“This article was written two weeks ago after returning from a holiday.”
Today I was to fly home from my honeymoon. I’d spent a glorious week with my new husband and son Bobby in our favourite holiday destination of choice, Noosa, where we frequent annually around this time of year. We’d had the most amazing, relaxing week – despite taking our 18-month-old with us, we also tagged the grandparents along for some much appreciated company …and slight babysitting duties.
I loved my trip but I’m always happy to get home. Back to the comfort of my own four walls and my familiar place, but as I boarded the plane on the Sunshine Coast, my body literally froze at the door. Alarm bells went off in my head, and I received a hot tingle rush from my head right down to my toes. I couldn’t breathe, and as my husband turned around to ask me what seat number he was in, he immediately knew. Within seconds I had burst into tears and walked straight back off the plane. Ladies and gentleman, I’d like to introduce you to my two worst enemies; anxiety and panic attacks.
I’d always thought I knew what anxiety was. But I was wrong. I think throughout my life I’ve always experienced a slightly, watered-down version of it, but never the real deal. I don’t think you can possibly understand how horrifically terrifying the real deal is until it happens to you. The first panic attack I had was also on a plane.
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Having lived all over Australia throughout my life, and being lucky enough to frequently travel on holidays with my family, I’ve never had an issue with flying. I always felt sick and most of the time I’d have a sneaky chunder, but I’ve never been scared. Last year, upon flying to Noosa, I was completely fine. About an hour in, something weird happened. What triggered it I will never ever be able to explain as I don’t recall thinking any bad thoughts at that time.