Panic Attack or Lotus Moment?
The other night I had an anxiety attack, in public, during a reading amidst a group of fellow writers. It caught me by complete surprise. It wasn’t the first time I’ve experienced anxiety like that, but it was the first time in many long years.
I wasn’t able to finish reading the piece I had written. I choked up, lost my voice, couldn’t breathe.
Our gracious facilitator gallantly stepped in and offered to read the rest for me, while I tried to calm my pounding heart and breathe.
As the “attack” continued, I grabbed a pen and jotted down a few mantras. I’ve been a novice Buddhist for years, learning from various books and inspired by fellow bloggers Thomma Lyn Grindstaff, Ilona Fried & the Rouge Buddha, as well as sites like Audio Dharma. During my attack, I quickly jotted down whatever mantras came to mind. It began to work, to slow my hammering heart. I was able to center myself just enough to fight the urge to flee… or faint…
Still, as soon as the evening ended, I rushed out the door– gracelessly, I might add, as I could not get the door open (!) and more or less tripped over the threshold. I heard voices behind me, “Oops. Careful there. You okay?” Geez, I thought. Will the humiliation ever end?
WTF was wrong with me, I wondered on the drive home. I considered myself an experienced writer, believed in the piece I had written and, moreover, thought I was well beyond the days of “panic attacks.” Only after I got home and settled into a meditation did I realize the problem was not in the experience, but in the label: panic attack.
Lotus Nelumbo, by Derek Ramsey
I don’t know who came up with this term (panic attack), and quite frankly I don’t care. Like so much of our language, it demonizes an uncomfortable experience, by implying that the body is the enemy, “attacking” us like some kind of terrorist. For the past 2 years, I’ve been doing regular workouts and daily meditations. If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that my body is not a terrorist. If it had a message to give me in that very uncomfortable moment, perhaps I ought to listen, respect and welcome it.
As I considered the piece I’d been reading when the discomfort came, I realized it was about grief. I had written about someone I lost many years ago, someone I LOVED immensely. The grief washed over me as I read, and it was so powerful I lost my voice. Nothing wrong with that. In fact, to grieve so deeply is a gift, an honored remembrance of Love, which is awfully hard to come by in this world (in my opinion). To have experienced it at all… is a beautiful thing.
And if I broke down in public? So what! If I choked up, lost my voice, turned 800 shades of red, so be it. We are conditioned to be ashamed of our vulnerabilities, and maybe that’s why we demonize so-called “weak” emotional states. But if you want my opinion, I think it takes more courage to embrace them. They may be murky and muddy, but hey. No mud, no lotus!
In fact, that’s what I decided to rename the experience: A Lotus Moment. Not a panic attack. Not my body attacking me, but remembering LOVE. A Lotus Moment.
The Second Gift: The first gift was the opportunity to find compassion for myself. But a second gift came when a fellow writer and dear friend emailed me with such wonderful, compassionate words that I cried (again). Whatever embarrassment I was holding on to evaporated. And my heart opened even more… So not only was it a Lotus Moment, but it was an opportunity to experience loving kindness from another. Pretty Freaking Awesome, eh?
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“Our sorrows and wounds are healed only when we touch them with compassion.” -Buddha
What a beautiful, poignant post, Ms. Lotus Goddess! Or shall I call you Ms. Lotus Warrior Goddess?! I don’t think you are a novice Buddhist anymore. Thanks for the reminder that our bodies and emotions are not terrorists or enemies.
Thanks Ilona! I love “Lotus Warrior.” Here’s to all Lotus Warriors!
Don’t worry about it, most people aren’t going to remember. I have anxiety when I’m doing something in public (which yours sounded more like a panic attack, which is unexpected as opposed to anxiety, which in my case, I anticipate it). When I feel my heart rate increasing, and my breath being taken, I start calming myself down and taking control of my breaths, then most times can get through it.
Hi Jacque! Thanks for reading, and for your kind thoughts on this subject. Sometimes it’s good to know we’re not alone in these experiences.
I much prefer the Lotus Moment over panic attack. Given that over the past few weeks I have experienced numerous Lotus Moments your comments have helped me gain a new perspective. I admire the courage it takes to be so open and honest about this situation. I am not so sure I could have been as open.
Thank you for sharing this with all of us that follow you.
Thanks, Jay! Your comment means a lot to me and is much appreciated. I will steal Ilona’s phrase and call you a Lotus Warrior.
What a wise and marvelous post. I love “Lotus Moment.” It’s such a great phrase, because it can apply to so many challenging moments in our lives. Indeed, “no mud, no lotus.” Many years ago, I had an experience much like the one you describe, only the person I was performing with became very ashamed of my freeze up, decided it reflected poorly on her, and pretty much shoved me offstage. My humiliation was so complete that I told myself I’d never try to speak or sing in public again.
Except that the long ago mud somehow helped grow a lotus. I’m speaking in front of people again, and before too long, I’ll be singing. I never would have thought, all those years ago, I would let myself try those things again — I let “panic attack” and “humiliation” define an experience that was actually much more than that. Yes, it was difficult; it was an intense experience of vulnerability. Yet I’ve also learned that when I open to these difficult experiences, I can learn from them and let go of labels that limit and constrict. It’s all a work in progress, for sure.
I also relate to what you wrote about grief. My family and I lost a dear loved one a year and a half ago, and there are still so many times I think about what he would say or what he would do in the situations that come up in everyday life. His presence and words and smiling face are much missed, and the tears still come, even while I celebrate the love shared and the good times we had together.
So cool about the email from your friend — Lotus Moment and lovingkindndess, what a marvelous duo.
Hi Thomma Lyn!
Thanks so much for sharing your own ‘Lotus Moment’. Oh, my… I’m so glad you didn’t let labels define the experience. I know from your interview on blog radio that you’re a terrific speaker!! I didn’t know you sang, as well. That’s wonderful! I look forward to hearing it. And I couldn’t agree with you more. When we open up to difficult experiences, we can see they’re so much more than what lables imply.
Sorry for the loss of your loved one… I happen to believe that whether we cry or laugh, it’s a form of honoring the love we shared with that person. Thank you for relating to my post in so many ways.
You are a continual inspiration.