April 2024 was, candidly, the worst season of my life. It was the starting point for a series of events that led me to have what can only be described as a mental breakdown. My now-husband’s father passed away after a long battle with his health. I was moving apartments in New York City, which is one of the most stressful experiences you can have. I decided to quit my job. And, to top it all off, I was trying to plan a wedding.
Needless to say, I was under a tremendous amount of stress and just not feeling well. After ignoring signs from my body for weeks, I had the worst panic attack of my life—during my partner’s graduation party, no less. One moment, my sister and I were sneaking off to go pick up catering, the next I was lying on a stretcher, attached to all sorts of machines. The experience left me with what my psychiatrist labeled as panic disorder, alongside a healthy dose of agoraphobic behaviors.
