Panic Attacks? Anxiety? Chronic stress?

 I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this nightmare. It’s AWFUL!

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I’ve been there too

Got the T-shirt… along with 273 ways to pretend “I’m fine”, when I soooo was not fine. I checked the box for every single one of the following:

Anxiety ✔
Panic attacks ✔
Stressed out my mind ✔
Moody ✔
Pain in muscles and joints ✔
Dizziness ✔

Fatigue, lethargy ✔
Brain fog ✔
Poor breathing ✔
Poor sleep ✔
Lousy blood sugar levels ✔
Out of control eating ✔

HATED it. I spent three years either having a panic attack or constantly feeling like I was a whisper away from one.

I was embarrassed and deeply ashamed. I couldn’t believe that this was happening to me. People needed me. I was a single parent. I had a desperately difficult yet extremely important job. The number of people that relied on me was crazy. Yet, here I was, actually going crazy.

It absolutely mortified me.

And, because of my utter and profound shame at the collapse of my mental health, very, very few people knew what I was dealing with. A major mistake.

Even more foolishly, I made an already awful situation worse for myself, because simply the thought of seeing a therapist or psychologist (or any other type of “ist”) became a major anxiety/panic attack trigger for me. My wobbly state of mind convinced myself that they’d take my kids away, that I’d lose my job, my friends, my home…  (It’s only now, firmly on the other side of that mental health crisis, that I realise that the anxiety itself was distorting my thinking.)

But this paralysing fear meant that healing, finding my peace, was down to me. No one could help, because no one knew. I spent hours and hours and hours researching the subject.

I needed to know:

Why this had happened to me. Was I truly, as my wonky thinking insisted, “broken”?

What could I do to get better. Was “getting better” even possible? Could I come back from this?

How could I stop it getting worse. There were days where I felt I was riding a slippery slope to hell.

How I could stop it happening again. If, by some miracle, I did start to get my mind back, how did I avoid a relapse?

And slowly, so slowly and in my ramshackle, haphazard way, I began to figure it out what I needed to do to heal. At first, it was just hours went by without a panic attack. Then it was days, then weeks, then months. Then years.

I’d done it! I got my life back!

And, as what I’d gone through receded into my past, I packed away what I’d learned.
Comfortable in my certainty that I’d never need the info again.

Then something absolutely awful happened…

ADHD, panic attacks

Every parent’s worst nightmare

It began on a rainy winter’s night with urgently banging knocks at my front door. A strange man stood, dripping and white faced, on my doorstep. His words, “Do you have a 16-year-old daughter?” will forever ring in my ears. Because, yes, I did.

“She’s been hit by a bus,” he said, sounding like a bad joke. “Come, I’ll take you to the scene.”

And what a “scene” it was. One I will never ever forget. Blue lights flickering on sodden roads. Backed up traffic. Crowds of people. A stationary bus with it’s caved in window.

And my beautiful baby girl, gravely injured.

Her physical injuries

We consoled ourselves with how they could have been so so much worse. But they weren’t great either. Far from it.

She spent months in and out of hospital, dealing with multiple surgeries. Some complex and hours long, some simple and, by comparison, relatively minor.

These were followed by months of further visits to the burns unit to treat her awful scars. And to the physio units to help her get her mobility back. It took over a year for her to be discharged, and this came with words to the effect of, “Yeah, we know she’s not fixed. But there’s nothing else we can do.” And that was that.

Her mental injuries

She was absolutely, perfectly, joyfully fine!! To begin with.

But, as so often happens, these things take time to fester. A few years after her accident, I began to notice small changes in her behaviour. Seemingly inconsequential irregularities at first. Little, illogical things, that had never bothered her before, began to make her fret.

The bath wasn’t clean enough, and no possible amount of cleaning could make it so. The food was weird, wrong. She couldn’t, wouldn’t eat it.

And then the health anxiety began kicking in.

3am phone calls

Before long this amazing beautiful soul, who’d faced multiple, complex surgeries with total equanimity was on the phone to me at all hours, fretting herself into a state, sending me blurry photos as she asked:

These white marks in her nails. Did I think they could be cancer?

A heat rash. Could it be signs of meningitis?

A sore tummy. Almost certainly a ruptured appendix?

And as for her pulse, racing ever harder, ever faster…  This, she was quite certain, had to be a heart attack…

anxiety-planeanxiety-plane

Then came the chance of a lifetime

At just 21, my incredible daughter, who was working for a well known international corporation, was asked to go to Hyderabad to help set up the first Indian branch of their organisation. Professionally, and personally, it was a dream come true. She couldn’t say no.

Now, 8000 miles away from home, anxiety set in with a vengeance. Panic attacks flew at her. She was too scared to eat (too many stories of food poisoning). Indian traffic near as dammit paralysed her. Simply leaving the hotel to go to work became an act of breathtaking act of bravery.

And, I am incredibly proud to say, she did it. She stuck it out, completed her contract. But, as those of us who have struggled with anxiety know, ignoring it is a decidedly unhelpful approach. By the time she got back home, her anxieties had worked themselves into a tight and horribly complex knot.

Far wiser and smarter

Than me, she was all too happy to see a variety of “ists”. Indeed, she longed to get professional help. But, there were two big problems here.

First, the wait times. It was months before she could get an appointment. And second, when she finally got to see someone, they didn’t “click”. In fact, it was their meeting was a total disaster. So back on the waiting list she went.

By this point, having myself lived through what she was dealing with, I could no longer bear to sit on the side lines and simply watch and wait.

I had to help

I knew what she ate was absolutely crucial to her mental health, but I also knew that the little knowledge I had was just as likely to be dangerous as it was to be helpful.

So I went back to college, this time to study nutrition.

I also began to go back through the research I’d done when I’d struggled. Being blessed with ADHD, I used and thoroughly abused my ability to hyperfocus. Where before, when researching for my own healing I’d spent hours, now, with my daughter struggling so badly, my studies verged on the obsessive. 

A thousand possible tools

Alongside everything I was learning about nutrition, I began collecting every possible tool and avenue to healing I could find.

The goal was to find every option possible that might help unravel those knots inside her, or at least stop them tightening and/or getting worse, while we waited for professional help.

I also wanted to learn what we might do that would support and work alongside any professional treatment she received, possibly even helping make treatment quicker, more effective, easier.

And so began Boosted!

♥♥♥ A few much appreciated reviews ♥♥♥

From some readers and beta readers who received advance copies of Boosted!

Easing stress, anxiety, and panic attacks

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