The Anxiety Attack That Never Came

Last week I shared about my free fall. Feeling like I was being thrown out of an airplane into nothingness, knowing I had no net and I was going to hit the ground and smash into a million pieces.

The thing that kept happening is that every single thing had to happen exactly as it was supposed to. And I'm only now realizing, a week later, that all of this stems from the lifelong anxiety I used to have.

I was sitting in a bar in Montana. Richard was next to me, patting me on the back, asking if I wanted a shot of alcohol. Spoiler: I said no. Tears were running down my face over and over and over again. And I realized — this was my old anxiety creeping in. Telling me every single story my old Itty Bitty Shitty Committee used to tell me. That there's no way this was going to be possible. That everything I'd been working toward, giving up, moving through, and feeling completely wrong about — was all for nothing.

It took me a full week to understand that the moment in the bar was me waiting for my anxiety attack. The familiar shutdown. Not being able to handle anything. Not being able to function or make a decision. The thing that showed up every time I faced something new.

Starting a podcast.
Recording a training.
Giving a new talk.
Traveling to a new place.
Making a decision for dinner.
Meeting new people.

Every single one of these used to make my sweat through my shirt, fall apart, dive into a deep depression, then go fully catatonic.

But this time? The attack never came.

That was the most confusing part. I sat there knowing I was about to fall apart. Knowing I was going to shut down. Knowing I wouldn't be able to do this and I'd have to white-knuckle my way through it alone. Terrified.

But it never came.

The Floor

About five years ago, my mentor heard that my husband had found me on our bedroom floor. Catatonic. She wanted to know why I never called her.

My answer was, "Why would I ever call you about this?"

She said, "Melanie, you know this isn't normal."

My response was, "Of course it's normal. This is what always happens."

It was in those moments with her that I finally realized that other people didn't have this problem. I would spend the next couple of years working diligently on figuring out the root of it and clearing it out of my system, only to discover that it had been living under my skin my entire life. Embedded in my original coding.

By the time I finally addressed it, my world completely changed. I was able to handle small things with ease rather than terrifying worry. And I realized something stunning: my whole life, I'd been doing things terrified. But at least I'd been doing them. I wasn't sitting around hoping someone would save me. I was scared, but I was moving.

Once I figured this out, friends said, "You didn't know you had anxiety? How did you not know?" And I can tell you — when you're inside it, when it's all you've ever known, it's nearly impossible to see it for what it is. Other people can see it for you. But when you have no idea what's going on, you can't change what you can't name.

The Medicine That Changed Everything

I'm not going to go into the full list of things I did to clear this. But I will tell you that the biggest shift was two-fold.

First, I started getting psychologist-assisted ketamine treatments that allowed me to see my thoughts for what they really were — patterns, not truths.

Second, I started microdosing mushrooms.

Both were powerful medicines that allowed me to feel grounded for the first time in my life. I had been floating along for decades without ever giving myself the chance to look at why my thoughts were the way they were.

I know there are a lot of conversations these days about psychedelic medicines and healing work. I don't think any of these are for everyone. But I can tell you that the work I've done to live a functional, grounded, present life has been the most powerful transformation I've ever experienced.

If you know anything about my background, you know I grew up pretty conservative Christian. Straight edge is what we used to call it. I didn't try anything until I was much older. I tell you this because none of this has ever been recreational for me, and I don't share it lightly. There have been a lot of steps on this path to bring me to this moment.

I'm positive that without this work, I would probably still be numbing with pharmaceuticals and alcohol. I don't have to live that way anymore. And that feels like the most powerful thing I can share with you.