As I shared in my last post, I’ve moved out of Florida due to an increasingly hostile climate. I still make visits with some regularity because I have family there and I haven’t completely disengaged from certain businesses and providers there. I also have friends in Florida, though their numbers are dwindling as many have also fled the state for reasons similar to mine.
About 6 months ago, circumstances aligned where it would be beneficial for my loved ones if I were to return to live in Florida. I flew back and began to work through the logistics of moving back — first up was arranging a place to live. We visited an apartment complex near our old home and while I found the accommodations suitable, I had a growing dread in my gut. Upon returning to the leasing office, I stopped — I couldn’t breathe. I was gulping for air, unable to fill my lungs. My heart felt like it would burst from my chest and tears fell from my eyes. When asked if I was ok, I couldn’t answer — I just looked pleadingly for help, unable to do anything else.
I knew this feeling. I’d had it once or twice before, very shortly after coming out years ago — I was having a panic attack. Anyone who has experienced one can tell you that it can be terrifying. Your body feels out of control and your thoughts can become chaotic and uncontrollable. But I had some things now which I hadn’t back then: experience and tools.
Brains control bodies…
I’ve been blessed with fantastic therapists since coming out. With their help, I’ve discovered parts of myself which had been hidden all of my life, and, I have learned a lot about many of the processes involved with certain therapies and how they work.
Perhaps its obvious to some: there is a strong connection between the brain and the body. Before therapy, I hadn’t understood how strong that connection is.
You’ve likely heard of “fight or flight” — these are two common responses to a threat. When you (your brain) perceive danger, it signals your body to prepare by flooding your bloodstream with adrenaline, causing your heart to beat faster and your breathing to quicken. This brings more oxygen into your bloodstream so that your muscles are ready for you to physically fight or run away (flee) from that danger. Your body prioritizes getting blood to your muscles which can mean your brain gets less than usual, which can result in muddled or confused thinking — you might “go on autopilot”, in which you act less on logic and reason, and more on instinct.
While “fight or flight” gets a lot of attention, there are more responses to danger. I had never heard of these until one therapist told me of another: freeze. Here, you may disassociate and shut down – just not do anything in the face of danger.
Later, the same therapist introduced me to another: fawn, where you try to please the attacker or acquiesce to them, even though you don’t want to. This response is common with people who have suffered domestic abuse and violence.
And while writing this post, I’ve learned of yet another: flop. This might be considered the opossum approach, where you faint or “play dead”.
Does all this sound familiar?
I was experiencing symptoms as if I were in danger and needed to be prepared for an attack, though no actual physical danger was present. I was physically safe. This is one of the hallmarks of a panic attack — you experience anxiety, fear, or physical symptoms of being threatened despite there being no imminent threat.
Put another way, if you are facing imminent threat, your responses aren’t of a panic attack, but are appropriate for the situation.
…and bodies control brains!
One of my therapists educated me on many of the connections between the brain and body when it comes to how we respond to things. With her help, I learned to pay attention to my body when I was having strong emotions or emotions which didn’t make much sense to me in the moment. I began recognizing when my anxiety would rise and my body began to ramp up in a threat response, and with this new information, I could do something before I reached a tipping point.
This therapist taught me that while it’s fairly obvious that the brain can cause the body to do things, the converse is also true — you can use your body to cause your brain to do things. Your body’s threat response is usually subconscious — think about when you experience a jump scare in a movie or someone startles you: in that moment, you’re typically not thinking about “get ready to fight or run”, but your body still dumps adrenaline and gets ready. That’s why your heart races and you get a little shaky. Your subconscious isn’t the part of your brain concerned with logic and reason, and it needs something to signal that the threat is gone.
This is where you can do something. If you can control your thoughts well enough, you can give your subconscious signals to desist. One of the biggest things we can do is to take deep breaths. When you’re in danger, quick and shallow breaths maximize oxygen in the bloodstream, so if you’re taking deep breaths, you can’t be in danger, right?
Panic attack -ack -ack -ack…
I stood there in the leasing office, hyperventilating, shaking, crying, unable to communicate and struggling to think anything but “I’m in danger,” yet there was imminent threat to me. I was having a panic attack.
Breathe…
That’s the only thought I could form.
Breathe…
I couldn’t though. I wasn’t in control of my breathing.
Breathe…
My friend looked at me, concerned, “what’s wrong? What’s going on?”
I looked back at her, my eyes wide, pleading. I had nothing to say. I couldn’t push air across my vocal cords, and even if I could, I couldn’t form words in my head, much less with my mouth.
Breathe… Just breathe…
That was progress. I had a new word. I clung to “just breathe” and willed my lungs to pull in a full breath… a half breath… something more than staccato gulps.
Slowly, I increased the volume of air I took in with each draw. As I regained control of my lungs, the tears streamed out of my eyes. I was scared, not only from my inability to control my own breathing, but with the resumption of organized thought, the dawning realization that I was making concrete plans to return to a state which felt inhospitable and hostile.
My body began ramping back up with adrenaline, readying for flight. In that moment, there was no fight in me for this threat.
“Go outside,” my friend suggested, perhaps recognizing that the imminent appearance of the leasing agent might give a face to the danger I was feeling. I found a door and sat at a picnic table near the pool.
My breathing was under my control again, but my tears weren’t. Every fiber of my body told me to run away – to run away from Florida. I knew that, logically, it made sense for me to live in Florida again. That felt impossible. My breathing quickened again and heart began racing. I recognized the symptoms returning and focused on my breathing again, neither reaching the intensity of the first attack, nor avoiding it altogether.
A while later, I returned to the leasing office and focused on the sensations in my body while the agent pushed papers across the desk, circling the floor plans we’d visited and highlighting rent prices on another sheet. My friend maintained the conversation while I waited for the pitch to be over.
As we got into our cars, my friend asked me “are you ok to drive?”
I answered honestly, “I don’t know, but let’s get out of here.” Driving to a nearby shopping center, I once again felt the panic rising and I split my attention between my breathing and finding a place I could safely pull over until it passed.
Finally arriving in the parking lot a few minutes later, the panic returned another time, and as I pulled into a parking space, out of exhaustion I let my focus drop. I sat in the car as my breathing quickened yet again, my heart beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.
More to come…
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