I was fourteen the first time I felt it. It was August of my freshman year in high school; I’d spent the summer before dominating in park-league softball, taking a cruise to Alaska with my Mom, and traveling on a Mission Trip to Michigan with my Church youth group. When school started, I instantly became involved in FFA, took a nose-to-the-grind approach to my Honors level courses, and even lined up a date for the Football Homecoming Dance. On the surface, my life seemed incredibly normal and incredibly fortunate.
Somewhere in the mix of transition, I began experiencing severe abdominal pain – on and off – over the course of several weeks, and in a “blind” effort to remedy the situation, my doctor ordered an appendectomy. (Fun fact: my appendix turned out to be perfectly healthy, after all, but the procedure DID unveil the problem. I digress…) Post appendectomy, I was placed on “home-bound” schooling for a few weeks in order to heal, and that’s when things got interesting.
Once I was well enough to manage taking care of my basic needs, I would stay home alone during the days while my parents were at work. At first, I only noticed small changes in my behavior. Thinking that I was simply healing from the surgery, I felt fatigued ALL THE TIME, so I spent tons of time laying around or sleeping. I began withdrawing from friends, but when they didn’t approach me or “check on” me, I felt betrayed and allowed myself to think I had no one to rely on. The kicker came when one morning my Mom left for work and I found myself on the couch, watching TV, eating breakfast… ALONE.
Something about that realization instantly sent me into a state I’d never before experienced. My chest drew tight, my hands shook, I couldn’t stop crying and it was physically taxing to breathe. It was impossible for me to think rationally about anything. Scared out of my mind, I wanted someone there with me, instantly! I needed someone to assure me that, in that moment, I had no responsibility. I desperately wanted comfort! Later I learned that I was experiencing a PANIC Attack.
They certainly aren’t any fun, but panic attacks are a reality that I’ve dealt with ever since. When I get to a point of intense stress, when I sense and dread impending change, when I feel or fear that I soon will be alone, or when I anticipate the loss of something or someone important to me, those are my triggers. Not at all surprising, then, that month three of The World Race would bring forward this old nemesis.
It’s one thing to experience a panic attack around my family or close friends, at home. By now, they pretty much know the drill. They’re prepared for the inopportune tears, the talking me down from whatever outrageous notions my mind dreams up, the possibility that I’ll say something I don’t really mean and the few days lapse of “the real Ashlee” that is sometimes required before I’m “back to normal.” It’s a whole new ballgame experiencing one with people I’ve only really known for a few months.
I’ve spent those few months building up a “tough” image (in my mind) of myself. I’m the one who is supposed to handle others’ problems, who is supposed to listen when other people need to talk, who for whatever reason doesn’t cry or outwardly express deep emotion and who genuinely wants to shoulder burdens as an expression of my love and devotion for others. Perhaps it seems easily evident, to you, that God would use my panic attacks as a means of teaching me to rely on Him, and to trust the people that He has placed around me.
For the record, I’ve cried. In fact, I’ve cried, a lot. (Three months is a LONG dry spell, so I was overdue!) I’ve panicked over feeling like my team would change. I’ve panicked over an irrational fear of sleeping alone in my tent. I’ve panicked over feeling as if I’m not working hard enough to please others, and I’ve panicked over what life is going to look like AFTER The World Race.
Ahh, but there are roots. God is not a God of chaos, but of order, and as we are made in His image, neither are we chaotic. We don’t “just” feel (or panic over) anything. In providing me with a team (and surrogate team of Jehovah Nissi) who have loving walked beside me and helped me talk through what I’ve been feeling, He has revealed where many of my panic attack triggers actually stem from.
1. Panicking over a team change is rooted in fear that the friendships I’ve developed with these women over the past three months are merely surface level and won’t continue once we aren’t “forced” to live with one another 24/7.
2. Panicking over sleeping alone is rooted in fear that I will ultimately spend life by myself and that people won’t genuinely care enough about me to see that I’m loved.
3. Panicking over not working hard enough stems from fear that if I don’t earn, gain and maintain value in others’ eyes, they will leave and cease our relationship.
4. Panicking over life AFTER The World Race stems from fear of not being in control.
I’ve heard it said that no matter what attacks us – sickness, adversaries, panic attacks, life in general – there are only three possible outcomes for those who are in Christ.
A) He heals you from it.
B) He walks with you through it.
C) He takes you home to be with Him.
After much prayer and quiet time with the Lord, it’s evident to me that in this case, I fall under category B. God is using my panic attacks to teach me to fully rely on Him, recognizing that I am NEVER alone as He is always holding me (literally, laying in my tent by myself one morning, praying that ANYONE would just come hold me, it dawned on me that God had been holding me the entire time!) Likewise, He’s teaching me to trust the people in my life; I’ve been surrounded with Christian friends and family who pass no judgment and love me despite how crazy I sometimes feel. They even assure me that I AM NOT CRAZY! So this won’t be a quick fix, and through it, I have so much to learn.
Panic – Part Three still to come…
Be Blessed,
Ashlee
