Panic is panic
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 it?
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.
Then last Thursday happened.
My brain took a couple of seemingly unrelated things, put them together, and, as it does when there has been a 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 more rationally. 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. The cause doesn't matter and neither do the outward manifestations. 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. I had another when I was trying to open a gate for Ben coming with the tractor. 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 like a tornado of terror.
I want you to understand that, although the circumstances and outward appearances of these 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 (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. 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 these. Outward actions do not define the extent of the panic. Definitely keep this in mind.
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?"
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. 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 react to trauma in specific ways and to do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Trauma makes your brain think the bad thing is still happening and it must do whatever it takes to protect you. That’s pretty amazing!
At the same time, God gives professionals knowledge and understanding to learn ways they can help the brain heal. That’s amazing too! I've tried a few different therapies and found that EMDR is the most helpful for me.
If you had cancer, you would not hesitate to get advice from an oncologist. Trauma is no different. So find whatever help you need and don't be ashamed of it. And remember: God sees you, and you are fearfully and wonderfully made.