PANIC AT THE DISCO (DANCING WITH MYSELF)

I love to dance.

Thanks to church choir and band, 

I have a pretty solid musical education.

But...the amount specifically related to dance is pretty thin.

A couple of years of tap/ballet

in elementary school and a free salsa lesson at a bar 

provide the full extent of my formal dance instruction.

I mostly learned by imitating what I saw others do on

Soul Train, in music videos, or later at school dances.

There is no kind of dancing that I don't enjoy-

ballroom, salsa, booty-shaking, two-step, shag.

It all feels like living as far as I'm concerned.

In college, I learned very early that most of the other

group activities that my peers thought of as fun

made me feel either bored or unsafe to a degree

that meant I wanted to drink too much 

(and then become even more unsafe).

I might be coerced into reluctantly tagging along for the usual

frat parties, pool hall, or tailgating

but I was always down for dancing.

By my sophomore year, 

 I spent at least one night a week

shaking, spinning, and grinding out my anxiety

to the beat of anything that was playing in any club

that would let me and my friends on the floor.

If you'd asked me at the time why I prioritized this activity

when I was already exhausted from two jobs and school,

I would have just said I needed it.

Truth falls out of our mouths

even when we don't understand the message.

Haw River Ballroom is a balm to my soul

Eighteen months ago, I went for a walk

to clear my mind of the petty squabbles and missing resources

that plagued my last professional gig

and instead walked myself right into a panic attack.
In a matter of seconds, something flipped a switch in me
and I went from my normal personality
to a shaking, sweating, trembling mess of a human.
Inside my head, there was a high pitched ringing sound that dulled
what was happening on the outside and my vision narrowed
to a blurred landscape of disembodied articles.
Nothing felt real.
Everything felt crisp, significant and slow.

It wasn't my first panic attack and I'm sure it won't be my last.

I have strategies to use to help me come back to myself.

I know that I will be jumpy and fragile for hours,

sometimes days afterwards.

Like most things human,

it is frustrating but not permanent.

I would never willingly choose to have a panic attack.

If I could cleanse my nervous system of the things 

that trigger them in me, I'd do it with very few questions asked

and quite a bit of my discretionary fund.

Since I can't eradicate them though, I've spent some time

trying to figure out how I can change my internal narrative around them.

I find I can often make sucky things suck a little less with 

some intentional navel gazing and reframing.

And I've found a weird connection between panic attacks

and dancing-they bring up similar feelings inside of me.

A mixture of trepidation augmented by gratitude.

Like standing on the edge of a cliff

and believing whole heartedly that you

are able to lift off instead of crash.

Like knowing that what you're doing has risk

but also has tremendous benefit.

Like looking at the horizon and feeling

so glad to be alive, just one step from potential death.

I would describe it as 'exhilirated gratitude'.

What a weird thing to wind up at right?

Feeling grateful for having a panic attack?

Sometimes I doodle during the sermon at church and I get breadcrumbs.

Let me explain.

While dancing was important to me in college,

it was not without risk. 

More than once I was the recipient of unwanted

physical touches including several that I would now

call sexual assaults.

At the time,  I was mostly glad the consequences weren't worse.

Here are some things I told myself then:

I wasn't raped or robbed of money.

I wasn't stalked or harassed after the incidents.

There weren't visible marks on my body.

I got away from the perpetrators

and went home shaken but fine (the harshest swear word).

I took the bad experiences and used them

to adapt my behavior and approach.

I listened to my body when it was clear that

something was happening that wasn't great

but I didn't let it take my joy around inhabiting my body

or take my freedom.

My experiences in loud, dark clubs

and that experience walking on the trail by my house

are similar sides of the same coin.

They both remind me that my body is an animal 

and no amount of intellectualized bullshit will erase
my blood and bones and breath.
I have vast amounts of energy and 

I've documented the ways and times

I've managed to forget that there are limits.

My body though-

she doesn't forget.

She knows when someone or something

has crossed the line into 

something unholy, unsafe, or unwelcome.

She won't let me play it off

or blur the lines.

If I push too far into 'fine',

she'll jerk me up hard.

Find this image at Cafe Diem in Pittsboro

A few weeks ago, I spent a lovely morning volunteering 

at Apex Pride's yearly event.

My job was basically to walk around and interact with vendors,

make sure everyone was being kind and playing nice.

It was a delightful experience overall but just as my shift was ending

my daughter and husband noticed some young men videoing children

at the story hour led by a colorfully dressed adult.

It became pretty clear early on in this meeting why

God put them on my schedule.

These were very bigoted, misled, and 

rage-filled young men, here to dox and shame

and belittle behind the facade of buttoned up collars and $200 sunglasses.

I have A LOT of experience dealing with angry white men

tantruming over why the world doesn't want to give them what they

fully expect is their due.

These men seemed to emphasize Bible verses and patriarchy the most

 in their attempt to beat me into submission

but I thought I could distract them for a half hour.

High stakes, intense conversations have been a recurring theme

of my entire life but were especially important in my professional life.

I know how to do this dance better than the average person.

The distraction worked-they focused on me, videoed me instead of children,

and broke their waves of anger just past where I'd been a second ago.

In the moment, it didn't feel materially different than negotiating with an 

entitled client or a tone-deaf peer.

Just another day at the office.

Once the story hour was over, 

I wished them well, blessed them in the words and 

the name of our Creator, then forced this body 

through the motions of okay-ness.

I went to a great concert that night

with a sister-friend, my daughter and my hubs.

I used that medicine-dancing, laughing and singing

to smooth the harshest edges of the arrows those young men

threw at me.

I was fine.

Except-my body knew the truth.

To seem selfless is not to be selfless.

To be composed is not to be unafraid.

There is no bravery without terror-that's just play acting.

I was terrified during that verbal dance,

right on the edge of crashing

even as I was looking towards the horizon.

Those men were so angry at me they were shaking

and they meant to cause violence.

There is at least thirty minutes

of footage starring yours truly that is owned by and may be used by

these men in any way they desire.

That conversation did not make me safer

and it has a cost that my body counts.

It took two weeks to stop flinching at the unexpected.

Darting squirrels chasing each other up trees, 

territorial dogs barking,

popped balloons or dropped pans

would make my heart race.

A couple of golfers came into the coffee shop 

I work at the week after and for just a second

I thought it was the same guys, there to continue

their assault.

I bowed my head as I pulled espresso shots for their iced lattes,

blinking back tears and grounding myself.

I haven't had a full blown attack

in response to this incident but I chalk

that up to luck more than anything else.

Message from a Saint at Raleigh Raw

Panic attacks are a reminder to me

that bodies are holy and should be honored,

a built in warning light meant to reorient me

away from something that the world

or my ego

keeps trying to get me to do that is ultimately

not safe or good for me.

I am grateful for them.

If my history proves anything,

it's that I'm going to keep walking up to

cliffs that have big drops

and staring with glee at the horizon.

I sometimes need the reminder that I'm not safe.

Just in case you've endured one or more

panic attacks,

I wanted to make sure at least one person told you

that they don't make you weak or fragile.

They are wisdom wrapped in an 

irritating package of nervous system signals

but they are not unusual or permanent.

You are not the only one who has them-

there are a lot of us out here dancing with them.

You are okay (or you will be).

Love you.