I started this blog in 2011, as a means to work through some of the issues that were affecting me at the time – I had been signed off work with stress, and I was trying to find an outlet for the thoughts and emotions I was going through at the time. I wanted to challenge myself in a physical way, and write about the impact walking had on my well-being. I did this for a time. I then became quite self-conscious about what I was writing, too aware of who might be reading it, too concerned about what people might think (or say) and, ironically, too anxious to write about my anxiety. I started to censor myself, writing solely about the walking side of things, and not about my struggles with anxiety and low self-esteem. Very occasionally I make reference to these feelings when writing about a walk, but it's all too rare now.
I almost feel like a bit of a fraud. Am I trying to portray an outward image of everything being rosy and fine? Am I trying to kid myself on?
When I was younger I thought that when I hit my thirties, I'd be married, happy, and anxiety-free. I'd have my sh*t sorted, my life together. I'd not care what anyone thought of me, and I'd glide from one thing to the next smiling, laughing and care-free. Of course this is not a realistic picture at all, and I bet nobody lives their life this way. Everyone has their issues, although some may be better at dealing with them – inwardly or outwardly – than others.
But what I hadn't realised until now is that I was putting an immense pressure on myself to feel "better", to feel sorted and secure. And the more that eludes me, the more worried and anxious I feel. It's a vicious circle, and I’m trapped in it.
And I'm not being honest about it either. I'm no longer writing about it, and I'm barely speaking about it to those around me.
But I've had a couple of recent eye-openers that have forced me to confront the things I am struggling with. And these have come in the form of panic attacks.
I'm fairly sure I have suffered these prior to 2016, but I haven't perhaps been aware of what it was, or been able to say "that was a panic attack". Last year I had two very distinct experiences that I know were panic attacks, and they really scared me.
On the first occasion, I had been at a shop picking up bits for the wedding. It was a hot muggy day, I had a sore stomach and I was already feeling quite overwhelmed. So I got everything I needed to quite quickly, and hurried back to the car, where Tig was waiting. When I got there, I realised the car had rolled forward a couple of metres, out of the parking space and half sitting on the road around the car park. I couldn't comprehend what had happened; of course the logical explanation was that I hadn't put the handbrake on firmly enough (hasn't happened before or since) but logic, in a panicked state of mind, failed me. I was convinced someone had tried to steal Tig. Thankfully – of course – she was still there, nonplussed about her short journey. I quickly drove away, embarrassed and fearful.
I had been planning on going for a walk in the Pentlands but I was so hot, sweaty and stressed that I decided it would be best to head home. Whilst on the A68 I found myself convinced that Tig was too hot and had died in the back of the car – calling her name brought no response. I started to hyperventilate, and I could feel sweat running down my back. Oh, and I was going 60+mph. The intensity of the situation overwhelmed me and I couldn't breathe properly or stop crying. So sure I was in danger, I decided to stop at Crichton Castle, a short detour from my intended route home.
Once I got out the car to walk to the castle, with Tig who was – of course – absolutely fine, I started to breathe normally and felt myself relax. I was exhausted though. I phoned Dave and told him all about it. I was so shocked at the violent physical and emotional reaction I had felt to a set of circumstances that seemed beyond my control.
I was tired but fine. Unfortunately the next day brought another wave of panic. This time I was walking Tig in Stow, again on a muggy day (perhaps atmospheric changes contribute to my feelings of being out of control and breathless?), a thunderstorm threatening. On the way out of Stow I passed a couple I had never seen before, walking very quickly the other way, like they were on a mission. I said hello to them, as we do in this part of the world, and they blanked me. This is pretty unusual in the Borders, and whilst I wouldn't normally worry about such a thing, I was concerned about where the two people were heading. I became convinced they were heading to my house to break in – the logic being that they knew I was out with the dog (the fact they didn't know where I lived was the logic that escaped me). I persevered with the dog walk, a couple of miles, all the while sweating, hyperventilating, crying and panicking. I felt so low.
When I got home – to a house that had not been burgled – the thunderstorm broke and I instantly felt better. Hailstones pelted me from above and I felt so relieved.
It's odd to write about these two occasions because I'm sure they sound quite daft to anyone reading them. But I can't describe how real and visceral the fear and panic felt. Anyone who has experienced a similar thing will no doubt relate.
I chalked these two incidents down to being over-tired and over-stressed, with a wedding to plan and too many things rattling around my head. In the run up to the wedding in October I was generally fine, over-tired and stressed out yes, but I didn't experience panic like this, thankfully.
The post-wedding period has been a very low time for me. I plan to write more about the post-wedding blues at some point – thankfully there are other brides out there who have also blogged about this, reassuring me I'm not alone in what I've experienced. The pressure you – and society – puts on you that you should be the happiest you've ever been because you're a newlywed is quite overwhelming. I've found a way through it, and I've found solace in walking once more.
Since returning to my seasonal employment recently, I have suffered a couple of minor panic attacks. One last week as I convinced myself a man walking a couple of hundred yards behind me was following me into the woods with Tig with bad intent. I cut short the woodland walk and took Tig elsewhere. I found myself struggling to breath properly and I had to sit down. Tig sat with me until I felt okay to walk on.
I've found that Tig does seem to sense a change in my feelings and she is very good at staying with me until it has passed.
This, and a combination of sitting, resting, grounding myself and trying to breathe properly, all help in recovering from these intense moments.
It has seemed easy for me to ignore these panic attacks, to find excuses and to not admit to myself or others that I am struggling to get my head around things. I have written this blog post primarily for myself – to be honest with myself and to be honest to the intentions I started with when I set up this blog. Thankfully the stigmas around mental health are breaking down all the time, and people feel far more able to talk openly about what they are going through. This should encourage me to talk/write more about this side of my life – a side I have opted not to write or talk about for some time.
For me, anxiety, low self-esteem and even a mild-depression, feel like a dark cloud hanging over me. Some days are dark, some days are sunny. On sunny days I can't fathom why the other days aren't like this. On dark days it feels like the sun will never come back. Dark days manifest themselves in many ways, but they make me feel tired, exhausted, unmotivated, unable to see any good, negative, grumpy, emotional, angry, confused, hurt, self-absorbed, selfish, frustrated - sometimes all of these things at once!
In my pursuit of sunny days and clear views on Munros or other walks, I endeavour to seek sunnier days in my head too.
I almost feel like a bit of a fraud. Am I trying to portray an outward image of everything being rosy and fine? Am I trying to kid myself on?
When I was younger I thought that when I hit my thirties, I'd be married, happy, and anxiety-free. I'd have my sh*t sorted, my life together. I'd not care what anyone thought of me, and I'd glide from one thing to the next smiling, laughing and care-free. Of course this is not a realistic picture at all, and I bet nobody lives their life this way. Everyone has their issues, although some may be better at dealing with them – inwardly or outwardly – than others.
But what I hadn't realised until now is that I was putting an immense pressure on myself to feel "better", to feel sorted and secure. And the more that eludes me, the more worried and anxious I feel. It's a vicious circle, and I’m trapped in it.
And I'm not being honest about it either. I'm no longer writing about it, and I'm barely speaking about it to those around me.
But I've had a couple of recent eye-openers that have forced me to confront the things I am struggling with. And these have come in the form of panic attacks.
I'm fairly sure I have suffered these prior to 2016, but I haven't perhaps been aware of what it was, or been able to say "that was a panic attack". Last year I had two very distinct experiences that I know were panic attacks, and they really scared me.
On the first occasion, I had been at a shop picking up bits for the wedding. It was a hot muggy day, I had a sore stomach and I was already feeling quite overwhelmed. So I got everything I needed to quite quickly, and hurried back to the car, where Tig was waiting. When I got there, I realised the car had rolled forward a couple of metres, out of the parking space and half sitting on the road around the car park. I couldn't comprehend what had happened; of course the logical explanation was that I hadn't put the handbrake on firmly enough (hasn't happened before or since) but logic, in a panicked state of mind, failed me. I was convinced someone had tried to steal Tig. Thankfully – of course – she was still there, nonplussed about her short journey. I quickly drove away, embarrassed and fearful.
I had been planning on going for a walk in the Pentlands but I was so hot, sweaty and stressed that I decided it would be best to head home. Whilst on the A68 I found myself convinced that Tig was too hot and had died in the back of the car – calling her name brought no response. I started to hyperventilate, and I could feel sweat running down my back. Oh, and I was going 60+mph. The intensity of the situation overwhelmed me and I couldn't breathe properly or stop crying. So sure I was in danger, I decided to stop at Crichton Castle, a short detour from my intended route home.
Once I got out the car to walk to the castle, with Tig who was – of course – absolutely fine, I started to breathe normally and felt myself relax. I was exhausted though. I phoned Dave and told him all about it. I was so shocked at the violent physical and emotional reaction I had felt to a set of circumstances that seemed beyond my control.
 |
| Seeking solace at Crichton Castle |
 |
| Calm again! |
I was tired but fine. Unfortunately the next day brought another wave of panic. This time I was walking Tig in Stow, again on a muggy day (perhaps atmospheric changes contribute to my feelings of being out of control and breathless?), a thunderstorm threatening. On the way out of Stow I passed a couple I had never seen before, walking very quickly the other way, like they were on a mission. I said hello to them, as we do in this part of the world, and they blanked me. This is pretty unusual in the Borders, and whilst I wouldn't normally worry about such a thing, I was concerned about where the two people were heading. I became convinced they were heading to my house to break in – the logic being that they knew I was out with the dog (the fact they didn't know where I lived was the logic that escaped me). I persevered with the dog walk, a couple of miles, all the while sweating, hyperventilating, crying and panicking. I felt so low.
 |
| Gathering her brows like gathering storm... |
 |
| Home to hailstones - in May! |
It's odd to write about these two occasions because I'm sure they sound quite daft to anyone reading them. But I can't describe how real and visceral the fear and panic felt. Anyone who has experienced a similar thing will no doubt relate.
I chalked these two incidents down to being over-tired and over-stressed, with a wedding to plan and too many things rattling around my head. In the run up to the wedding in October I was generally fine, over-tired and stressed out yes, but I didn't experience panic like this, thankfully.
The post-wedding period has been a very low time for me. I plan to write more about the post-wedding blues at some point – thankfully there are other brides out there who have also blogged about this, reassuring me I'm not alone in what I've experienced. The pressure you – and society – puts on you that you should be the happiest you've ever been because you're a newlywed is quite overwhelming. I've found a way through it, and I've found solace in walking once more.
Since returning to my seasonal employment recently, I have suffered a couple of minor panic attacks. One last week as I convinced myself a man walking a couple of hundred yards behind me was following me into the woods with Tig with bad intent. I cut short the woodland walk and took Tig elsewhere. I found myself struggling to breath properly and I had to sit down. Tig sat with me until I felt okay to walk on.
I've found that Tig does seem to sense a change in my feelings and she is very good at staying with me until it has passed.
This, and a combination of sitting, resting, grounding myself and trying to breathe properly, all help in recovering from these intense moments.
It has seemed easy for me to ignore these panic attacks, to find excuses and to not admit to myself or others that I am struggling to get my head around things. I have written this blog post primarily for myself – to be honest with myself and to be honest to the intentions I started with when I set up this blog. Thankfully the stigmas around mental health are breaking down all the time, and people feel far more able to talk openly about what they are going through. This should encourage me to talk/write more about this side of my life – a side I have opted not to write or talk about for some time.
For me, anxiety, low self-esteem and even a mild-depression, feel like a dark cloud hanging over me. Some days are dark, some days are sunny. On sunny days I can't fathom why the other days aren't like this. On dark days it feels like the sun will never come back. Dark days manifest themselves in many ways, but they make me feel tired, exhausted, unmotivated, unable to see any good, negative, grumpy, emotional, angry, confused, hurt, self-absorbed, selfish, frustrated - sometimes all of these things at once!
In my pursuit of sunny days and clear views on Munros or other walks, I endeavour to seek sunnier days in my head too.
Comments
Post a Comment