“Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.” – Brene Brown

Here, in this post, you will not find talk of tropical paradises and stunning views. You will not read about hikes through olive groves to find nude beaches, nor will you read how we met other travelers and the lot of us danced and drank the night away.

In truth, this post might be more therapeutic for me (Michele). Maybe even a little self-indulgent, and it may not be your cup of tea. You can go ahead and skip to the next post where we once again describe the abundant beauty and magic that comes with travel and exploration. You can look back at pictures of us smiling, pictures of beautiful mountains and waters. You are not held here at your own will. You can leave. I do not have a tracker that tells me how long you read a certain post. I don’t even have a tracker of who reads this. (So far I know we have at least 10 consistent followers as they send us texts asking when the next post will be. You guys rock.)

Again, this post is not for everyone. You’ve been sufficiently warned and I take no responsibility for your displeasure or the boredom you’ll feel if you choose to venture further.

OKAY.

The journey to self-discovery is a fickle bitch, especially when self-discovery wasn’t on your to-do list in the first place. Something I’ve come to realize about myself is a constant need for routine and independence. They are not mutually exclusive, and might even be the two things I need to be happy. Happy? Maybe grounded is the better word here. Routine makes me feel in control of my life and independence keeps me present. I’m sitting in a café and for the first time since we began this arduous journey, I have spent this day alone. Completely alone, not speaking to people, save for the beer I just ordered to help push me through this post. This is not a typical day alone. Of course, it began like any other, coffee in bed, a read through the Skimm and my usual daily intention; breathe and don’t die. One requires great effort on my part and the other is dependent on the risks I’m willing to take that day and how the stars align, if you’re into that kind of stuff. Speaking of stars and stuff, I’m a Sagittarius and I completely identify with the characteristics of my sign. The good, the bad, and the ugly. For instance, when I hear that I’m passionate, adventurous and loyal, I’m all hell yeah! Those sound cool. When I see that I am also stubborn, impatient, over-analytical and at times tactless, my first thought is nah, not me. I’ve never stuck my foot in my mouth because I didn’t carefully weigh what I was about to say. That absolutely cannot be me. Well, maybe once. Okay. Sometimes. Fine. Whatever. I’ll work on it.

These are things I think about these days. With so much time on my hands with no job or purpose, I’ve recently turned to trying to cure myself of everything that sucks. For starters, how can I listen more and think less. I didn’t, and still don’t, have a plan on how to be the best me. I just know the thing that is standing in my way. This thing has a name and its name is vulnerability. It’s taken me 32 years (well, not entirely 32 years. Let’s face it, I wasn’t a narcissistic 6-year-old facing an existential crisis) or somewhere close to that to realize that my shortcomings are due to my inability and uneasiness with being vulnerable. Vulnerability that when I am like, “hey, look over here. Learn something about yourself.” Vulnerability says “Nah, I’m good. I’ll stay here in my perpetual state of happy oblivion.”.

Of course, sometimes we aren’t given the choice whether to be vulnerable. Still, there is almost always a hesitation in what I do and say for fear of giving away too much. What if I “do” it wrong or “say” it wrong. Sometimes even my “opening-up” can be half-hearted, something resembling the truth, or at least a story of the truth. I’ve always felt that revealing too much would open me up to criticism and I certainly didn’t want to be typecast so-to-speak. “We can’t rely on her, she has too many feelings.”, is what I imagined would follow complete openness on my part. Maybe Freud has a word for this? Another topic, another day. As cathartic as it feels to write this, I’m also most certain that these words won’t make it to print (if you’re reading this, I was wrong.)

It’s much easier to take beautiful photos and make others smile.

Instead, today, I feel drawn to tell a recent experience. It may seem TMI for some, and sure you might be right. Now is a good time to close the computer and resume your regularly scheduled program. Or wait for our next post. For others, it might seem like a boring, woe is me moment. Also true. However, I am choosing to let go of this fear in hopes that this story resonates with someone. Also equally as important: for the sake of living in this moment and embracing all things that are me, Michele.

Telling this story for all to see is out of character for me. I keep things pretty close to the vest, not blast them for all to see. Only a select few have truly seen behind the curtain. This however, is real life and in real life, shit happens. And it sometimes sucks. I’m sharing this next part because it is one of the most frightening things I’ve gone through and one of my wisest friends told me that it might be good to put it out there. Write it down. Then maybe share it.

So for me, this is what vulnerability looks like…

Michele, and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.

I’m going to write this as if it were the present because I think it will be the only way I can truly explain how it felt.

We are in Split, Croatia and heading via ferry to the island of Hvar, which takes a little over an hour. We’ve been moving non-stop for a bit, something we vowed not to do anymore, and I’m feeling a bit worn down, and not quite myself. I preemptively take my Dramamine and board the ferry, ready to take in the ocean views (recently I came to the realization that a calm day on the ocean is much like a rough day on a lake and therefore, Dramamine.) I look around and see that no one was going to the top deck and the seats were filling up fast. For whatever reason, they were not allowing people to go up top. Now let me say, that I’ve always been a little claustrophobic. I’m 5’2” and standing in a crowd where I cannot see an exit has made me pit-out more than once. The scene from the Lion King where young Simba is being rundown by thousands of gazelles is what I picture my death looking like. Additionally, I’ve dealt with episodes of anxiety over the years, everything from giving presentations to thinking about terminal illnesses I might have. I don’t mean to confuse you. I’m a pretty relaxed person and feel so grateful for my life. I do all the yoga, I focus on being present, I nurture my relationships, yada yada yada. I thought this was me showing my authentic self, but my mind can wander sometimes, especially when routine and independence have gone to the wayside. Most people would be surprised to hear this. To that, I’m sorry to shatter the rose-colored image you had of me. Or maybe you already knew I could go dark at any minute. Either way. I continue…

So, I’m sitting on the ferry, it’s filling up with people and I’m in a small seat, smooshed against the window. Then, it hits me. Within a split second, my heart is pounding through my chest, I’m sweating all over and beginning to tremble. My skin is burning. My arms are cramping. I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. I try breathing deeply, but my breaths are so shallow that I begin to think I have a blocked airway and I touch my throat. The cabin feels like the oxygen is gone. I scan the boat for an exit. There isn’t one. I need air. We’ve started moving and they’ve latched the outside doors. The ceiling appears to be getting lower and I want to scream. My seat is squeezing me tighter. Adrenaline is surging through my body and I need to run. I don’t feel like a person. A man says something to me and I’m not sure what it was. I shake my head and look out the window. The only thing I know for certain and like a broken record keeps echoing in my head, and it is saying that I am going to die. (I cannot stress enough that this is not a figure of speech. This feeling was real, palpable.) I’m convinced and acutely aware that I am going to die in this shrinking box. My body feels like it’s shutting down. I don’t understand what is happening and I begin to cry. I can no longer see, everything just a blur in front of me. Trent says something to me and I can hear his voice, but can’t see him. I think I’m going to pass out. Right when I think I can take no more, my heart slows, my vision sharpens and I realize that I was having a full-blown panic attack.

If you’ve never had a panic attack, you won’t be able to understand how terrifying this was. Nothing and I mean nothing has hit me quite like this, and I couldn’t escape. Whenever I’ve ever felt uncomfortable in situations, I’ve always been able to leave. Not this time. This was the worst feeling I’ve ever had.

The panic attack passes and I’m feeling strung out and exhausted, mentally and physically. It’s over. I’m fine. We make it to land and I sleep the rest of the day.

The next couple days were supposed to be blissful, relaxing in a remote village on an island with nothing to do but chill. One of these days was exactly like that, a long hike, a yoga sesh, some meditation, a glass of wine, a beautifully orange sunset, and the prior ferry episode just a weird glitch in the matrix. The last full day, however, started abruptly at 3:00 in the morning when I woke to an eruption of acid in my stomach that instantly made me throw up. I went back to bed and an hour later, it happened again. And again an hour later. By this point, anxious energy begins coursing through me again and by late morning, I think that another panic attack is imminent. This only makes me more sick. I begin thinking of hypotheticals. What if I don’t stop getting sick? I’m going to be vomiting forever, I just know it. I start thinking about the early morning ferry ride the next day to another island and the time between each vomiting session begins to quicken. What if they don’t let us up top again? What if I have another panic episode? What if I die in the middle of the ocean because I can’t breathe? What if the boat sinks and I die? What if this? What if that? No one can talk me out of this insane downward spiral. I feel utterly alone in this shit storm of anxiety and I’m terrified beyond anything. I can’t eat anything or drink anything. This lasts for hours. Hours of throwing up. Crying. No, sobbing rather. Wringing my hands. Asking what is happening to me. The longer the feeling lasts, the more intense it gets. I fall asleep at one point from exhaustion. I wake up 2 hours later and within minutes of thinking about the craziness of the morning, I’m in it again. Anxiety takes over my body and I’m getting sick again. The room is hot and I start thinking of ways to get off the island. The whole afternoon continues like this. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?! I call my mom. I call my friends. I try meditating. I tell myself that this is anxiety, but I’ve never had anxiety like this. My brain rationalizes that this is the new me. I will forever feel afraid and I will live out my days on this island.  It is making all the other times when I thought I had anxiety seem like I was misusing the term. This is real anxiety. I’m making myself sick with worry, literally. I threw up the whole day. By the evening, I’m finally able to talk with a couple friends who provide me with momentary ease, their voices soothing and supportive. As soon as the phone calls ends, I begin crying because I think I’ve literally gone crazy.

It’s now midnight. I feel like I’m starting to suffocate in the room I’ve been in all day. I need to leave. I put on my shoes and walk outside. I start to calm. I keep walking. I walk to the water down a steep hill and walk back up. My heart is pounding but this time because of the exertion. I finally began to think clearly. Only at this point do the soothing words of two of my best friends begin to truly register in my head. I’m okay. I’m calm. Wow. What was that? I’m in awe of the power of my own mind and actually laugh out loud at one point. I return and finally go to sleep.

All I can say is HOLY F*@&!

I got on the ferry the next day and with the podcast Two Dope Queens and a lavender bag that I huffed the full hour and a half, I was able to make it to the next island. The next couple days, I start to return to my normal self, I feel peace, the events of the two days feeling like someone else’s memory.

How do I never go back there? Because of that one time in college where I self-diagnosed every disease or illness you could think of, this time I avoid the internet. I will not go down that rabbit hole again.

I need to take care of myself and what this experience has taught me so far is that I’m more vulnerable and sensitive to unknown situations than I knew. There is a silver lining somewhere in this experience and I’m looking forward to when it shines. After all, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? I believe Kelly Clarkson was the very first to say this. We are humans. I could beat myself up over what happened or I could acknowledge that I am human and life comes at us hard sometimes. It does not mean we’ve failed. It does not mean we’re crazy. It means we can become overwhelmed if we aren’t kind to ourselves. Going forward, I will give myself more time to breathe, more time to pursue what I love and listen to my mind and body more carefully. A routine and time to reflect has become a top priority for me now.

Congratulations for making it through this entire post! I hope you didn’t fall asleep while reading.

And thank you.