Panic Proof

Panic Proof

1

How Did You Get Here?

It was an unusually crisp fall day in Phoenix, Arizona, and my good friend Charlotte and I were sitting outside and catching up over tea. My Arizona blood turns into a solid block of ice when the temperature falls anywhere below 60 degrees. So I was wearing a heated vest, gloves, and my favorite fuzzy cobalt blue hat. Charlotte was wearing a light-­gray hoodie, half unzipped over a T­shirt that read: sometimes i wet my plants.

Charlotte is one of my favorite people. She is quirky, quick to smile, and about as “crunchy” as they come. She feeds her kids kale chips from Trader Joe’s, wears organic cotton, and gets a thrill out of composting. She has a degree in physical therapy, she’s a new mom of two adorable young girls, and she’s married to the man of her dreams. 

But over the last few months, Charlotte had changed, and she could see the worry all over my face.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said as she took a big gulp from her mug of kava kava tea. “I just need to get the girls to bed on time so I can have at least an hour to myself, horizontal on the couch, with a brain-­numbing show on.”

I wasn’t convinced. Nodding toward her drink, I asked, “How many of those have you had today?”

“Are you kidding? I live, eat, and breathe kava,” Charlotte admitted with a smile. Her hands were jittery. “It’s probably a little excessive, but I figure, ‘go big or go home.’ ”

Kava kava tea is made from the root of the plant called Piper methysticum, and one of its superpowers is the temporary relief of anxiety. 

Alarm bells were going off in the back of my mind. “Can we talk about this?” I asked.

Charlotte set down her tea. “I know you’re worried about me. But it’s not a big deal. I’m just a little stressed.”

“I appreciate that you’re trying to take care of me and reassure me right now.” I reached out and touched her hand. “Would you let me take care of you, back?”

“This is why I love you.” She sighed. “Okay. Lay it on me.”

This is when I shared with Charlotte my concerns for her health. Her rapid drop in weight, her immunity to the cold, the tremors in her hands, her inability to sleep, and her need to drink excessive amounts of anti-­anxiety tea. 

She listened as I spoke, and when I finished, she squeezed my hand and said, “I hear you. But I’m not worried, and you shouldn’t be either. I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine.

You Can’t Solve a Problem You’re Not Willing to Have

“Sensing, naming, and identifying what is going on inside is the first step to recovery.”—­Dr. Bessel van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score (2014)

We live in a world that is constantly bombarding us with distractions. We are always plugged in, always connected, and always looking for the next thing to distract or entertain us. This constant stimulation can make it difficult for us to focus on the present moment and to confront the problems that lie within us. And before we know it, time has flown by, and we’re scratching our heads, wondering, How did I get here?

Charlotte was a victim of distraction and avoidance. She wasn’t in tune with the signals from her mind and body. She was so busy doing “all the things” that she either didn’t notice what was going on with her or she chose not to acknowledge that she had any sort of actual problem.

If we want to heal from anxiety, we need to learn to slow down, to be present, and to listen to our minds and bodies. When you listen, your body will share. So let’s talk about what comes next.

Radical Acknowledgment

Radical acknowledgment is the practice of accepting and respecting the messages from our mind and body, without judgment. When we radically acknowledge our anxiety, we learn its secret language and can leverage its power for good.

Here’s an example of how radical acknowledgment might work. Let’s say you’re feeling anxious about giving a presentation. You notice physical symptoms, like a racing heart, sweating, and shaking. Instead of trying to push these sensations away or ignore them, you radically acknowledge them. You say to yourself, I’m feeling anxious right now. My heart is racing, and I’m sweating. This is a normal reaction to stress. I’m going to allow myself to feel these emotions, and I’m going to focus on giving my presentation.

Radical acknowledgment is not about making your symptoms of anxiety go away. It’s about changing your relationship with your anxiety so that you are no longer afraid or anxious, but rather curious about what its symptoms have to say regarding what needs healing and how. When you practice radical acknowledgment, you see your anxiety as a messenger rather than as an enemy. The signs and symptoms you attribute to anxiety are powerful messengers that are trying to tell you something, and when you learn to understand them, you can take steps to heal and move forward.

Fear of the Fear

One of the most common objections I hear from my clients, as we begin the process of radical acknowledgment, is that they’re afraid of feeling afraid. They worry about the physical sensations of fear, like a racing heart or numbness in their scalp, and they’re afraid that these sensations will get worse. Fear of fear can be so paralyzing that it can prevent people from doing things they enjoy or even from leaving their homes.

I know this feeling well, because I used to have it myself. For almost a decade, after a particularly stressful plane flight, I had a terrible phobia of flying. I was so afraid of feeling afraid that I would avoid flying at all costs. But I had to fly for work, and so despite feeling terrified and physically ill, I had to get back on that plane.

So I tried to “therapize” myself out of being afraid. I took the Fear of Flying course with Captain Ron at the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport (highly recommended!). I interviewed pilots, and I did a podcast with an aerospace engineer. I followed Charlotte’s lead and downed kava kava. I practiced deep breathing, meditated, and prayed. Eventually I resorted to taking a benzodiazepine medication and curling into the fetal position and trying not to cry until the plane finally reached its destination.

One of the most frustrating parts about this whole experience was that it made absolutely no logical sense.

I had nailed the top-­down strategies, and my analytical brain was mostly on board. I knew that flying was safe. (Still, a part of me remained a work in progress. It would occasionally pipe in with anxious thoughts, such as Well, okay, but what if . . . ?)

But the big thing was that my body was still afraid. I wasn’t afraid of flying; it was the lack of control over the intense emotions and physical sensations that arose during flying that made me anxious: fear of the fear.

Have you ever felt that way?