I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but…

She came. She sat down. She pressed her shallow breath out in short, uneven bursts. Her hands shook - almost unnoticeably unless you were looking for it. She glanced at my eyes when I greeted her but quickly looked away when she spoke: down, to the side, as if she wanted connection but could not yet trust she would find it.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me… but I can’t keep living like this.

I leaned in, longing to hear more about whatever it was that stirred in her so painfully. She hesitated… but then slowly began to speak. 

Her first panic attack.

She was surprised by her body; no words for what was happening. Sure she’d always felt a little nervous, a little insecure, a little icky when she had to speak up in a group or make a phone call. But this was different. And scary. And all she knew was that she had to run.

And so she did. She ran and hid and cried and trembled and felt the rise of terror flood up through her body from deep within her belly. She had no idea why, where it came from, what was happening; only that it was awful and terrifying and horror-filled and she hoped it would never happen again.

And then it did. Once. Twice. Three times. And again.

She told me of the thoughts that chased her: 

You’ll never be safe. 

You’ll never be loved. 

It’s just a matter of time. 

Time until what? She didn’t know. 

She felt chased by this unknown something that would send fear rippling up her spine in the middle of the day and wake her suddenly in the night. And so she kept running.

She ran fast: toward accomplishment, to-do lists, self-help seminars, the gym, relationships, going, going, going... always hoping that she would be able to outrun the thing that chased her. 

And she hid: behind her accomplishments, her children, her lovely face and designer clothes. But always, the sense of danger was there.

What’s wrong with me? 

Her eyes lock with mine and I know she is asking me if I can do it: Can I help her find a way to stop running and feel safe? Do I have something to offer that she can’t find in self-help books, meditation, yoga or faith? Can I help her find freedom?

I believe I can help you. 

I am not a miracle-worker. I’m simply a therapist who has her own trauma story; who has seen a multitude of counselors myself; who has tried a thousand things that helped a little or didn’t help at all until I finally found a therapist who specialized in trauma. Then I finally started to really heal.

If this story or this desire to heal resonates with you I encourage you to get help. Find someone who understands trauma and how to work with it. You do not have to live like this.  

This is a fictitious account. A compilation of stories and symptoms. It is a story that could easily be found in my clientele but is not a specific story or person. Any resemblance to a real individual is coincidental.

Anxiety and Trauma

What is trauma? Simply put, trauma is anything that is TOO MUCH for a person to move through adaptively. It is a past experience that is stuck in the body and mind, filed away with the original thoughts, feelings and sensations and, when brought up, causes incredibly distress for the person. The trauma is technically in the past, but it lives on in the present and the individual cannot seem to get free of its impact.

Anxiety is often a symptom of trauma. Whether or not an individual can identify a specific traumatic memory or a series of memories contributing to their anxiety, it is usually connected to an earlier trauma and is, in its own way, a traumatic experience itself. Trauma-informed therapy can help someone move from feeling chased by the dangerous something to feeling at peace in their own body. It can. I know. Because it happened for me.