My Husband Was Perfect / How to Deal with Your Spouse's Panic Attack

My husband was perfect yesterday. 

There are days that he irritates me.  There are days I get downright angry with him.  Most days we barely see each other.

But yesterday he was perfect.

My anxiety has been building lately.  Work is incredibly busy.  I'm feeling overworked, very under-appreciated, a little unfulfilled, out of control, and busy busy busy.  In the last few days I've had this pit in my stomach.  I'm either forgetting something or things aren't "perfect" enough for me.  The anxiety has been growing.  Usually I can list everything bothering me and everything I need to do, and then I find the source of the anxiety and can work out a solution.  I've been cruising lately on advice my therapist gave me years ago (I haven't seen her since finding out I was pregnant with Lincoln) - I've added two phrases to my vocab - "Good enough" and "For now."  Those have helped me A LOT.  But not lately.

So last night I had a concert.  Definitely my most low-key concert.  Virtually stress-free.  Fun.  Laid-back.  But the pit was there.  And the concert was good enough.  And on the way home I started crying.  And I went up to my room and stood in front of my closet to pick out my clothes for school today and I froze and I cried.  And I cried.  And I couldn't move.  I told my co-worker/best friend/free therapist that I was going to build myself into a panic attack soon, and that I did.

Dave came in after putting Lincoln to bed, and I was still there.  He came up and asked if I was okay.  I said no.  He asked if I was having a panic attack.  I nodded yes.  He asked if I wanted him to stay or if I needed to be alone.  (That's the PERFECT response.) I nodded.  Since that didn't answer his question, he reworded it - Do you need to be alone?  I nodded again.  He walked out of our bedroom and closed the door and gave me the space I needed.  (That was perfect.)  I went into our bathroom and cried.  Then sat on the floor and cried.  And shook and cried.  And cried and shook and rocked. 

I hadn't said goodnight to our oldest, she had been in the shower when I got home.  I knew I wanted to go say goodnight.  So I slowly breathed, tried to calm myself (fell into one more fit of tears and shaking and hyperventilating) and then managed to calm myself.  I came out into our bedroom.  The light was off and it was empty.  I opened the door and he was sitting on the floor outside our bedroom door.  He was there in case I needed him, but gave me the space I needed, too.  (That was the PERFECT response.)  I said goodnight to our daughter.  I came back to our bedroom and we put the bed up (it's a reclining bed).  He asked if I wanted to talk or not.  I immediately started blurting out a million things that have me anxious right now.  He reached over and rubbed my back, but then stopped and asked I wanted to be touched or not touched (not touched), so he stopped.  (That was perfect and thoughtful and kind and understanding.)  We talked.  It didn't resolve anything, but it let me spew a bit.  He asked if I wanted to go to sleep or watch a show.  We watched one half hour comedy (while my brain decompressed), and then he flattened the bed, turned off the tv, and turned out the light and let me sleep.

Panic attacks are awful.  My chest tightens, my mind races, my heart races, I cry and hyperventilate, I get sweaty and clammy, my skin crawls, I get tunnel vision.  I've sent him the occasional article on how to deal with your partner's panic attacks.  I don't know if he reads them, but now I have to assume so.  I feel like he could write a book on the subject.  Last night's reaction was PERFECT.  I felt loved, safe, and supported.  Thank you, David.