Editor's Notebook: Hope beyond panic: Breaking the silence around anxiety

I realize some people may read this and think I’m oversharing. Others may assume I’m unstable. But that’s exactly why it’s important. Mental health struggles carry stigma and they shouldn’t. I’m writing this for the people who are suffering in silence. For those convinced there is no way out. For people trying to survive their own minds daily.”

The human brain is a wild thing. It’s one that I don’t think we’ll ever completely understand.

Last fall I was driving to work one morning when I heard a brief ear worm of a song. Within seconds, I was thrown into a panic attack.

For a few terrifying moments, my brain convinced itself that the phrase would become permanently trapped in my head on an endless loop. The permanence of that thought felt like a prison sentence.

I know that sounds absolutely ridiculous, but I assure you, for me, it was the truth.

I pulled to the side of the road, exited my car, and focused on breathing.  It wasn’t my first rodeo. I cycled through coping mechanisms and eventually, the panic eased into a dull lingering fear. I knew my thoughts were irrational, but logic means very little in the middle of a panic attack.

I gathered myself and made it through the workday, but the experience stayed with me. I tried to write about it at the time, but I had to stop because revisiting the memory threatened to trigger the same cycle again.

At first, I assumed it was an isolated incident. It wasn’t.

Over the following weeks, the attacks became frequent and more intense. I feared I was losing my mind or suffering from some condition I didn’t understand. I kept waiting for it to pass, but instead my brain seemed to slip more and more often into fight-or-flight mode.

By the end of three weeks, I was experiencing panic attacks multiple times an hour. I couldn’t read books. I couldn’t watch television. Music, photographs of my children, almost anything emotionally stimulating, could trigger another episode.

What confused me most was that I wasn’t depressed. By most outward measures, my life was actually going well.

Oddly, work was a place where I found relief. Focusing on tasks distracted my mind enough to function.

Then came something even worse. Dissociation.

The closest comparison I can make is the feeling of trying to listen to someone talk while your mind is completely consumed by an urgent obligation elsewhere. You hear the words, but you can’t truly process them because your thoughts are trapped somewhere else entirely.

I tried eating better and exercising and hydrating. I’m an insomniac, so I worked to improve my sleep habits. It didn’t help.

At the time, I had no language for what I was experiencing. I felt detached from myself, as though I were observing my own life from outside my body.

Eventually, I reached a breaking point and finally opened up to friends and family. I spoke with people who might understand. I met with a counselor. I explored medication, which helped dull the symptoms enough for me to begin addressing them.

A counselor friend eventually helped me understand and accept my experiences. He suggested that the dissociation may have been my brain’s way of protecting itself from the repeated trauma of panic attacks.

It was the scariest experience of my life. I questioned if I’d ever feel normal again.  Ultimately what helped most was education.

I began reading about panic disorders and anxiety through a scientific lens. To my surprise, approaching it analytically made it easier to confront. I started retraining my mind. Instead of fighting the rush of adrenaline and cortisol, I learned to acknowledge it without feeding it.

That distinction mattered for me.

Previously, I had tried reassuring myself that there was “nothing to worry about,” but that approach rarely worked. Eventually, I realized the goal wasn’t to argue with the panic; it was to stop fearing it. I had to let the sensations exist without assigning catastrophic meaning to them.

Little by little, my brain stopped interpreting those sensations as threats. Over several difficult weeks, and after many more panic attacks, I slowly regained control. As I did, the attacks became less frequent.

My counselor suggested the episodes may have stemmed from years of insomnia, chronic stress, and accumulated pressure from work and family obligations. But, honestly, who knows?

What I do know is I got my life back.I still experience moments of anxiety, but they no longer control me.

I realize some people may read this and think I’m oversharing. Others may assume I’m unstable. But that’s exactly why it’s important. Mental health struggles carry stigma and they shouldn’t.

I’m writing this for the people who are suffering in silence. For those convinced there is no way out. For people trying to survive their own minds daily.

Don’t fight the battle alone. Reach out. Seek help. I’m so grateful for those who helped me. Explore every resource. Recovery may not be a straight line, but hope is real, so keep it.

Jimmy Lawton is News Editor of North Country This Week.