I’m a naturally anxious person, particularly skilled at the sport of Imagining All Worst Case Scenarios—gold medal level skills, I’d argue.“My mind is my main problem almost all of the time. I wish I could leave it in the fridge when I go out, but it likes to come with me,” the writing goddess Ann Lamott wrote. I only just recently figured out that this worry pulsating through my body since I was but a sweet child (disclaimer: this is a lie, I was not a sweet child) is what one might call Anxiety. This means I’ve had my share of panic attacks over the years—those breathless moments of feeling claustrophobic inside your own body—though I had no idea that those were actually called panic attacks until maybe a couple years ago.
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