Humming Is Healing and the Power of the Breath
On panic attacks, anxiety attacks and finding myself in therapy again
I’m just going to begin by saying anxiety is one piece of work. A little fucker, if you will. It’s very unpredictable. Things could be going as smoothly as a boat coasting on a still body of water and a panic attack would ensue. Why? What triggered it? I wish I had the answer.
These past two days were the worst in two and a half years. On Sunday, I had a severe panic attack that appeared out of nowhere and inhabited my body so fast I didn’t have time to catch my breath. Convenient, isn’t it? To spare you the gruesome details, I had to tap on my chest with what little force I had so I could get myself out of it. I then went on a walk around the block. Probably the fastest walk in history. I was left on high alert for the rest of the day which left me depleted and crying for the rest of the evening until I was too exhausted to stay up, finally surrendering to the sweet release of sleep.
The next day, I was terrified of relieving the experience. I forced myself out of bed and into the living room as if to escape what I thought awaited me. I was still on high alert, ready to fight or flight. I tried all sorts of soothing activities but I could feel my heart starting to beat more rapidly than it was supposed to. It was coming. As a preventative measure, I decided to follow a guided meditation. A meditation that ended with humming a Sanskrit mantra. (Forever grateful for the lineage of Yoga and its teachers.)
It wasn’t until I started humming from my diaphragm and rocking left and right that I started bawling. Tears started streaming down my face and I could finally feel my muscles let go for the first time in 72 hours. I couldn’t stop crying and I didn’t want to. I was finally surrendering, and so was my anxiety. Which seems to be the theme of the month. Or perhaps the year.
I have been trying to control every single aspect of my life. I was holding onto any instance that seemed like I had some type of control while my body was begging me to let go. Something I didn’t realize until the therapist I had gone to see, out of necessity, pointed it out.
Monday, yesterday, I decided I couldn’t do this by myself. It didn’t matter if I didn’t have space for therapy or if I wasn’t ready because of my recent disappointment, I had to save myself. I was swimming with no lifejacket, knowing damn well the lifejacket is therapy but deciding to drown anyway. I let my body decide for me.
The new therapist squeezed me in, in between appointments. I assume her secretary realized how urgent “my case” was. Which I’m deeply grateful for.
I was hyper, and to this moment I don’t remember what I even told her. All I can remember is the feeling of a hand gripping my throat and my pushing through to get the words out. The first thing the therapist said to me was: “I need you to breathe. Breathe with me. Deep inhale in, long exhale out.”
You don’t realize how important the breath is until you’re having a panic attack and can’t seem to find it. You don’t realize how significant the breath is until you’ve had a daylong anxiety attack for two days and your breath is so shallow you’re not certain you’re even breathing.
Research tells you to meditate and/or do yoga when you’re dealing with a severe anxiety disorder. And trust me, I would love to sit with my feelings and breathe through them, but how can I do that when I physically can’t? What about when my panic attack is followed by a continuous anxiety attack followed by a nice little sprinkle of depression on top? Where’s the breath then?
On days when I can at least catch my breath, I cherish every moment of it. The preciousness of the ability to breathe is not lost on me.
On days when I feel like someone is standing on my chest, a hand is gripping my neck and enveloping my throat, and my stomach is full of butterflies - okay, moths -, the breath seems so far away. Unreachable.
To conclude, please breathe. Drop into your body and breathe. Hum whenever possible.
Because for those of us who sometimes can’t, that’s a miracle.
One of my all time favorite books “My Grandmother’s Hands” has a whole chapter on how humming builds resilience and I have to agree.
That feeling of being on high alert the whole day. Of knowing it was coming and dreading it. That feeling when there it was sucking the breath out of you. Of not being able to sleep. I wanted to cry but couldn't. And yes, going out of the bedroom into the living room as if the attack won't follow you. That fear and exhaustion of reliving it again the next day. And finding yourself needing therapy again, despite not having the energy to. I am so sorry to read this!!! I may not know entirely what you're going through but I relate to this so much. This Saturday I scheduled a session with my therapist again after three months of thinking i was finally starting to recover. It's so exhausting even sleeping is hard when it's all you want to do. But I want to say, we're in this together and we'll breathe better soon. Thank you for the advice of humming.