I Thought I Was Dying. When I Learned The Truth, I Became Desperate To Keep It Secret.

The author on a moms' night out. Courtesy of Lauren Dunn I told myself I could not have a panic attack because I don’t have panic attacks. I didn’t want anyone to know that sometimes it showed up as despair, as I struggled to drag my legs over the side of the bed in the morning, find the floor with my feet, and throw back a cup of coffee in hopes that the caffeine would propel me toward a day filled with tasks that seemed insurmountable — like pouring our son a bowl of cereal. And I didn’t want anyone to know that sometimes it arrived almost as some type of manic energy, a feeling that if I could only outpace this thing by attending social events, girls’ nights, pool parties, dinners out, committee meetings, client calls and PTA functions, then maybe I could run so fast, I’d lose it behind me. Except it wasn’t chasing me — it was already inside of me.” Even though I had previously felt the physical symptoms of stress, I didn’t recognize them creeping in again.