About six years ago, the quality of my life significantly diminished. Leaving my home ― my safe zone ― unfailingly caused a panic attack: a feeling of suffocation, heart palpitations, palms sweating profusely, and a bleak sense of foreboding. I am a 29-year-old woman with a 9-year-old child who fears venturing into the outside world, where the sun shines and the cool breeze caresses my cheeks.
But I wasn’t always like that. I grew up enjoying outings to the mall with my mom and sneaking out of the house to go to parties with friends. After my daughter was born, I watched as she happily played with her peers on the playground after school. She and I treasured the evenings where we indulged in greasy garlic knots and fed seagulls down by the docks. I’d have to say my life was relatively normal.
When I was 18, I started receiving Social Security Disability after my doctor wrote a letter stating I am incapable of working due to my anxiety and depression. I was allotted a monthly sum that is scarcely enough to survive on — yet I feel fortunate for having been approved, as so many people aren’t. I came up with a budget that allowed bills to be paid, and left room for necessities.
The only hobby I had came to a halt. I used to attend yoga classes every morning after my daughter hopped on the school bus. As my agoraphobia set in, my attendance reduced to two or three times each week. Then it was once a week, and eventually, I stopped showing up altogether. I do practice at home nearly every day, but it isn’t the same.
They say it takes a village to raise a child. In my case, this timeless cliché stands true. Simone takes the school bus to a small private school one town over. My father picks her up three days a week, and my mom pays for Simone’s school tuition, clothing and many of her toys, as my budget fails to cover even half the costs. I’m forever grateful for my parents’ help.
The following session, my therapist raised the stakes. She told me to drive two miles up the road each morning. I can recall my hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel, shaking, as I took the scenic farm road adjacent to my street. Each week, I stomached a slightly more challenging assignment. I continued to expose myself to situations that made me nervous, and it was frightful.
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