“A thousand useless words are useful words when one hears that one is happy.” ~ Buddha Dharma
Did he just cut my head open? Am I bleeding everywhere? Is there blood on my face?
It was half of my standard weekly haircut when my mind began to wander.
I felt a little paralyzed in the back of my head, and my anxiety came with its vivid imagination leading to the worst scenario.
Earlier, a little over my haircut and I was laughing about Disneyland. After a while, I was convinced that he had accidentally cut off my head and that everyone in the store was watching me calmly.
A barber friend brought me to mix roads and water, but inside I felt trapped in a ruthless circle, cycling between anxiety and fear of not being able to free myself.
The sound became blurry. The sound of the clip seems to be several kilometers away. My heart felt out of place. I was floating somewhere above it, watching myself simultaneously jump and explode.
“Call 911!” I shouted. Even though I am in my thirties and in good health, I believe I have a heart attack. All the rational thoughts disappeared when the physical symptoms overwhelmed me. My chest tightened, my vision blurred, and I was sure this was the end.
“Am I dead?” I regret in my heart that I did not write my will.
I jumped off the barber chair and lay on the floor against the heart attack that I was sure would come. Thinking I needed CPR, I was still able to pull out my wallet, find my insurance card and throw it on the ground for the time when I was inevitably rushed to the hospital.
It has been almost a decade since I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and generalized anxiety disorder. Since then, I have struggled to manage my mental health through treatment, medication, and self-care, but panic has a hidden way to catch you from protection.
My last panic attack was several months ago and I believe I am clear. Obviously I am not.
“What do I look like? Did I cut my hair in half?” The first question came out of my mouth as I lay on the cold cement floor covered in hair and embarrassment as the generator siren rang closer.
My barber was sitting next to me. He was silent. He told me to take a deep breath and reminded me that I might be panicking.
As I gradually began to settle down, my perception shifted from floating above me to landing in my body. My chest still hurts, but I start to feel my hands again.
When the doctor arrived, a wave of embarrassment struck me. It started to sink in, I did not have a heart attack. No, I’m not dead. No, I’m not in hell. I just had a panic attack.
The only thing that died that day was a little proud of me as half a firefighter surrounded me in a small barber shop as I lay on the ground covered in sweat.
They checked my heart rate and blood pressure. Both are raised.
Then the real kicker came: “Pre-existing conditions?”
I explained that I was living with anxiety and panic. One firefighter took a deep breath, while others turned back to the car. That made me fall.
Despite being an advocate for mental health, I feel ridiculous as a child crying like a wolf except for the wolf, who is invisible to everyone except me. It’s a raw shame that I did not expect and not sure how to deal with. It was as if my advocate for years had suddenly come out of the barber shop’s glass window facing their impatience.
It was not just a disappointment in their breathing. It is a rejection of what I have actually experienced, stuck deeper than any physical symptoms.
A resident firefighter asked about my current medication, taking a deep breath with each prescription I listed as my fear was a personal inconvenience to him. It felt like a real fear for my life made him so angry with my life.
When they refused a heart attack, the remaining firefighters helped me get back in my seat and leave.
As I sat halfway through the haircut, I could not stop thinking about how normal this experience was. More than one in five American adults live with a mental health condition In any year, according to the National League for Mental Illness. Millions of us hold something invisible. Here I am overwhelmed with shame for what I can not control.
Then my hairdresser did the simplest and most amazing thing.
“How are you?” He asked. He then picked up the weaver and continued to cut my hair as if nothing had happened, continuing our conversation about Disneyland like I did not just feel like a near-death experience on the floor next to him before.
He does not pity me. He did not judge me. He did not make it a thing. He was calm, and his calmness told me I was still me.
That’s everything.
This is what I learned from living with a panic attack for many years. You can not discern the way out of one, and no one can discern you from the other.
When it happened, the part of my brain that knew I was safe calmed down. Logic does not land, and reality does not help.
Someone insists “you’re fine” often makes things worse. It just feels like another person not getting it.
What really helps is the presence – a constant voice or a calm body next to me.
My hairdresser has no training in this. He just calms down when I can not. That pulled me back into the room when nothing could be done.
I have my own tools and I use them regularly. One is the exercise of nine, three, two, one I can name five things I can see, four I can touch, three I can hear, two I can smell, and one I can taste. The process takes me back to the present.
I also use a small handheld called TheraTapper. It sends a gentle pulse to each arm backwards and helps to soothe my nervous system as it races.
These tools work, but here’s the honest part: in the worst of times, I can not always reach them.
The apartment on the barber floor believes I am dying, my mind is without internet. That is when the silence of others is paramount. The tool is mine to practice in silence, but consistency often has to come from someone else.
I am sharing this because panic attacks are often invisible until they are invisible. Shaking, crying, and lying on the floor can look amazing, but most of the pain is happening somewhere that no one can see.
And when it does take shape, the response of people nearby can change everything, whether it’s a big sigh, a nod, or simply “Are you good?”
I will never forget the firefighters’ big sighs, but I think about my haircut more often.
He reminded me that I was not crazy, I was not broken, and I was not alone, never saying these words. Sometimes the best treatment is not advice or guarantee. It is the one who stays by your side until you find your way back.
About Kyle Elliott
Dr. Kyle Elliott (He / she / he) is a professional and executive coach for technology leaders. As a person living with a mental health condition, he is proud to use his voice and platform to help others share their stories, get help, and achieve recovery. Download his free self care guide. Find 30+ practical and quick strategies to reduce your stress, improve your mental health and reclaim your time and energy.
