How I Healed Debilitating Panic Attacks without Drugs-Part 1

Photo credit: Iko Studio

This story may trigger some readers as it contains my experience with panic attacks. If you feel a trigger coming on, please take a break and come back when you’re ready or just skip my story and go directly to part 2 where I share what I did to help heal me from panic attacks. — Peace be with you

You may want to save this story to reference in case of an anxiety of panic attack as it contains some helpful resources below. 

. . .
I used to have the worst panic attacks. I’m talking my panic attacks were so bad that even lying in the safety of my warm comfy bed, at times, felt like a terrifying free-fall into an abyss. If you’ve ever had a panic attack, you know what I mean.

They came on suddenly not long after my father passed away and shortly after leaving a very stressful job working in the marketing department for a huge music festival in the Midwest. I was feeling under the weather and went to the doctor. My regular doctor had been on vacation, so I saw one of the other doctors in the medical group. When I told him my father had passed away and I was feeling depressed, he prescribed anti-depressants. I was reluctant to take them. I’m not one for taking a lot of medication, but I thought it might help to take the edge off the 8-ton weight of grief I was feeling. Within a few weeks, I started having pretty bad anxiety that led to full-blown panic attacks.

The worst experience was when I was with my husband (at the time). We stopped at a restaurant on the way to the family cabin in Northern Wisconsin. Just as we were finishing dinner, I felt a massive panic attack coming on. I looked at him with tears in my eyes and said, “I have to get out of here.” He knew what the look meant and said, “Okay, let me pay the check, and we’ll leave.” I said, panicking, “I have to go now.” He said, “Hang on, just one more sec, and we’ll be out of here.” I sat there with all my might trying to hang on as much as I could. Feeling like I was about to lose it. All I knew was I had to get out there. He signed the bill. As he grabbed his coat, I ran out of the restaurant and into the blast of freezing cold air outside. I ran over to the car parked on the street outside of the restaurant. He opened the car door for me. I jumped inside and settled into the seat. Seeing my breath in the icy cold air. My husband made his way to the driver’s side, opened the door and climbed in. He asked, “How are you doing?” “So-so,” I said. “I feel better just being out of the restaurant, but still feeling the residual of the attack.” I rested my head against the window as he pulled away from the curb. Tears rolled down my face. It felt safe to let go and cry now. 

Part of the irrational fear of a panic attack, at least for me, was a sense of going out of control in public. When someone experiences a panic attack, it’s like a malfunction of the mind and body reacting as if you are in a dangerous situation. Only you’re doing something normal like sitting quietly in a restaurant eating dinner or lying safely in the comfort of your home. And the mind tells the body to release enough adrenaline to get you out of this dangerous situation as if you’re escaping a fire. 

When we got to the cabin, I put on my PJs and crawled into bed and wound up sleeping for two days. Only waking up to use the bathroom. When I finally got out of bed, I decided I would not take any more of those anti-depressants. They were making me feel worse. Grief sucks, but panic attacks were terrifying.

Although, I stopped taking the meds, the panic attacks didn’t stop. When we returned home, I started having a deep fear that I would have another severe attack in public like I did at the restaurant. I felt safer at home even though the panic attacks continued there. At home, I was able to lose control and free fall. Still one of the scariest feelings I’ve ever experienced to this day. In my mind, the sensation was like falling into darkness, as if I jumped out of a plane into a black hole without a parachute.

A few months later, it was Spring. My husband asked if I could take his suits to the dry cleaners. “Only if you can do it. If you can’t, don’t worry about it. I’ll do it over the weekend.” I told him I would take care of all the household chores while I was still in between jobs. Still not knowing how I would manage having a job or even an interview if these attacks still persisted. And even though my husband and I fought about many things, he was surprisingly very empathetic when it came to my panic attacks. I wanted to do this for him.

He knew I had been practicing standing outside on our front porch. I know, as crazy as that may sound. Who has trouble standing on their front porch? Me, I did. You might as well be telling me to go bungee off a cliff. Every day I would go outside and try to go a little further. First standing on our doormat, then on the front porch. Eventually, making my way to our front lawn by the end of the week. It was a big deal for me back then. I was making good progress. I guess he wanted to challenge me to see if I was ready to go to the dry cleaners. Although I was having success, I hadn’t made it to the driveway yet. My car had been sitting in our garage since February, since the first attack that landed me in the ER. Like so many panic attack sufferers, I thought I was having a heart attack and dying.

While I was scared to go all the way to the dry cleaners, I wanted to at least try to see if I could do it. I went upstairs and started getting dressed, giving myself a pep talk, “You can do this. We used to go to the dry cleaners all the time.” I went to my closet and grabbed my shoes, then went into the spare room where my husband kept his laundry and grabbed his dry cleaning. I headed back downstairs and sat on the chair closest to the front door for a moment to brace myself for a moment. Then walked over to the front door. I stood at the front door, took a deep breath, and reached for the doorknob. I felt my heart racing faster. I slowly opened the door and stepped outside. It was such a gorgeous spring day. We lived on such a pretty street. Usually, a beautiful sunny day like this day would bring me so much joy, but I couldn’t feel it. All I could feel was my heart pounding in my chest. I looked over and saw my car in the driveway. He must have pulled it out for my big adventure. I locked the door and gingerly made my way over to my car. 

I thought once I got in my car, I would feel safe. But when I got there, my heart was pounding faster. I sat there for a few moments, still telling myself, “You can do this.” Trembling, I put the key in the ignition and pulled the car out of the driveway. I made a left turn at the end of my block onto a small overpass that went over the creek that ran along the parkway in my neighborhood. 

I stopped on the bridge. I couldn’t go any further. I started hyperventilating. “Damn!” I said, bursting into tears, “What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I even take my husband’s shirts to the frigging dry cleaners?” Finally admitting defeat. I turned the car around, drove the half block I had driven, pulled back into the driveway, and ran back into the house. Once inside, my cat Anabelle greeted me at the door like “What are you doing back so soon?” I scooped her up and curled up with her on the couch, trying to calm myself down. I felt like the biggest failure and fell asleep with Anabelle in my arms.

A few hours later, I woke up, and the attack had subsided. I laid there for a little bit and decided to call my oldest sister Marjorie to tell her what was going on. She had always been one of my biggest cheerleaders, and she had no idea what was happening. I say “had been one of my biggest cheerleaders” because she would go on to pass away from a diabetic stroke two years after this call.

I confessed to her about my agoraphobia, to which she responded, “How can that be? What happened to the New York City party girl that used to love bouncing around all over the city with her friends?” Well, I wasn’t in my 20s anymore, and I’ve been married for ten years. I thought to myself.

After we hung up, I had enough of myself. She was right. What happened to the girl that used to love going out and loved life? My mantra became, “Damned if this is going to be my life now.” As Eat, Pray, Love author Elizabeth Gilbert said, “I’ve never seen any life transformation that didn’t begin with the person in question finally getting tired of their own bullshit.” I was so sick of mine.

It didn’t happen overnight. It took time. It took baby steps. But I worked my way through it. Today, I am happy to report it’s all behind me. It’s now something that happened in another life. I am living a completely normal life once again. Every once in a rare while, a panic attack may occur, but I know how to handle it and work my way through it. My panic attacks no longer control me or my life anymore. Thank you for reading part 1. In part 2, I will share how I did it, and maybe it can work for you too. Once part 2 is released, I will link here.

. . .

Kat OM is a resilience mindset coach based in New York City. Her signature program, Mindful Resilience, provides 21 tools and lessons to help keep you emotionally resilient through life. She is also the author of Resilient Love: Turn Your Wounds into Your Wings. You can also find Kat OM at: KatOMLife.com | IG: kat.om.transform.your.life | FB: katOM30