Panic’s a strange beast. It’s a terrible experience, a panic attack. Bad enough, that the thought that you’re about to have one can send you INTO one. Because you begin to fear the panic more than anything. That’s what happened to me. For the last several years, I fled every panic. It left my life tiny. Two years ago, I found if thoughts sent me into panic I could work my way back out through calm breathing. But that trick only worked if the thing causing me panic wasn’t continuing to sit in my face. So if I started to have a panic attack in a class or during a task, I still needed to flee to come out of it. The result was I hadn’t done anything intensive in a long, long time.
When April and May reintroduced me to my courage, I signed up for a few things: an activity club, a bike coop workshop, a cooking class. None of them monumental things. But I did it knowing that sooner or later, I’d have to address panic if I wanted to keep growing. More than once.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment