Two years ago when only two or three of you were here, I wrote an essay about my experience with panic and what little I knew about it. Since then, I’ve learned a few things about myself and a little more about panic in general, so here is the original with some updates.
I've been thinking this week how we tend to judge things, people, even events, by their outward appearance, by the things we see right in front of us. Even God says we do this: ". . . man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart" (1 Sam. 16:7). But we may not know the whole story. We don't know what's going on inside a person or the back story to an event. We make uninformed judgments. I've found I do this with myself too, comparing my issues to someone else's, thinking theirs was much worse than mine, so why am I having such a hard time handling my own?
Over a year ago I had what I refer to as—like Fred Sanford did—"the big one." I was on a plane that landed hard in thick fog when I thought we were still miles in the air. The loud bang and jolt of the landing caused a flashback to when I was hit head-on, and I had the worst panic attack of my life. I gasped, sobbed, couldn't speak, almost hyperventilated, and rocked back and forth and flapped my hands like an autistic person does to distract their brain from whatever is overwhelming. It was horrible. I was exhausted and emotional and "off" for days afterward. I call that "the big one" because at the time it was the worst I'd ever experienced, though I'd had a few panic attacks before it.
First, I recently heard a mental health professional suggest that we should not refer to “panic attacks,” but that we should call them “panic responses” or “panic reactions.” She explained that when we call them “attacks,” our already-overactivated amygdala gears up for yet more battle, and that is the last thing we need in that moment. When we refer to them as responses or reactions, it is a much more grace-filled description of what our body is doing. It is responding or reacting to a stimulus that it deems a threat. It’s not a character flaw or a weakness; it’s what our bodies are designed to do. That’s the first thing.
Further, looking back, I can see now that what I termed “the big one” was not, in fact, the biggest one I would ever have. I have had longer-lasting and much more intense panic responses since that one, and if this has taught me anything at all, it’s that we should not try to rate our nervous system reactions on a scale of not-too-bad to way-worse-than-yours. Each one is its own event with its own triggering circumstances and its own lead-up. As much as we love to categorize the daylights out of everything, panic responses just do not fit into nice, neat columns on the spreadsheet.
Then last Thursday happened.
My brain took a couple of seemingly unrelated things, put them together, and, as it does when there has been previous trauma, thought it was happening all over again. My body took over and acted like the trauma was NOW. There was lots of crying and lying awake afterward, but it didn’t appear to be as intense a panic attack as the one on the plane. Yet I continued feeling depressed, on edge, and crying at every little thing for days.
After sleeping nine hours last night, today I'm feeling better and able to view the event from a more rational place. Here are my observations now, looking back on it.
Panic is panic. Flashbacks are flashbacks. Anxiety is anxiety. Even when the outward symptoms don't appear as devastating or severe, the inner turmoil is just as damaging. There isn’t a panic meter that rates one reaction compared to another. The cause doesn't matter and neither does the outward manifestation. It all feels the same on the inside, even when the outside looks different.
I once had a panic attack when I came face-to-face with Iris (a cow) in a small pen, in which I cried and trembled. I had another when I was trying to open a gate for Ben coming with the tractor, where I ran away, hyperventilated, and flapped my hands. My reactions to them were very different. I had several on planes. A couple on Interstates that involved my vehicle getting too close to an 18-wheeler. In one of these Ben was driving and I tried to climb out of my passenger seat over to his side of the car. In the other I was driving and remained so outwardly calm I did not drop my donut, even though my insides were a tornado of terror and I was having trouble breathing.
Although the circumstances and outward appearances of these reactions were vastly different, the brain perceives the overwhelm the same way: it's too much to handle right now. When the brain is overwhelmed to the point of panic, the emotional brain takes over and the rational, thinking brain is not accessible. When you are in the midst of a panic attack (response) (or even high anxiety), your body reacts and you couldn't make a reasoned decision if you wanted to—you don't have access to the part of the brain that does that. You are 100% reactive; your body takes over. When the semi was coming down the onramp right toward me, I did not think about the donut in my hand (I didn’t have thoughts at all). The pathway to the part of my brain that loves donuts was shut down. Everything was detoured to the emotional brain. My body took over and held on to the donut. (High fives, body!) I didn't realize it was still in my hand until I started to come down from the state of panic and asked Ben to please take it.
So what's the point? I first thought I would write about this to help others—the bystanders and onlookers—understand that you can't judge the severity of anxiety or panic by what you see the person do or not do. And that's a great thing to know if you're going to help someone who struggles with this. Outward actions do not define the extent of the panic.
But the greater lesson is for those of us who experience nervous system dysregulation first-hand. Our tendency is to minimize our own struggles: "Her trauma was way worse than mine, so why am I so lame?" "His panic attacks are more severe than mine, so why am I struggling so much?" This is self-gaslighting, and it is not helpful.
For years after my car accident, I thought, "It wasn't really that bad. I walked away from it with almost no physical injuries. Other people have experienced way worse than this. Why am I having such a hard time? How can this really be called trauma? It was just a car accident."
But here's the thing: what is trauma for one person may not be for another. We don't get to make that decision rationally; the brain decides what is too much and what is not in that moment. The brain decides how it reacts to the trauma it has experienced. We are all different.
Don't judge your situation based on anyone else's. Your brain is your brain. Your experience is your experience. God designed your brain to do whatever it takes to keep you safe. When trauma occurs, your brain is overwhelmed and initiates the fight/flight response. Then when something similar happens, your brain thinks the bad thing is happening again and it must do whatever it takes to keep you alive. There’s the fight/flight response again. That’s pretty amazing!
Here’s where I’ve landed with all this: therapy is helpful, particularly EMDR. But if you really want to take matters into your own hands, learn how to activate your vagus nerve.
The vagus nerve is responsible for putting you into rest-and-digest mode, the opposite of fight/flight. It is what allows you to relax and tap into your thinking brain instead of being at the mercy of your hyper-aroused amygdala. Here are the most helpful ways I’ve found to do this.
Ear pulling: place a finger in the outside of each ear and pull down gently. Breath slowly and deeply.
Hum: humming vibrates against the vagus nerve in your neck and activates it.
Forehead tracing: starting between the eyebrows, trace one finger lightly upward to the hairline. Continue for 3 minutes or until the skin turns slightly pink, signaling blood flow to that area. Slow your breathing while you do this.
Clasp hands behind neck. Facing forward, look as far left as you can and hold for as long as you can. Eventually you will feel a yawn or deep sigh. Do the same to the right.
Grounding: there are myriad grounding exercises like 4-7-8 breathing, slow butterfly tapping, 5-4-3-2-1 sensing, counting objects of a particular color, skate hands, and many others. Google them and keep a list in your phone.
What can you do if your friend or loved one is suddenly experiencing a panic response?
Be a calm presence; it helps that person if they can borrow your calm and know someone is holding compassion for them.
Thank you. You sound like a brave lady.