Panic Attacks

     Life changed dramatically for my family after my husband passed away.  Things did not feel manageable to me for quite some time.   Having four young children with special needs, being unable to work (I couldn’t fetch enough money to pay for daycare), and commandeering the new burgeoning life alone, it took me a while to get my sea legs. 

     In the early months, it was quite an adjustment.  Grief robbed me of my ability to think through things that normally were not an issue.  I remember trying to balance the check book one day and was unable to figure out what 8 minus 3 was.  My mind was very consumed with the trauma of Bob’s death.  Quickly my anxiety mounted.

     My first panic attack after my husband’s death happened at the grocery store one afternoon.

     As I was looking at the price of broccoli, my mind wondered how I could make the most of my money.  “Is there a formula to calculate the best foods to buy?  What is the best nutrition, per ounce, per penny?”  In a survival mentality, I was focused on making my pennies stretch.

     As I went into the meat section, I noticed that there were 50% discounts on some cuts of beef.  I struck gold!   If I used the almost-expired items to make that night’s meal, it would be fine.  That was a great way to conserve cash.

     The next item on the grocery list was ketchup.  I looked at the price per unit to compare which was the better value - the small bottle or the larger one.  “But I don’t need a large bottle.  We won’t go through it before it expires because Bob is dead.”

     That was it.

     A full-on panic attack consumed me in the condiment aisle of Albertson’s in San Ramon, California over ketchup.

     My heart raced wildly as if I had been running.  I shook and felt the blood leave my face.  I began sweating like crazy and felt cold at the same time.  “I have to get out of here,” my mind clamored, terrorized. “I can’t breathe.”   

     In full flight mode I abandoned my grocery cart and made a frenzied bee line for the door, into the parking lot, and straight to my minivan.  Although my shirt collar wasn’t tight, it felt constricting.  I yanked it away from my throat because I felt as if I were suffocating.  Unable to catch my breath, I rested on the car door, trying to slow everything down.  “Breathe, Gera.”  After what felt like forever (but was probably only five minutes), my heart calmed down, and I was able to catch my breath.    

     What happened?  My mind decided to hijack my body, sensing impending doom.  In order to figure out why my mind went to an extreme anxiety response, I had to examine why it felt that I was at risk.  It was obvious: I had Bag Lady Syndrome.

     Bag Lady Syndrome is the irrational fear of becoming destitute regardless of one’s financial situation.  It’s estimated that about 40% of women suffer from this fear.  And about 11% of people each year experience a panic attack.  In my case, those two stats collided over ketchup.  I can’t begin to imagine what would have become of me if it were regarding mustard…

     Understandably, losing my husband thrust a whole new life upon me that didn’t include his income and that necessitated me going back to work.  How was this going to happen? During my early stages of grief, it wasn’t possible for my emotion center to calm down enough to adequately access the parts of my brain needed to analyze the situation and make a rational plan.  Basic instincts took over and screamed, “Survive!”

     Panic attacks feel like heart attacks.  I advise all my clients to not assume the bodily responses are “just” a panic attack.  Go get it checked out.  It’s better to be put through the rigors of an evaluation to make sure than to chalk it up to panic. 

     And if you do have a panic attack, I advise you to seek treatment by a qualified mental health professional.  Left unchecked, panic attacks can increase in frequency.  The mind figures out, “Hey, there’s the stop lever!” and uses that extreme defense mechanism to get your attention because it certainly works.

     I baited you into reading this article by saying that panic is a good thing. 

     It certainly can be, but only if you use it to your advantage.

     Getting to the root of things is what your mind is screaming for you to figure out. 

     For some reason, it believes that survival is on the line.  Whether that is rational or not, that rush of adrenaline surges to make you move quickly towards safety.  You’re most likely not going to die over ketchup – mustard, perhaps, but most likely not ketchup.  However, if you saw that bear pictured above at the top of this article, panic would be a very rational response.

     Panic demands action and it makes evident that your thoughts need some unscrambling.

     In therapy, you and your therapist can untangle the complexities of the triggers and thought patterns that culminated in your panic attack.  You can learn how to “respond” instead of “react” to anxious thoughts.  When you have your wits, you can address faulty thinking, create an action plan, and determine the steps needed to put it all into place. 

     Panic is your mind screaming for you to take notice of something it feels very opinionated about. It wants to help you.  Good intentions.  Feels awful. 

Don’t suffer.  Call a therapist.

     Hopefully it doesn’t happen to you over ice cream.  That would definitely be worse than over ketchup.