I Talked Myself Out of a Panic Attack

I already knew that my anxiety was triggered. This was obvious because I could barely eat anything for dinner the night before. This, uncharacteristically of me, did not concern me too much even though a light dinner typically means a rough morning the following day. I've made some significant and successful changes to my early morning routine so I was feeling confident as I fell asleep.

In the morning, I woke up and knew immediately that my body was a little off. I still ate my protein bar first thing while sipping water, then took an extra minute in a slightly cooler than usual shower. I was starting to feel better.

After I spent some time in prayer accompanied by my iced tea, I put in an online order for a smoothie to top off my breakfast, got my lunch together and set off for another day with some of my favorite kids.

The weather was cooler, like Fall even though it's still early September and I live in Virgina. Still, it made our early morning outdoor time at school more enjoyable as we wrapped ourselves in sweaters.

Around 9:30, though, inside doing Circle Time with my class, I felt my stomach drop and, with it, my anxiety heighten. I quickly took off my sweater as I got hot and a bit lightheaded. My mind started telling me that I wouldn't make it through the day, working with kids is too stressful, I'll never live on my own because it's just not safe, I won't be able to keep my job because I'm not strong enough... all of it.

This is what anxiety does for me. I started that sentence in the last paragraph with "My mind started telling me" because not one of those things is true. And I know that when these racing thoughts come, they are lies and if I let myself dwell on them I will plunge myself into a downward spiral and end up in a panic attack. Typically, panic attacks last 20-30 minutes and you feel like you're going to die. (But you won't. No one has ever died of a panic attack.) I knew I had to get myself out of this thought pattern before I came to deeper waters.

The children now happily sitting around the tables eating their morning snack, I quickly took my emergency meds, grabbed my water bottle, sat down under the AC to slowly drink my water and started repeating over and over quietly in my head: "Jesus loves me... Jesus loves me... Jesus loves me...".

I continued repeating it. The Catechism of the Catholic Church paragraph 2666 says "The Name of Jesus is the only name that contains the presence it signifies." I knew that by praying His Name and saying this truth over myself, I was slowly bringing myself to an awareness of His presence right there and then, reminding myself also that life happens a day at a time, a moment at a time and all those lies that my mind was telling me are only empty words. They have no truth in them.

I continued praying "Jesus loves me" in my mind over and over and over as we took our class outside to read a book and explore the outdoors. Sitting around a picnic blanket with my class, I put my hand gently on top of the grass and I noticed how it felt on my hand. I took slow and steady deep breaths, noting how the air smelled and tasted. I looked around at my class and noticed each of my students' faces and outfits. I continued to note my breathing to make sure that it stayed calm. This is a practice of Mindfulness. My goal was to make sure that I stayed engaged with reality.

As the children scampered around like little squirrels exploring the outdoors, I continued to sip my water. I purposefully kept a little smile on my face because this relaxes my face and my body. All the while, I'm still praying - sometimes softly saying it aloud - "Jesus loves me... Jesus loves me...".

My body still felt heavy. But my mind was now in a place where I could think more rationally. I told myself that calm is contagious and that I was proud of myself for taking ownership of my body and of my mind, and for reaching out to Jesus for help.

By the time I was back to a place where I was confident about being at work and life in general, two whole hours had passed.

You'll read more about "young Sarah" (birth to age 12) in my letter when it's published on Sept 25. For now, I'd like to share that this "new Sarah" -- the Sarah that utilized her coping skills to make it through a hard morning at work --  is a lot like "young Sarah" but she's so much stronger now having gone through what you'll read about in my letter. It's not easy to share this story with you (my letter or this post). But I am because maybe you can relate to it and maybe you find peace and strength knowing that you're not alone.

Lord, find me grateful! _____________________________________________________________

Hey friends! Thanks for being here and reading along with my pursuit of an abundant life (cf John 10:10)! I’m excited to share that my story with mental illness, written in the form of a letter for the blog The Catholic Woman and their series Letters to Women, will be published there on September 25. Please join me in praying for the letter and for everyone who will read it. 

When it is published, I need your help! I hope that this letter reaches many hearts but I can’t do that by myself. Please share my letter when it is published. This story isn’t so much about mental illness as it is about God’s love and mercy and how I came to find my home in his heart.

As always, I'm also over on Instagram and I enjoy connecting with you there: @sarahloutherese God bless and keep your heart up! For more information on Mindfulness: https://catholicpsych.com/ Calligraphy by The Oodles of Doodles: Etsy shop and Instagram

Investing in a Passion

Last year, I did a show. I portrayed a poor musician in a community theater production of A Christmas Carol that was set in St. Louis in the 1930s. I played fiddle.

Intending to be honest with the director, I told her that I was terrified even though, upon request, I had no lines to memorize. I do love my instrument but I hadn’t played consistently in a while. I love the arts but I hadn’t been on stage in 16 years and my anxiety had been under control for almost a year but I still had my doubts. The director told me that she understood and literally promised me that I would fall in love with the process and come away from the experience having completely enjoyed myself. I think that’s what she would tell just about anyone but, I will say, she’s known me for 20 years. I chose to trust her.

Before the show opened, it had been about 6 weeks of daily rehearsals and feeling simultaneously overwhelmed and excited by it all when I came across this quote while looking at jewelry on Amazon. The necklace that I never bought had this etched on it: “To play a wrong note is insignificant. To play without passion is inexcusable.” (-Beethoven) It was at the core of what the more experienced musicians around me were telling me but it was hard for me to believe (further, it was not what I expected any of them to say). At this point, though, I began to trust it — partially because Beethoven knows what he’s talking about. I didn’t want the necklace but I still made the quote look cute in my violin case.

The show was amazing. Frankly, I can’t believe how much I loved it and I’m so grateful. Afterwards, while watching a recording of the show, I finally saw what everyone had been telling me all along. All those notes that I missed on stage and was so worried about? I still noticed but I finally saw that it really didn’t matter. The violin merely faded for a couple of beats then came back strong (but that’s really only my opinion as someone with a trained ear. The audience most likely didn’t notice anything remotely amiss). What I saw was that none of the perfectionism in me that was rallying my anxiety was worth it. Perhaps my skill level does not equate to concert violinist — as I once dreamed it would — but I’m realizing how grateful I am for that.

For the first 3 years after graduating college, I was basically a workaholic. It wasn’t by choice and the extreme lack of a balanced lifestyle nearly killed me. But due to exhaustion and a somewhat shy, introverted nature, I never did anything other than work and isolate myself when not at work. While recovering from my mental breakdown and in the midst of therapy, I learned a lot about the importance of self-care. I began thinking of a balanced lifestyle from the perspective of self-care and even began considering going to work for a healthy amount of time at a time as self-care. When not at work, I knew what wasn’t healthy for me and so, steadily over the last couple of years, I’ve been learning that it’s good to have fun and investing in something I’m passionate about is a good compass for having fun.

I’m still figuring things out but my first big priority did become investing in something that I’m passionate about. Violin isn’t my only instrument — it’s not even my first instrument! — but it is the instrument that I’m most passionate about. While preparing for the show, I found out that a friend’s husband teaches violin and I was able to meet with him before getting into the thick of rehearsals to help me get back into practice. 

There are purchases — big and little — that I regret; I’ve never once regretted what’s ultimately learning more about violin. Violin has always been a great joy for my heart and I love sharing that joy when I have the opportunity to. Once upon a time, I dreamed of seeing my name in lights. Now, I don’t care whether or not that ever happens. What’s important to me is that I love playing and it’s a great joy to do so. I don’t ever want to forget it.

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Hey friends! Thanks for being here and reading along with my pursuit of an abundant life (cf John 10:10)! I’m excited to share that my story with mental illness, written in the form of a letter for the blog The Catholic Woman and their series Letters to Women, will be published there on September 25. Please join me in praying for the letter and for everyone who will read it. When it is published, I need your help! I hope that this letter reaches many hearts but I can’t do that by myself. Please share my letter when it is published. Sometimes what people won’t hear from their family members they will from someone else. This story isn’t so much about mental illness as it is about God’s love and mercy and how I came to find my home in his heart.

As always, I’m also over on Instagram and I enjoy connecting with you there! @sarahloutherese.

God bless, and keep your heart up!

It’s the Most Festive Time of the Year

Being in A Christmas Carol at the end of 2018 taught me an important lesson I did not expect to learn. I’m the girl who dreams of decorating her future home like a Hallmark Christmas movie for the holidays. My reality is that the Farm House is cozy and homey and lovely during the holidays but it doesn’t qualify for a Hallmark movie. I like real Christmas trees though I’ll admit that I’m accostumed to sentimental ornaments. If other things aren’t just so then I have a lot of interior frustration to overcome before I can really enjoy it.

A Christmas Carol was none of this. It was St Louis and depression era. No Christmas trees, little-to-no decorations, an old barn on the left, a little house on the right, and old clothing that supposedly barely kept us warm out there in the freezing cold (I won’t mention that the heat was on in the community center and us actors/musicians were trying so hard not to die on stage). Yet there was nothing like being on that stage in the midst of the script come to life and surrounded by all these talented people that truly put me in the Christmas spirit. As a cast, we endured our own hardships apart from the characters we portrayed: illness was everywhere and understudies were brought in from among the cast (except for when I got sick but played fiddle anyway. No one in the cast could learn an instrument that fast. More on that experience coming next week!). Yet our joy was almost tangible and made for a truly extraordinary experience.

I was surprised, then, when it came time for the cast party and I did not fully enjoy the Christmas decorations of our wonderful host. Don’t get me wrong: they were beautiful! Pretty close to that Hallmark Christmas movie I’ve long been dreaming of.  Maybe I was exhausted? Perhaps still recovering from my illness? Both are likely and I was certainly still in that moment of “a truly extraordinary experience” I just mentioned seeing that I was still surrounded by the incredible cast and others who had come to celebrate with us. So why could I not fully appreciate what I thought were my favorite kinds of decorations? I decided to not think too hard about it and continued to enjoy the moment.

The next morning I had an anxiety attack first thing and ended up taking that and the following day off from work - doctor’s orders. Apparently, getting back to normal routines is a more challenging mental shift than I anticipated. I suspect many can relate, if we’re being honest.

It took a few more days to finally put my finger on it and then it struck me right at my core. I was telling my mom something about how easy it was for me to be in the Christmas spirit on stage despite the drab surroundings when out came the words: “Festivity is about the joy not the decorations.”

If that is the reason why God called me back on stage to be a part of A Christmas Carol and learn a lesson like that then it was all completely and utterly worth the anxiety attacks, illnesses, and stress of leaving my students early every day and in the hands of my capable albeit young high school assistants. Christmas is not about the kind of tree, how luminous the decorations, or how many gifts you buy. If I carry the joy of Christmas in my heart - the joy that Jesus came that we might have - then the middle of January can very well be the most festive time of the year.

George Bailey and Anxiety

“You see, George, you really had a wonderful life.”

My childhood was a happy one, overall, but if you got to sit down with Clarence at the top of the show in It’s A Wonderful Life and watch a movie of my life from start to where I am now, you might be surprised by the quantity of experiences of loved ones dying, friends being suicidal and trying to run away from home, grandparents’ health and safety and all the emotional tolls that that quietly took on me as a youngster and on my family both as individuals and as a whole.

All of this and more was difficult-at-best to process as I matured into a young adult. A large part of me wanted to cling to the familiar (the past) and not let go of loved ones now deceased. Still, the braver part of me - the part that I continue to listen to - beckons me further up and further in. Everyone has a past. But everyone also has a future, if they are brave enough to define themselves not by who they were but by the amazing person that those experiences formed them to be.

Yes, it’s hard to look in the mirror and wonder if I even know the person looking back at me. That’s one thing anxiety sometimes does. Those who knew me during my childhood would describe me as energetic, joyful, bubbly and creative. I look in the mirror and I miss that girl.

Oh, wait. That girl is still here. She’s still me. I’m just no longer in denial of the anxiety that I’ve suffered from for more than a decade. Now I acknowledge it. Dare I say, I even let myself feel it. Feeling it sucks but denying it is so much worse. So I allow myself to feel it; I breathe through it, listen to music, read books, use essential oils, pray and continue to live! It’s truly a wonderful life - George Bailey knew. I think so many of us can deeply relate to him and we don’t even know it. George didn’t know the difference he was making - and he never would have if it weren’t for his Christmas miracle. But so many of us don’t ever get to be George Bailey because many of us give in to all the voices inside telling us nothing but lies. You’re ugly. No one will ever love you. This is too much. I’m not good enough. I’m not loveable. Too much pressure. I can’t possibly live up to their expectations. I hate my job. I don’t feel safe at home. I’ll use just one more time, then I’ll quit. One more drink won’t hurt. No one sees me. The world would be better off without me. I can’t do this. 

Lies. All of them. But it’s so, so hard to believe that they are lies. It would seem much easier to give in. I challenge you to say those lies out loud, identify where they come from and reframe those thoughts by identifying them with a core belief that is true.

I am beautiful. I am strong. I am loveable. I am loved. I am confident. I am capable. I am a gift. God is greater than this anxiety. I am not my anxiety. I am free. I am joyful. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I am strong and I am brave. I am not defined by my clothing, my makeup, or the car that I drive. I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. The joy of the Lord is my strength. I will overcome this. I am stronger and braver than I know. 

Each one of these is a beautiful, freeing, strengthening truth. Do you believe it? Do you want to believe it?

When George reached that moment on the bridge as the story came back to real time, he finally understood. He had seen what would have become of the love of his life were it not for the love of her life. Potter had completely taken over the area because Peter Bailey died and he had no surviving sons. His younger brother, Harry - who we know went on to achieve great things and was awarded the Medal of Honor by the President - never saved all those people on the troop ship because he himself died as a child because George wasn’t there to save him. We typically can’t see how the mundane things - like saving your little brother when he fell through the ice - can make a huge difference in the world. Maybe you want to do something extraordinary with your life (like Harry), maybe you don’t (George never left Bedford Falls). Regardless, love well. Because at the end of your life I really don’t think you’ll care much about what GPA you maintained in college, what your first car was or even how successful you or your children were. I think you’ll wish you had spent more time loving your special someone. If you went broke at Christmastime because you bought gifts to love your family with then I bet you’ll be grateful that you have people in your life to buy gifts for.

As I begin this journey with Abundant Life, I confess that I’m scared. Writing about anxiety won’t be easy and I don’t want to pretend to know all the answers; my goal is merely to share my experiences and what I’ve learned from them. Comments are welcome and people might have their own opinions to share. There are certainly people out there who I hope will not find my blog and read my words but I’m determined to not let that fear prevent me from sharing. So, for better or worse, I’m taking a deep breath, telling myself to be brave and clicking publish. Here goes the next step in being brave!

Oh, and one more thing: to all the ‘Georges’ out there, remember - no man is a failure who has friends. (“Thanks for the wings! Love, Clarence”)

Cheers!

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“As I said the prayer in It’s a Wonderful Life, I felt the loneliness and hopelessness of people who had nowhere to turn, and my eyes filled with tears. I broke down sobbing. This was not planned at all, but the power of that prayer, the realization that our Father in heaven is there to help the hopeless had reduced me to tears.”

- Jimmy Stewart