“When your vinyl and your coffee collection are a sign of the times, you’re getting spiritually enlightened at 29.” – Give Yourself a Try, The 1975
November 2014 was when I had my first panic attack. I was behind the wheel of a car at a time when I did not realize just how stressed I was. During that year I was splitting my time between two part-time jobs and an internship. I had been recently offered a full-time salaried job and would be transitioning from one of those part-times. The night that ended in me bawling as I attempted to breathe despite my chest fighting me with every inhalation, started out normal enough.
While wandering about the produce section picking out options for lunch to prepare for my first week at a new job, questions ran through my mind. Will I like the environment? Will I connect with coworkers? Am I truly capable of doing this? And can I juggle this and my other responsibilities? Questions like this were nothing new for me, however. So much of my life up to that point had consisted of me questioning myself and even doubting my capabilities, so I was right at home in those thoughts.
It’s just that there is a point where all those thoughts take a toll. That night in November happened to be the night where everything came together to create a storm of emotions and physical reactions. I wasn’t ready.
After unloading a basket full of items at checkout, I soon realized I didn’t have my debit card. There was that initial freak out that occurs when you think you’ve actually lost your card followed by my boyfriend’s offer to pay for the items. But there were so many items. Eating healthy is expensive and maybe a little more so at my local Publix. I couldn’t let him do that. (Maybe later I’ll write a blog about how weird I am about the whole boyfriend giving me money thing).
So, I left Publix embarrassed at the fact that I had left behind all that food, upset that I had misplaced my card and also afraid that it had fallen into the wrong hands. I get into the driver’s seat and begin to lay out what my plans would have been for preparing the food. Then I begin to point out to my patient boyfriend how much time I don’t have and how this trip was a complete waste of time. Now I had lost that precious time to carelessness. I was upset at myself. I was upset at the situation and I was tired. Tears started to cloud my eyes and as I drove to my boyfriend’s house, I could feel my chest getting tighter and tighter. It became hard to breathe. Then my hands began to tingle and much of the drive home for me is a total blur. It was as if I blacked out. Poor boyfriend—he had no clue what was going on. He just thought it was frustration.
Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore and I pulled the car over. It was a less than ideal spot that I had chosen but when you’re in the middle of a panic attack, proper parking isn’t exactly a priority. That bang-up parking job I did happened to draw the attention of a police officer who walked up to my driver window and asked if we were okay. I couldn’t describe that officer’s face in the slightest bit as I couldn’t see past the well of tears. I remember attempting to express what was going on, but boyfriend did the talking. The officer gave us a quick “be safe” and strong suggestion that we might want to move the vehicle.
Looking back, I think about how he probably should have asked more questions. For all he knew it was one of those moments like in the movies where a female lead is terrorized by a rando with a thirst for blood and she is relieved to see an officer but then the officer doesn’t ask the right questions and walks away, ultimately leaving our lead in the hands of the rando on a rampage.
The funny thing is that for all the things I couldn’t make out through my tear goggles, one thing broke through. It was a bright red glowing cross that stood outside a church up ahead of where we were parked. It seemed to just appear like a bat signal in the Gotham City sky. It was about that time that I started to calm down and made it to my boyfriend’s house unscathed. I’d like to think that was some sort of divine moment but at that time I didn’t think anything of it.
Flash forward to Fall of 2018 and I’m sitting in a service of a church that I recently began attending. Their logo prominently displays a bright red cross. It hit me all of a sudden, the likeness of that cross to the one I saw in the distance that chaotic night and it honestly comforted me. Finding a church that feels like I fit in has proven itself to be a challenge over the years.
I’m going to reveal something to you that has the potential to define the way you view me, but I honestly hope it doesn’t: I am the daughter of a preacher. As a kid, my siblings and I traveled with my parents to friends’ churches and we saw firsthand people at their lowest points and people at the edge of greatness. I have a hodgepodge of memories from that time. Probably things that seem insignificant to most but just stand out in my mind like this one church restroom that contained a row of toilets but no stalls. Not sure who concepted that or gave it the green light, but that odd memory will never leave me.
In terms of other things that never left me– even through my teenage years consisting of just the right amount of angst and naivety to make poor decisions– is this feeling that I am capable of more and I should be doing something meaningful with my life that can in some way affect others. That’s why I’m finally taking the time to type this out. I want to share my personal stories and share stories of others in the hopes that you will be able to relate in some way and even be encouraged.
Although I mutter about hating people because [insert whatever fresh randomness this world’s got for us today], I love people. I want to know why they do the things they do and their inspirations in life. I want to pick their brains, listen to them describe strange dreams and convince them to sing karaoke with me. I realized breaking through my doubts and letting go of worry is the only way I can successfully move forward with getting to know people better. It’s the only way I can grow. I am taking better care of myself, remaining open to new experiences, finishing books and making the decision to create. I am praying, studying and leaning on my faith to let go of worry and lighten my load. So now at 29, just days away from 30, I feel poised for mental, physical and spiritual health. I have gotten better and better at making efforts to ensure my first panic attack is also the last panic attack I ever have. I’m on a path toward enlightenment and it’s one I can actually see clearly, no tears in sight.