I was certain something was wrong. My chest felt tight, my heart raced, and I couldn’t catch my breath. It felt like I was having an allergic reaction, or worse – going into hyperglycaemic shock.
Within 30 minutes I was seeing a doctor, convinced that something serious was happening to me as I Googled symptoms. Self-diagnosing serious illnesses was my go-to anytime I had an ache or twinge.
This time I met with a GP I hadn’t met before. She told me my throat was closing up but it was not caused by something physically wrong – I was having a panic attack.
It wasn’t the first time, I have had probably 3 or 4 in the last decade but this time logic went out of the window and my health anxiety took over. She asked me a few questions and the real issue wasn’t in my body – it was my heart.
Growing up, my mum was constantly in and out of hospitals. Three-times-a-week dialysis sessions were normal, along with surgeries and endless doctor’s visits. To be honest, it wasn’t until I was an adult myself that I realised how unwell she actually was. Sure, I knew being used to the smell of hospital disinfectant, how to prepare her medicines and injecting her with an Epi-pen was not usual for a kid, but she never made a fuss and always put on a brave face in a bid to ensure my brother and I lived a normal life.
Even though she was battling such huge health issues, lupus with kidney failure and all the side effects that came from her cocktail of meds, she never allowed me or my brother to be sick. Even something as small as the common cold wasn’t allowed. We were told to soldier on and not make a fuss or be a “hypochondriac”. Fast forward a decade and I am now a fully-fledged one.
When she passed away, I buried my grief, telling myself I had to be “strong” as that’s what she would have wanted. Her death affected me greatly, there isn’t a day I don’t think of her, she was my best friend, and I was her main carer but I hadn’t realised how deeply her illness had impacted me. Over the years, losing her manifested in my fear of losing myself, my health anxiety wasn’t random, it was a symptom of everything I hadn’t dealt with.
I guess it became a full-on issue this year after I had to check in as an in-patient for a day procedure, which was the first time I had ever been in surgery or gone under anaesthetic. Before this, I always feared routine blood tests would reveal a deadly diagnosis or worse, miss something and lead to me having months to live. My husband asked, “Why are you so afraid, you are young and healthy”. It was then I realised, it wasn’t about my body, it was about losing control. I knew that my health anxiety was taking over my brain. It was not just about my health status but grief… It finally clicked that it was time to seek professional help. So, 11 years after my mother died at the age of 46 (just 14 years older than I am) I took the plunge and started online therapy sessions.
Luckily dealing with my health anxiety with the help of a therapist came quickly – she taught me CBT techniques for anytime I feel overwhelmed or worried and now, I have cut ties with having the docs on speed dial. But as we started chatting it soon came to the surface that not only was I grieving mum but for the childhood I’d missed out on because of her illness. Despite her efforts for this not to happen, it was inevitable and it meant I stepped into a parentified role in order to help and support my terminally ill mum.
I am still early on in my therapy journey and it can be uncomfortable and messy opening up Pandora’s box, but I have learned that health anxiety was my mind’s way of protecting me from deeper pain. By focusing on my body, I avoided the grief and trauma buried in my heart. Slowly, I’m confronting those feelings. I’ve allowed myself to remember the good times with my mum, not just her illness. I’m also learning to let go of the guilt I carried as a child — guilt for not being able to save her, guilt for wanting a life free of hospitals. And as I heal those wounds, my anxiety has started to loosen its grip. It’s not gone, but it no longer rules my life.
For so long, I was scared to start therapy or talk about my mum because I didn’t want to seem broken. But my health anxiety was never really about my body, it was about unresolved trauma that I’m still working through. By finally facing these things, I’m beginning to find a peace I never thought possible. If you’re carrying something heavy from your past, don’t wait as long as I did. The healing journey is hard, but it’s worth it.