Panic Attacks and Faith

"Then he put his right hand on me and said, “Do not be afraid. I am the First and the Last." 

-Revelation 1:17b

It starts small. Like first changes in the waves hitting shore when there's a storm brewing in the distance. It's almost indiscernible at first. I find myself feeling a bit irritable for no apparent reason. A bit withdrawn. A bit impatient. It's easy to shrug it off as a bit of stress or a bad day.

But then the storm intensifies. The waves crest and crash with increasing violence. It becomes apparent that the storm is coming. And the fear sets in.

I've been through this storm before. And I don't want to go through it again.

But it's like running into the stormy seas and trying to hold back the frothing waves with brute strength alone. And it's never enough. The ocean of fear drives forward in its merciless march.

The first icy wave crashes over me and, as I sputter and choke at the initial shock, panic sets in. My lungs seem to shrink within me, unable to capture the air. My heart seems to take their place within my chest cavity, as it swells and strains against its cage-- its ticking beats become frantic and frenzied. I try desperately to regain my footing on the shifting sands beneath me. But I am kept off balance as wave after wave crashes over me, until I'm knocked down and swept out to sea. Helpless. Out of control. Drowning.

I withdraw to find a place to hide while I drown. I back myself into a tiny place. A dark place. A safe place. I find refuge in a closet. Or a bathroom stall. Or corner. I push my back against something solid and reach out for the walls around me.

 I close my eyes and I sob. I sputter. I gasp. I choke. The white-hot lightning of shame flashes across my mind, while the thunder of self-loathing shouts its derision in reply.

"I hate this person!"

"I don't want to be this person!"

"What a disgusting and pitiful creature you are!"

"You're weak and sniveling and incompetent!"

"How could anyone possibly love you? You're a mess!"

"You're a sad excuse for a mother/friend/wife/daughter/employee"

"You. Are. Disgusting."

"Disgusting!"

And I ride out the storm until the waves subside and leave me washed up on some familiar shore. I am left exhausted and broken. A shell. A corpse. But the relief of being left cold and numb on the ground is a welcome alternative to the unrelenting terror of the storm.

And so I lay there.

I teach myself to breathe again. I resuscitate my broken body and help my heart regain its rhythm.

I put all the broken pieces back together and hope no one sees the cracks as I return to the world and try to pretend to be whole again.


...and this is often where I think this story ends. In those dark moments I feel alone and worthless and hopeless. But the truth is, I am not alone. It is in these times my God carries me. It is in these times I am brought to prayer. It is in these times that I rely on the Father God who loves me so very much. And I realize that it's up to Him to mend those fractures in my heart and mind. I might think I'm feebly gathering the broken pieces of myself together, but it is He who holds me in His hands. It is He who not only holds me together, but continues the work of healing and repairing and renewing and redeeming-- sealing those cracks and making them disappear.

It is He who carries all the stormy seas in a teacup and has complete control over the tempest in my mind. And, as often as I have begged Him to speak "Peace, be still!" to my anxiety--to bring an instant and miraculous halt to the spiraling of my mind-- I know that He is still in control even when my circumstances don't make me feel that way.

I am loved by God. I am His. He is mine. He is in control.