One of my past jobs was working with high school kids that suffered from various disorders. For the most part, the kids I worked with were pretty highly functioning. They were able to attend mainstream classes, needing support time to time. I was their support, as much as I was their teacher’s support. While there were were challenging days, I loved every moment of it!
Several of “my kids” at school suffered from anxiety. I got to where I could see them begin to trigger, and usually could successfully step in to offer support. Sometimes we could head off a full blown event. Of course, not always being able to see the signs, there were times that I couldn’t do anything but help them come back to reality post anxiety set in. I’ve broken up fights caused by a reaction to anxiety, I’ve had to remove a student from a classroom who was punching a wall and the desks, I’ve walked around with students streaming tears in the middle of an event. With every anxiety attack I witnessed my heart went out to these kids. How awful it must be to have your mind play tricks on you…. to make you feel so confused or un-safe that you have a physical reaction.
I was lucky and earned the trust of most of my kids. They knew if I was asking them to leave a room, or to stop a behavior and redirect, I was doing it to help them. They opened up to me about a lot of things going on in their lives. Things that they didn’t have to share. They understood I wouldn’t betray their trust unless they or somebody else was in danger; then it was my responsibility to get help. They, for the most part, were looking for somebody they could trust. Somebody that would let them talk. Let them be teenagers without judgment. If I was the right person, I was honored to be there for them. If I wasn’t the right person, I always hoped they would find the right person.
I watched my students grow into young adults. I watched them graduate high school; even when they never thought they could. Sometimes they were the first in their family to do so. I have thought of them often since I left that position. Always hoping they have found a way to help others, found ways to manage their disabilities, found a passion and done well for themselves. I thought I had some concept of what they had to overcome, what they dealt with, what anxiety attacks were from the things I’d seen.
From the moment my world as I knew it shattered, I realized I knew nothing about anxiety or the struggle it causes. Absolutely NOTHING.
For weeks I would have debilitating anxiety. I would have a memory pop into my head, one that would have a double connotation post discovery. My mind would race with the possibilities of meaning. I wouldn’t be able to breathe, my ears would ring, I’d become physically ill and vomit, sometimes my eyesight would black out. Making me virtually blind with the worst of memories. Then would come the tears. Streaming, cascading tears that I couldn’t stop. This would happen several times a day. In the beginning as often as 15 times a day. I had no control over it. I was at the mercy of my mind. Trapped. Tortured.
I wished I could be home bound completely. Because I’m a mom, and life moves on with or without me, I had things I had to do. This meant if I was driving when I had a memory hit I knew I had to safely pull over before the vomiting stage. I had a few very close calls. I couldn’t be in a hurry when leaving the house. It, sometimes, took me more than twice the time to get somewhere. Very inconvenient when you spend majority of your life in a hurry.
I was beyond frustrated with these limitations. I was mad I couldn’t control it. I was mad this was happening to me. I was mad my mind wasn’t stronger. I was furious that my husband had allowed this to happen; had been the bad guy…. he was supposed to be a good guy. I was furious I had been manipulated and couldn’t have seen the red flags even if I’d wanted to.
Eventually, with enough therapy, these events started thinning out around week 10. Instead of multiple attacks a day, I was down to a couple every few days, then a few a week. With the progression of things I can now safely say, 7 months later, that I’ve been able to reduce the events down to being on a trigger only basis. I’ve also been able to reduce the number of triggers I have. While it is progress, it still sucks. At least today, I KNOW there is hope for thriving after the attack. I don’t feel like I’m drowning in despair any longer.
Through all of this I have often thought apologetically of my past students. Although I thought I understood- I did not understand your battle until now. I thank you all for continuing on, for your acceptance of my attempts to help you, my failed attempts to really understand. I know it doesn’t always seem like it, but we are all warriors. We just need to keep moving forward. Go do great things, and prove all of your anxieties wrong.
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