Showing posts with label illness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label illness. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Don't scream! stop your anxiety-fueled thinking


The Scream by Edvard Munch

A panic attack is when you experience a sudden burst of anxiety and fear for no apparent reason.

While we all experience anxiety and stress at times, a true panic attack comes out of the blue. Although looking back on them, it is evident that panic attacks often take place during a lingering stressful situation or period in our lives.

Panic attacks in my experience have also always occurred in the middle of the night.

It’s no great surprise that the times that I experienced these panic attacks were times when I was feeling physically vulnerable and broken—such as when I first started having physical symptoms that no doctor could diagnose, or perhaps after one of my surgeries.

I can testify that waking up with a panic attack is very scary, like being in a car wreck when I didn't realize I was even driving. I jump out of bed, run out of the room to nowhere in particular, feeling an elephant on my chest that keeps me from breathing.


While I know that I cannot prevent a true panic attack from happening again, I have learned that, on a day to day basis, there are concrete steps I can take to challenge my thinking, calm my mind, and focus on my spirit when I'm feeling anxiety. 

In other words, there are things that I can do to stop anxiety-fueled thinking, that vicious cycle of anxious feelings that lead to anxious thoughts—that in turn reinforce those anxious feelings!

My own “maría brand” of anxiety-fueled thinking is what I call going global, or overgeneralizing. Whatever it is that I’m stressing about becomes all-encompassing, universal—and obviously, permanent, in my stressed-induce (irrational) thinking. For example, 
“Wow, that project was a disaster. The editor hated it. Obviously, I have no talent for this. I guess I never will.” 
Get the idea?

But there are other common anxiety-fueled thought patterns [paraphrasing here from an article I read in February's Taste for Life magazine], such as: 
  • fortune telling, when I start making predictions (in my head) as if they are actual facts; 
  • emotional reasoning, treating anxiety itself as a reliable indicator for reality; 
  • tunnel vision, where I see only the negative and ignore any positive facts in a situation; 
  • catastrophizing, where I decide that the outcome that I’m stressing about (or the disappointment or the failure) is permanent and total! 


If you can relate to any of these, you're in good company!

I'm not a medical professional, so here’s just my three action steps for when I recognize that what I'm feeling is anxiety:
  1. Stop and ask myself if my thoughts are reinforcing the anxiety (as in the examples above) – am I turning this moment into a global reality by overgeneralizing?
  2. Name the specific (often irrational) thought that is fueling the anxiety – is it true to say that I have no talent at all as a writer in this area?!
  3. Stop whatever I'm doing and ask the Holy Spirit for assistance!

Come, Spirit of Truth
Show me God’s reality right here and now, in this situation.
I surrender myself, 
acknowledging that I cannot control, fix, or change my negative thinking.
And I commend my thoughts, my feelings, my worries, my anxieties, my entire being,
To the God who knows me and loves me 
as I am, today and always.

What about you? How do you handle anxiety and its thought patterns?

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Advent listening with clogged ears




For the past ten days, I’ve been walking around with a stopped up left ear. Like a sink in need of Roto-Rooter, it gargles, whistles, thumps, hums, but never clears.

When I mentioned this to my daughter Michelle, she wisely pointed out, 
“Sounds like an Advent thing to me, Mom.” 
So I took her words to heart. I have been pondering in my prayer and throughout the day on Advent, listening, ears, awareness. Waiting for some sage insight.

And I’ve got nothing.


No matter how much I try, I can’t have true silence or complete quiet for reflection and clarity. The humming in my ear never stops, even when the gurgling and thumping do. I want it taken care of right now so that the Advent and Christmas music I love won’t sound like a middle school orchestra is playing it. And yes, if I could I would put in one of those metal snakes that go deep underground to clear my pipes and get everything flowing smoothly again.



But instead, I have to wait. Wait for the antibiotic to heal. Wait for the congestion to clear. Wait for the music to sound on key once again.

Like a pregnant woman, I anticipate in trusting expectation the miracle I know will take place. But in the meantime, my body is off key, bloated, uncomfortable—and I’m ready to be done with this temporary moment in my life. I wait, and I anticipate.

Perhaps I am in the spirit of Advent after all. 


Sunday, October 14, 2012

Not Yet



I remember my therapist grinning at my honest response, “not yet.” Struggling with a difficult situation, I sought help to see my world with new eyes. With the smile of someone who knows a secret that you don’t, he added, “Yet is such a hopeful word, full of possibility.”

I had never thought about that. There’s a vast difference between replying, “no, I won’t do it,” and “no, not yet.” I may not be ready, or not know how to do it—yet. And that’s okay.

I tend to be very hard on myself. I consistently demand things of myself that I would not dream of saying to a friend who is in pain or simply at a loss with how to proceed in her life. So it’s no great surprise that I would also assume that I should know everything, and do everything right.


Take learning to live healthy with a chronic condition. Exercise. Nutrition. Learning about drugs. Knowing how to tell my friends or family what’s going on with me. Getting enough sleep or rest—and knowing when to push myself harder. Why do I expect myself to be an expert? Why can’t I allow myself the ability to say, I am not taking care of that now, not yet.

Sometimes all I have to offer is a litany of “not yet”

Lord, I am looking, but I don’t yet see.
I am listening, but I don’t yet hear.
I remember, but I don’t yet get it.
I am moving, but I don’t yet know where to go.
I am seeking, but I don’t yet know how to find you here.
I want to trust you, but I don’t yet do so.
I desire to surrender to you, but I can’t yet let go.
I need to hope, but I don’t yet have it in me.
I come to you with open hands and a heart that still whispers, not yet.

No. Padre Island, Dec. 2010


Thursday, October 11, 2012

the healing journey



I have had some crazy, vivid dreams lately. Sometimes I will only remember one image, one person, or one event in the dream, but I’ve been trying to write down words in my journal of whatever I do remember. The other day I woke up with only one line, “This is a new country, what shall we name it?”

It made me laugh out loud.

It reminds me of what I wrote some time ago about my physical condition and its limitations:
I feel a layer of anger swimming right below the surface of my awareness, like a layer of fat that needs to be discarded from a great soup. I feel betrayed by my body, and I am angry about it and angry with me. It’s a crazy circle, and I know that it’s not productive, let alone healthy.
When I shared these ponderings with my spiritual director Joanne, a wise and beautiful woman, she just smiled at me and said, “Maria, you are learning to take care of yourself, and you’re taking it to other areas of your life! What I hear is calmness, trusting, a certainty that allows you to name the anger. Things are okay. I am so proud of you, your faithfulness to do the healing work. God will show you what’s next.” 
The healing work that I am committed to do involves all of me—my physical being, yes, but also my emotional and spiritual being. I may not, but God sees how good it already is.


It frequently does feel like traveling in a new and undiscovered country, a place where I’ve never been, where I don’t know anyone, and where I don’t recognize the language. But this is a journey of a lifetime and not one that I have to conquer right now. The real challenge is whether I will be true to the journey, and faithful to the work it brings to me today.

Via Dolorosa, Jerusalem, 2012