It came out of nowhere and overpowered me like a predator pounces and chokes out its prey. I gasped for air for what felt like an eternity, trying desperately to catch my breath. My heart was pounding, and I panicked in my inability to call out for help. It felt as though I was suffocating to death, even though there was nothing covering my head and preventing me from breathing. I never had felt as alone as I did in that moment. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. I could feel the air slowly start to fill lungs again and I sat down confused about what had just taken place.
I did not know it in the moment, but I had just had my first panic attack. I was fifteen years-old and in good health, but my world was getting ready to change, as I was just a couple of months away from moving to Black Forest Academy, a boarding school in Germany. My sister had spent the previous three years attending BFA and I was looking forward to my move, but clearly there was a degree of apprehension that was simmering beneath the surface.
I wish that this had been a one-and-done experience, but as my departure for Germany approached, the attacks would ambush my life with greater and greater frequency. There seemed to be no predictability to what time of day or how they would hit. The one thing I could count on was that they would take place when I was by myself in my room. It was terrifying to experience this on my own, and yet I never would have wanted my friends or family to see me in such a state. But then, it happened.
My grandparents were visiting us from the States the week before it was time to leave for BFA. It was probably about 8 or 9am and a panic attack woke me from a sound sleep. My grandmother must have heard me gasping for air the next room, because she burst into my room with great concern. I could not get any words out, but I did my best to signal to her with my hands that I was going to be okay.
Two weeks later as I was getting settled into my new life in Germany, I was playing basketball with a handful of guys behind our dorm. My panic attacks had laid dormant up until that point at BFA , but then I got ambushed by one in public in front of guys whom I was trying to impress. I labored to the side of the court and gasped for air. All eyes were on me and the resident assistant who was playing with us ran over. I signaled to him with my hands like I had done with my grandmother that I was going to be okay. As soon as it had passed I rejoined the pick-up game as though nothing had happened.
As a fifteen-year-old who was trying to fit in and make a good impression I felt humiliated. No one did or said anything to make me feel this way, but I felt exposed and vulnerable. I vowed to never let this happen again. I learned to listen to my body’s pre-panic-attack signs and intuitively taught myself to take slow and deep breaths anytime I could feel an attack coming on. I kept my struggles hidden and eventually saw my panic attacks slow and then stop. But while I would no longer get regularly waylaid by panic attacks, this was just the beginning of what has become a lifelong struggle with anxiety.
In the two plus decades since then my anxiety has had its ebbs and flows. I have had seasons when my anxiety has virtually gone away, and seasons when it has come back with a vengeance and has felt out of control. I have accepted that while I have grown in my ability to manage my anxiety that it is a struggle that I will likely have for the rest of my life. It is like an uninvited companion in my life who likes to wreak havoc on my heart and mind.
But whereas I kept my struggles close to the chest as a fifteen-year- old, I have learned the value of having trusted people in my life with whom I can share and process my anxiety. These trusted individuals have helped me grow to find peace. They have walked alongside of me patiently, offering me a listening ear while also giving me loving care and gentle direction. I no longer keep my anxiety hidden and am stronger for it.
Why am I sharing so personally? Because I know that I am not alone in this struggle. Lauren Wells in her book Raising Up a Generation of Healthy Third Culture Kids, reports that “expatriates experience 2.5 times higher rates of mental illness and more than 50% of expatriates self-report internalizing disorders such as anxiety disorders and depression” (p. 16). Chances are, if you are an expat parent reading this post, you or your TCK(s) may be struggling with anxiety, depression, or other mental health challenges.
My simple encouragement to you is to not face it alone. There is no shame in seeking help for yourself and/or your family. It does not mean that you are weak. It means that you are human and that like all the other humans living on this earth that you need the help of others. The expat life, while wonderful, can also be treacherous. In it all, remember that you are not alone.
TCKonnective 