Panic attacks

I've been having panic attacks my entire life. I know this to be true, not because I have known my entire life that my episodes are panic attacks but, because counseling has helped me accept and identify that I have an anxiety disorder. I can remember sever times in my childhood where a panic attack occurred, when I fled the room our of embarrassment, etc etc.

These episodes never become normative. They happen for ridiculous reasons (forgetting my credit card at home, breaking a rule at my best friend's house, watching my dad mow the lawn, losing weight) and often result in pretty extreme fatigue. For the first time in my life I can acknowledge what they are, but I still absolutely hate them.

I had a panic attack yesterday, that's why I'm writing this. Actually, yesterday isn't super accurate. This time, my panic attack started two days ago, lasted through the night and ended sometime yesterday evening. It was scary. I couldn't eat, I managed to sleep but I woke up exhausted by muscles tension, I was afraid of everyone, and all I wanted to do was just curl up in a ball and cry.

Eventually I did. And I did that for close to three hours. It was cathartic, and somewhat comforting, but it was hard. 

It was hard to realize that even after a year of counseling and cognitive behavioral therapy these episodes would still happen and still be somewhat uncontrollable. It was was hard to realize that panic attacks can happen anywhere, even on trips with classmates and best friends. It was hard to realize that I was about to be alone for seven weeks and: whatifoneofthesehappensinbethlehemandiamallaloneanditisshamefultocryandidontwanttoseemweakand...

I think you probably understand.

What was hardest about all of this though, is that it wasn't the last time. Posting a blog about my anxiety and panic attacks isn't a cause of celebration of being cured, but a step at becoming more honest and transparent about what it can be like to be myself sometimes. I do a really good job at letting people know the good things, the exciting things, and the impressive things. I usually try to hide the nitty-gritty of this. I don't like being honest about how sever my panic attacks are. I don't like telling people the depths of my anxiety. I don't like being asked questions. I don't like being pittied. 

But I'm starting to realize that I can't do this all by myself, and so maybe a first step is learning to share with everyone that these things happen, that they're hard, and that I'm learning to live with it in an honest way.

Two days ago, I had a panic attack which has left me in bed all day today. There. Honesty.

Three days in

Dear Friends,

Today was heavy.
After a semester of learning what we (kind of) could from books and movies, we dove head-on into Northern Ireland's history.
I did not retain a lot, but here is where I'm at:

Reconciliation is a long process. Signatures on a line, handshakes in photos, and a lack of bombs does not mean that a culture has actually shifted in any significant way. I met two men today, they are from different sides of Derry, and they are friends. But what troubled me was that once one man was gone, the tone of the other became drastically defensive. There seemed to be no letting go, no intentional altering of cultural norms and expectations. There was a lot of defensiveness, a lot of long-explanations, but no story of personal transformation.

I have come to the conclusion that reconciliation is a fluid and personal journey, as much as it takes place between people and groups.
If we rely solely on relationships to count towards reconciliation, if we think having friends from the other side of the bridge is enough, we miss out. We forget that reconciliation means giving up, forgiving, and doing so independently of the other side.
The other side may need to forgive something completely separate, they may have completely different needs, hurts, and expectations; and if we spend all of our time focusing on that--what gets done? We spend years and years in the same chairs with the same angry banter getting no where.

Instead, we must begin the work of reconciliation personally, and within our own communities. And if we do this simultaneously as we also build relationships and repair broken structures; there may be more room for the spaces of peace we ourselves create to be filled with meaningful transformation.

Furthermore. On a more specific note:
Labeling oppressor and oppressed is really tricky, and we probably shouldn't ever do that.

instead, what I found helpful today was going through a process of identifying things within communities which maintained myths of: victimization, superiority, power, and historical narrative. As myths are identified, I think the grey issues in conflicts become a bit more manageable and the reconciliation process above becomes more attainable. Identifying key points also elimiates our need as peacemakers and justice-seekers to choose sides, and we become fluid-actors, truth-speakers, and agents for change in all contexts.

On a more fun note:
We played games as a class for about two hours. I have not laughed so hard, yelled with joy so much, or felt so comfortable as I did tonight. Perhaps the greatest blessing of this trip is the small-haven it has provided of personal restoration and re-sprouting.

More to come later,
KC

Crying: a reflection of learning to mourne

It's been a week full of moments where I felt like I needed to cry. It has seemed for so long that I am pregnant with emotion, and that the only way to let it out is to cry, to let tears fall, to wail, and to express outwardly in inner turmoil that seems to define my life this year.

The terrifying thing is that I can't seem to cry alone anymore. After a year of processing pain with others around me, of relying on tears to usher in some deeper compassionate response, tears seem to be reserved for the moments of vulnerability that need a defense. Crying ushers in a parental compassion, one of care and concern, and consolation. Processing my struggles, my shortcomings, my pain, my grief: these are all things reserved for the inward process. And for the Counselor's office at one on Wednesday afternoons. 

What I have begun to realize over the past few days is that the roles need to be reversed. I need to cry alone, so that I can feel the comfort of a mothering God surround me with grace and patience. And I need to learn that getting stuck in my head ultimately leads to a lot of isolation. 

Rationalizing every moment has led to a lot of great realizations:

I have learned that God is calling me home, that I am the beloved child who has a place in God's warm, compassionate and caring embrace.

I have learned that saying "no" is not just okay, it's necessary.

I have learned that seeking spiritual direction and reconciliation starts within: by gently bathing my spirit with the presence of God; by gently weening my soul from the clutches of popularity, numbing, and avoidance; and by aggressively pursuing God. 

I have learned that taking walks outside is important, that I don't want a boyfriend, that I'm doing well, and that I am called.

And all of this head knowledge, all of these silent commitments to myself have led me to wanting to just sit in my room, reading books, and communing with God. 

There is nothing wrong with such actions. Choosing to spend a Saturday at the library and in my room wrapped up in a book that speaks deeply to grief, spirituality, and faith while my roommates all watch a Harry Potter movie doesn't mean I'm suffering; it means I'm healing. 

What I have become aware of, after moments of extreme physical weakness and anguish; is that I have not cried with God in a long, long time. And after a week of feeling as though that is all I can do, I am beginning to pray and hope that these tears would come and continue the process of healing in a new way.

An opportunity to support:

Dear blog reader,
           As you may know I sought support last spring to attend the Christ at the Checkpoint Conference in Bethlehem, Palestine. At the conference I felt a strong call on my life to engage in global conflict as a peacemaker, a mentor, and a friend. During the conference, my passion for seeking true justice and holistic peace was increased as I had the opportunity to meet Christians from all around the world who were also making and seeking peace globally and in their home communities. Since returning home, I have been eagerly seeking new opportunities to go back to Palestine, to continue learning, and to further understand God’s call on my life.

            The program I am enrolled in at North Park is taking a trip to Northern Ireland this May. Admittedly, at first I was very frustrated with the decision of the department to travel to Europe. But after good conversation with mentors, prayer, and discernment: I am confident that God is going to use this trip to further my understanding of self, of call, and of reconciliation. While in Northern Ireland my peers and I will have the opportunity to meet with expatriates and peacemakers, Catholics and Protestants, those who are still hurting and those who have been healed, and to experience the rich culture of Northern Ireland as well.

            As you may have already gathered, this letter is more than informative: it is also an invitation. I was hesitant to seek help to pay for this trip, but after a conversation with a friend I began to understand that what I am going to be doing on this trip is bigger than myself; so it is important that I seek support from others in the process.

           Overall, we are each expected to raise about 2,600. My hope is that you would be willing and able to donate $20-$200 towards expenses such as: airfare, hotels and hostels, bus fees, food, and gratuity to tour guides, hotel staff, and organizations.

            If you are able to donate, please make checks out to North Park University with Conflict Transformation Program in the memo line. Donations are tax deductible.

 Please send all checks to:

                        Dr. Robert Hostetter

                        North Park University

                        Conflict Transformation Studies Program

                        3225 W Foster Ave

                        Chicago, Il 60625

If you are unable to donate, please support us in prayer as we prepare and depart for our trip! We will be gone May 10-24. My hope is that you will also pledge a specific day of the trip to hold us in prayer. If you would like to commit to a specific day, or you have questions, please email me at katiecom12@gmail.com or text me at 503-899-7216.

Thank you for allowing me to share this with you, and for being willing to support in whatever way you can!

Katie Comfort

A new year doesn't reset.

Coming back to North Park this semester, I really thought it would be easier.
Easier to wake up
Easier to care about classes
Easier to face the hurts of last semester without wanting to instantly curl up into a ball
Easier to be there for others
Easier to balance everything

It hasn't been.

And at the risk of going into an emotionally destructive rant about why it hasn't been easy: I will cut to the chase.

The next year is plagued with patterns that cant be relived, revived, or restored.
The next year is going to be full of my memories. And that leaves a void.

So far, that means that I feel really empty. Really really really empty.

But being empty means getting to filled.
And so from here on out I want to be more mindful of how I am filling myself with good, instead of bad. We'll see.

It was just nice realizing that while the milestones have passed; the little moments almost hurt more. And that isn't bad, it just means I still have more to mourn. And I have to let myself do that.

One month.

I have learned that God is not a consolation prize, but a promise that will never stop being true.

I have learned that our hearts don’t break, but just get bruised and get better.

I have learned that it is okay to cry

            That being open takes a lot of energy

                    And that sometimes it's okay to say, "not right now"

I have learned that changing habits and changing names in your phone are not the same thing.

I have learned to seek the light

            To praise God for manna

                        And to break jars of identity at His feet.

I have learned that beds are both dungeons and castles

            dead ends and innerstates

                        And laps to cry in

I have learned again what it means to laugh with your belly

And what it means to sing from your heart, saying the words so boldly you are sure they are true

                        And for the first time in a long time,

            They are.

I have learned that follow outshines trumps failure

            That when the focus shifts, your gaze is broadened

                        And that there is no shame in giving yourself time to feel anger, and joy, and remorse, and regret, and pain, and hatred, and love. And it is okay if every single one of those emotions happens three times a day; because dammit, it is hard to learn how to accept that something that was is suddenly just a memory bank full of broken promises. 

And after a month I am learning that I still don’t have answers.
I have good days

And days when I wake up at 5:30 convinced I am as terrible as you made me feel a month ago.

And there are bad days

And days where I am so unbelievably renewed that I wonder why I didn’t do it myself.

Mostly I have learned that tension is a hard pill to swallow.

            Because it makes you starve and feast all at once. 

Put a bow on it and call it a wrap.

One day and one week until my butt is in a seat heading back to Chicago. Praises be.

In the last month, I have begun anxiety counseling. Mostly, I have been reminded of the importance of belly breathing, how to write constructively in columns and on note cards, and how to notice my thinking. It has also made me 300% more aware of every little thing that gives me anxiety. This blog gives me anxiety. Summer gave me anxiety. Waking up and going downstairs on Sunday mornings gives me anxiety. Everything, more or less, contributes to this overriding experience of anxiousness.

In the last week, my family had a yard sale, I saw people for the first time in two years, and I started to say goodbye. These things all suck. Know what else sucks? Packing. I started that too. I am currently on step 1.5: hoard all possessions in a pile in your room without thinking about what you actually need for the next four months. Next comes step 2: feel anxious that it won't fit in the four pieces of luggage you are allowed. and ends with step 4: arrive in Chicago fully ashamed of the sheer number of items you tote around every 16 weeks. Blessings.

Thanks to anxiety counselling, now I no longer need to endure simply being mindful of the packing anxiety that exists, I also get to ride it out. I no longer get to blow up in the final 12 hours of packing (stage 3.7), instead I get to calmly explain how I am feeling, and maybe even make a note card about it.

But mostly, I am much more aware of how possessions have been a crutch. When I begin to feel pressure, anxiety, or tension; my instinct is to consume. (Right now, for example, I really think that I need a new pair of jeans, and some grey and black striped shirts. I do. I promise.). As one may imagine, having a yard sale where we give away items that are full of sentiment may have been one of the dumbest things to do. Especially since I just had this wave of sadness roll over me as I lamented: "why did we sell all the Peru wall hangings, how will I remember my childhood?" I will, I have faces, and memories of smells, and how the wooden benches in adobe churches made great coloring surfaces, and how itchy everything always was, and how good eggs tasted, and salt. I don't need possessions to be compete and to have valid memories.

What is the most interesting about such a revelation, is that belongings have been holding me back from having the memories be the possession. I think our society does the same with pictures. We have all these things that we use to trigger ideas and feelings, without allowing our brains and mental recall to do that for us. I can remember every dress I wore to the dances, and every nasty thrift store dress I bought thinking shoulder pads were cool, and every par of shorts I owned that made me feel like I had fat thighs. I can remember what junk I bought on missions trips and on family vacations, but I have a difficult time remembering faces, names, joys, and sorrows from those times.

I wonder, then, as I wrap up this summer of rest and calm and creation, how I could possibly characterize this summer by something different. How can I begin to undo my mental dependency on physical triggers, and instead live in a healthy mental recall state? And how, on earth, can I make packing a single-step-non-hassle-process?

The end.