I had been avoiding it for what felt like forever. The thought of sitting in that waiting room, answering endless questions, was overwhelming. I found myself in a mental tug-of-war, debating whether to speak the truth or dodge around it.
I canceled my appointment three times, armed with excuses I could use on anyone—including myself. What on earth would I say?
Just a few weeks earlier, I had been savoring a quiet morning at my kitchen table with a cup of coffee, feeling peaceful. That calm was shattered when I watched a video of a man recounting a conversation with a widow, describing how he felt God nudging him.
Then it hit me: My fingers and toes started tingling, and I found it hard to swallow. In mere moments, my heart raced uncontrollably. What was going on?
I leaped from my chair, pacing my living room, desperately sipping water that would not help clear my throat. I checked my pulse—180 beats per minute. Panic surged through me.
Suddenly, a memory flashed before me of a friend, Lisa, who had experienced a heart attack over a year ago without even realizing it at the time. Fortunately, she had sought medical help and survived to tell her story. Was this my fate too?
I paced again, feeling the tingling intensify. I peeked into my son Max’s room and asked if he remembered how to call 911. He glanced up from his screen, half-interested, and replied, “Yeah. Why?”
“Just in case,” I replied, trying to sound casual even though I felt anything but. I told him I was feeling off, just a bit strange. He nodded, and I took a shower. But then a headache struck, pushing me to finally make the decision to go to urgent care.
On the drive, I called my husband, expressing my anxiety. As I walked into the clinic, it felt surreal, like I was outside my own body. I waited behind a woman asking trivial questions and finally decided to speak up, telling the receptionist something wasn’t right and I needed help urgently.
She handed me paperwork, asking for my insurance card and ID. My hands trembled so much that I could barely open my purse. She immediately ushered me to a treatment room.
A flurry of questions and tests ensued, and before I knew it, tears streamed down my face. What was happening to me?
After what felt like an eternity, a medical staff member reassured me, “I know this is frightening.” Slowly, I managed to calm myself with deep breaths. The tingling in my extremities began to fade, and I could finally swallow. My heart rate normalized.
The diagnosis? A panic attack. Had I been under stress? No, I insisted. Or had I? This realization pushed me to finally schedule an appointment with a doctor, someone I had been avoiding.
Dr. Williams, who had monitored my thyroid issues for years, asked why I had stayed away. As tears welled in my eyes, they quickly turned into an unstoppable flow. I had been stuck, unable to admit I was struggling, and this was my first step toward getting unstuck.
With great empathy, Dr. Williams guided me through my feelings, like a caring friend. Together, we devised a plan for moving forward. Until that moment, I hadn’t been ready to acknowledge my struggles, even to myself.
I’m relieved I didn’t cancel that appointment, and I’m already planning my next one. It’s funny how easy it is to offer support to others but so hard to extend that same kindness to ourselves.
Friends, it’s perfectly okay for you—and for me—to admit when we’re not alright.
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In summary, taking that first step toward seeking help can be daunting, but it’s often the most crucial move toward finding support and understanding in our journeys.
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