The first time I remember having a panic attack was in the first grade. Of course, I didn’t know it was a panic attack. It was just an overwhelming sense of fear that washed over me. Almost crippling, largely adrenal, but definitely a feeling of panic. It was a snowy winter in Ohio in the late 1970s, and we were outside for recess. There were large piles of snow around the school playground and a long strip of unplowed snow running on a grassy divider between an access road and the main school blacktop playground. Someone had dug a massive hole in the snow, massive at least by the standards of a 7-year-old. In my 7-year-old wisdom, I decided to make a bridge of my body and lay down facing into the hole with my arms stretching to one side and my thighs stretching to the other. I had just bridged the gap when gravity started to kick in. As gravity pulled my hips towards the ground I realized my arms were locked and would not bend. Additionally, because I was bracing against my thighs instead of my calves, my knees could not bend to release me. I felt gravity pulling down on my hips and pelvis as my spine started to compress uncomfortably. I began to panic.

I called out to my teacher “Help, I’m stuck, help me.”

Her callous response was “You’re fine, get up.”

I felt betrayal in my core. How could she dismiss me? She was my school mom! How cruel! I was not fine. I was stuck! my spine was going to snap. This would be a life altering moment. I was just milliseconds away from my tendons giving out and collapsing in a useless heap in the bottom of this icy hole. Once there they may as well cover me up with the snow. I was done for.

I gave one last effort to free myself prior to the inevitable black out. I struggled to unlock my shoulders.

One shoulder released and I was able to put my hand down into the hole, then shimmy my other shoulder free.

Released from an almost certain icy death, I took inventory of the damages. Huh… I was fine. The teacher was right. As I run off to make snowballs.

Only looking back can I label that feeling, that experience. That utter helplessness that comes with a panic attack. The speed with which my brain operates had suddenly turned against me. Instead of using my speed for witty banter and smart mouth behavior my mind had turned against me. In my moment of crisis, my mind had raced down a path of fear and panic. It had concocted a story of my ultimate demise.

It would not be the last time. But it is the first time I can go back in my memory and resolve a panic attack. Where I can see the thoughts in my head over-riding the condition of my body and the situation in the world around me.

Still, it has taken almost 40 years and many similar experiences to be able to go back and label the experience.

Does identifying an experience with a label actually help resolve the experience? Does understanding the bigger picture and context of that moment actually help make the moment be okay? I would argue, that to some degree, yes, it does.

There will always be the emotional experience. There will always be the memory. I can recall the look and feel of that specific moment, to this day. I can almost feel the compression in my spine as I retell the story.

I also feel a lot more compassion for the teacher. At the time I truly felt betrayal. I actually believed that she was dishonoring her care agreement for me. The she was abandoning me to the whim of the world. But looking back, and acknowledging that I turned out to be quite fine, I must admit, the teacher was right. I was going to be fine. And I did end up getting up.

It also gives me an astonishing context. How many other moments, where I was sure my very survival was on the line, were in fact examples of my brains abilities to exaggerate?

My brain is a powerful tool. My brain is quick. My brain has an amazing ability to focus. When my brain focuses on a negative story and quickly iterates the possible outcomes, my power is turned against me. I have two options. I can marvel at the ability of my brain to spin this tale, observing it with wonder. Or, I can lose myself in the story my mind is telling me, believing that is actually what is and will happen.

It’s only a story. Sure it’s based on real events. Much like a docudrama with dramatic music overlayed to heighten moments of tension. The story in my head was based on true events, but the details have been changed to keep the attention of the viewer.

I am going to be okay. I am loved. I am the hero of my story. It’s always darkest just before the hero triumphs.

This is true for you too. It’s going to be okay. You are loved. You are a hero.

Namaste,

Kevin

I think part of the reason it’s fun to be a parent is that you get to watch your own experiences mirrored back to you from a different perspective.

Just the other day my 2 1/2 year old was trying to pull up the zipper on his coat. I heard gentle crying and I went to see what the problem was.

There he was with his zipper just connected at the bottom. He practically had tears in his eyes as he said, “This is hard.”

I’ve seen him successful zip up before, and he even gets kind of cranky when I intervene, so I became the observer without saying anything, just kindly watching.

The crying began to get louder as his frustration grew, but he kept trying.

“I can’t do it,” escaped his lips as he began to scream.

But he kept trying, and crying. Frustrated, but working the problem.

The zipper starts to stutteringly move up the coat.

Relief and joy replaces frustration and struggle.

“I can do it,” he states energetically.

Closing triumphantly with “I got it, this is easy.”

This whole interaction took a matter of a few seconds. But it had a big impact on me. My son moved on and has probably forgotten the whole affair, apart from some improved muscle memory from the action. But I keep thinking about observing that and what it means to me.

The compression of the incident was enlightening. When I have struggles in my life, as an adult, they take weeks, months or even years to go through all these phases.

This is hard. I can’t do it. I can do it. That was easy.

It’s easy to forget, during the length of the struggle that this will end. You will figure out the solution.

Seeing this daily reminder of struggle to success is a sweet way to encourage me to keep going. Yes, the zipper feels stuck right now, but in moments it will break free and I will experience success.

Everything children experience is fleeting. They are learning so fast. Each milestone is followed by another and another. Each success followed by another seemingly insurmountable struggle, then met with success. It is astounding when you consider the things that we learn in the first few years of life that are so hard and challenging and after all the time spent struggling to get it, all the effort put into it, you forget about it. Kind of ironic.

We don’t get a placard for our wall stating we have successfully learned to walk, or pull up a zipper, or tie our shoes. These major accomplishments are forgotten. If you had a trophy room, and the desire, you could print out a certificate of completion for so many major life skills. You could wallpaper the entire room with the skill certifications you have mastered.

It’s easy to forget all your accomplishments and just focus on what you haven’t done yet. Remember that you have done a lot.

You have succeeded in the past, odds are you will succeed in the future.

Namaste,

Kevin