understanding, and shared her own battles with anxiety. She helped me to make an appointment with a therapist and connected me with a doctor who might prescribe meds. Relief didn’t come overnight, but instead came as a result of therapy, during which I dealt directly with the blow of my divorce, and through a medication regimen that helped calm and ease my symptoms. It wasn’t long before I could sleep again and within a few months I found the words to speak with others about my ordeal. It was amazing to find that so many people I knew were facing similar challenges, and nearly all of them, in secret.
Therapy and medication have since been an ongoing part of my journey with anxiety and; and while they may not be for everyone, I’m glad to know they are not judged as they were thirty years ago. They are as much a part of a leading a healthy lifestyle as are proper nutrition and exercise. If you’ve found yourself needing either and experiencing shame — let it go. If you’re fortunate enough to have never needed them, be careful not to sit in judgement. Life has a funny way of humbling us when we make assumptions about the struggles of others. At any time, we are all at risk of needing support.
So, as the events of today continue to be uncertain, be kind to yourselves, be brave, and be on the lookout for others who may be struggling with anxiety. Symptoms include, racing or unwanted thoughts, difficulty concentrating, sweating, excessive worry, insomnia, nausea and heart palpitations. Sometimes these symptoms come and go, and other times they linger and require treatment. If someone you love experiences these symptoms, assure them that there is help and then assist them in finding medical and mental health support. Prayer helps, too. And remember that if you find yourself fighting this battle and you’re unsure of where to turn, you can always count on me, because I’ve got your back.
