Panic & Positivity, Beating Fear For A Long Time Now.

Beating Fear. If you put your mind to it, you'll do it.

Panic & Positivity, Beating Fear For A Long Time Now. I thought I had my first panic attack at the age of nineteen. On the last day of a trip to America with Julie, I started to feel unwell, for no particular reason.

If you have suffered a panic attack, you will be familiar with the symptoms. The feeling of ‘not being there’, as if a film has covered your eyes and things are being seen from a distance.

And that first twinge of anxiety when you realise something is not quite right. If this is your first time, you will be alarmed as a surge of adrenaline runs through your body, accompanied by shaking limbs and a feeling of nausea.

Yes, adrenaline is Mother Nature’s first warning sign, shots fired, but in this case, it does not help. We go into fight or flight mode, but there is no one to fight, and flight, but to where?

This was a particularly tough one for me on this day, as we were in a shopping centre in Orlando with many hours until our flight home, so there really wasn’t anywhere to bolt to, except the roadside motel room Julie found for us, where I slept the afternoon away, which is classic escapism.

My reprieve from whatever this was (I had no idea what a panic attack was or even heard the term before) was short-lived. As soon as we left the safety of the hotel room, my imagination went into overdrive.

I just wanted to get home, get on the plane and go back to the United Kingdom, but it seemed there were triggers everywhere.

The red light at the crossroads just seemed to take an eternity to change to green, and convinced we were going to miss our flight home, I began to get agitated, and so what did this bring? Another burst of adrenaline. But the light changed, and we moved forward onto the interstate, and the movement brought about relief; it slowed my breathing down because at least we were now finally making our escape and not just to a motel room.

Except it wasn’t. The sight of hundreds of tourists queuing for flights caused me great alarm, more so because we were at the very back of those queues.

My heart rate reached an alarming number of beats per minute, and eventually, Julie sent for help. Paramedics helped me into a first aid room, and I was hooked up to the wires for an hour or so, checked over, deemed fit to fly home and sent to board the plane, the staff writing this down to just a bout of Florida flu.

Remember, the term panic attack had never been used to this point; it was not a ‘thing’.

We arrived home safely. When we have a panic attack, we always arrive home safely (so take solace in that), as they are not a danger to life in themselves. They are just a combination of emotional upset and physical symptoms from that turmoil.

And so life returned to semi-normal. I say semi, because once back home, every time I thought of that incident, I received that ever so familiar, ever so unwelcome surge of adrenaline and with it the thoughts we all dread. The “Oh no, it is happening again.”

Rinse, repeat, carry on.

Eventually, after blood tests, many doctors’ appointments, much love and care from Julie, and a certain amount of scepticism from an unsympathetic father (“You haven’t got AIDS, have you?”). It was suggested that I suffered from bad nerves, which later developed into full-blown panic disorder. I knew I had to do something. I knew it wasn’t fair to feel like this and to put Julie through my misery, despite the fact that she understood 100% and made sure I was looked after.

First, I had to come to terms with what happened in the States, why my first panic attack took place when it did. I came to realise it wasn’t my first. I came to accept I had been having them for as long as I could remember.

Here he is, the five-year-old child, screaming the house awake with his nightmares, the recurring one about the church and the cannonball.

And there he goes, avoiding the local high street for fear of bumping into certain people who may trigger him, but the avoidance itself sets off another bout of self-doubt, another conversation with the self in which my lack of confidence could bring about an attack in itself.

Now here is a sight to behold. The dread of another day at the hands of anxiety as my girlfriend helps me dress in preparation for another day of fear and anti-depressants as I toil in my father’s factory, a source of discomfort itself.

There didn’t seem to be a day went by when he didn’t scream at me, belittle me, throw stuff at me or change his tone and become Mister Nice, only later telling me what he wanted me to do for this change of mood: Think blackmail, prostitutes, helping him rip of small governments and always, always with his back-up plan. “Don’t do it, and I’ll sack you.”

So, I looked back at my history of anxiety, the bullying, the lack of confidence, the narcissistic father, and the ever-present need to try and impress him, despite it all.

Now married with my own children, I decided to give up dwelling on the past. I think I had learned all the lessons there were to learn there.

Instead, I set about educating myself. Books were read, advice sought, and a change of lifestyle implemented. I started training in Martial Arts, and it had a dual effect of building self-confidence and burning off any unwanted adrenaline.

That said, the training, the fights I had and the journeys around the country I made to learn from the best, all brought their own fear, their own adrenaline release, but at least this was something I could understand. If I couldn’t actually see it, I could feel it. I learnt how to use it, and I learnt how to tell it apart from imagined fear, and then I learnt how to control it. Not easy, but very worthwhile.

My next step, at the suggestion of a good friend, was to start writing about my experiences.

From the five-year-old getting bullied, to the sixteen-year-old being stalked by an angry skinhead who wanted to, promised to end my life. More: The father who drove me to this anxious self, the troublesome things I witnessed firsthand in his factory, nightclub and business trips around the world, the only father figure I ever had was a toxic one.

Then, when the fear gripped me so hard that I couldn’t leave my house. I had no idea why, but there were times when a twenty-yard walk to the local shop seemed to be like a bridge full of trolls that I had to cross. A trip to the pub often found me sat by the door in case escape was needed, and I came to learn of fight or flight.

Then the road to recovery. The realisation that I could beat this, I could control my fear and not give in to its every whim.

My first article became a series in a national magazine, and what followed were worldwide-selling books, short films and feature scripts.

So for me, it was Martial Arts that gave me confidence, a loving girl that showed me compassion, writing that opened new doors and talking about it in public, in front of audiences, that made the most sense of it.

Reading, music, walking, talking, hitting the heavy bag and lifting even heavier weights all built me back up, all showed me that frightened children need not become frightened adults. Our lives do not have to be lived in fear.

So how about you? How will you make the leap from fear to fearless, panic to positivity? What will you do to break your spell, because you can?

Set out on your road trip, draw your map, and make small goals become massive achievements. Keep a diary, record your fears, your triumphs and your darkest thoughts (intrusive). Make sure the diary is honest.

Listen to the people who have been there, read their stories, tune in to their podcasts, and you will realise there are whole communities out there who have suffered, recovered and now offer help. Just reach out and take it, because you are braver than you think.

The very best of luck to you.

Simon's books are available here

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To book him for a talk, please contact me, Julie, at info@simonmorrell.com or WhatsApp 07484 331572