Today is the first anniversary of the launch of my debut picture book, THIS BOOK IS SPINELESS, so incredibly illustrated by Alice Brereton and published by the wonderful people at Page Street Kids. I owe this book so much and want to tell you why. I’ve talked about the inspiration for THIS BOOK IS SPINELESS in general terms, such as when the title flew in my head after stepping on one of my son’s picture books and I thought I broke its spine. I’ve also touched on how this book was inspired by my life with anxiety. But I have never told the nitty gritty real story until I went to NCTE in Baltimore this past November and spoke to a room full of English teachers and other authors. There I was on display and decided to tell the in-depth inspiration for my story. Why at that moment? For me, it was to celebrate an achievement of overcoming one of the biggest obstacles in my life.
Let me explain by telling you the story of why I really wrote THIS BOOK IS SPINELESS …
In 2014, I started to not feel well. I was easily agitated and always run down. I felt like my insides were a chalkboard and someone was running their nails down it day in and day out. I had a hard time focusing, but I kept pushing forward with life and all the things that were in it at the time, including working, trying to take care of my two young boys, giving my all to my spouse, and maybe a little self-care to myself. So after a workout one day, which left me feeling angry because it was a horrible workout and I felt like I was somehow slipping backward in progress, I got in my car to drive home. Halfway there, it hit. A tunnel of darkness began to overcome my eyesight, pains floated across my chest, my body and mind started to disconnect from each other, I went numb, I couldn’t breathe, and the feelings of death and doom poured over me like the worst of hugs. Somehow I found the wherewithal to pull over and call 9-1-1. I thought that was it for me. I thought of my children, my husband.
image: jeshoots.com
It was a panic attack.
I didn’t believe it at first. A panic attack couldn’t be that severe. I went and did all the tests, but I was healthy, and that should have made me feel better. Okay, so I was sort of healthy. A year after the panic attack I figured out that my taking Zyrtec caused this episode. Anyway, I’m wiser now. Regardless of the medical issue, what I was left with was my brain making an ironclad association between driving and panic. So, whenever I would drive my car, I would have a panic attack. I also have to say that I live in Texas and in Texas we drive everywhere. It’s a big place, lots of space. Driving is akin to freedom, although I certainly love taking other modes of transportation whenever I can. Just ask my bus and train-loving son. I digress.
For the first few weeks after the original panic attack, I didn’t want to drive. Really, I couldn’t. I was a shell of myself and lacked any energy. I hid in my house. I was able to get my kids to school, but that was all I could manage. Forget about going to visit my sister 30 miles away, let alone my parents, who are 200 miles away. Errands, I avoided them. My mind created a jail, and I was sitting in it … waiting and wasting away. The depression was severe. Debilitating. No way to live. I felt so betrayed by my own body and mind.
And I had to decide, did I want to live this way? I didn’t. Did I have suicidal thoughts? I did. But there’s something that I know about me, and that is I love a good fight. Not a fist fight, mind you, but a fight to improve. A fight to move forward. I’m also very very patient. If I have a goal, I don’t mind going slow and steady to get there. These things take time. So, I had to give myself time. And I had to get my life back, and it all centered around that damn car. I had to face this monstrous, overwhelming fear and shrink it in size.
I first started with driving around the neighborhood. I had a level of comfort with that. Where I wasn’t comfortable was the highway. It was my arch-nemesis. I would get on the highway, get off at the next exit, and panic. Sometimes severely, like the first panic attack after my workout. Sometimes it was toned down. I counted that as a success. I would get on the highway again and get back off. Back and forth, always pushing forward. Each time I would panic, I tried to give myself grace. That was one of the hardest parts. I’m a perfectionist. I also used to love driving, so I spent a fare amount of time beating myself up for what I thought was a weakness. I now see it all differently. I see the strength. I see my creativity. I see my sensitivity. I see how in tune I am with myself and my surroundings. Without any of that, I wouldn’t be me.
As I was in this battle to get my life back … deep in it … the title of THIS BOOK IS SPINELESS hopped into my brain. I thought, this book is going to help me, too, and maybe this book will help a child some day. A child like me who has always been fearful or anxious. This book will be about a book afraid of the story on its pages. I was afraid, too. I was afraid of what my story was going to be. I didn’t really want to turn the page, but with the support of my family and with the love for myself, I did. I kept turning the page and pushing forward.
So, I pushed on … on and off the highway until I was able to get farther and farther down the road. The panic became just a constant anxiety. A constant hum. I would wonder if it would tip over to an attack. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. The most nerve-wracking times were when I had other people in my car. I felt like a fraud, like a weakling. I had so many tricks to get my mind off of thinking about panic, but those tricks didn’t always work. The best trick was exposure. Driving more and more to show my brain that this whole panic thing was an illusion. There wasn’t a threat. I knew it would take time and repetition to work. I saw more and more success with each day. I saw the silver linings and made sure to acknowledge them. That was important. Just like in THIS BOOK IS SPINELESS. With each page turn, it notices something it likes. It sees the silver linings, too.
And it worked. Five years later, I can zip down the highway without barely thinking about those days. This is new. I broke through the wall. I broke out of the jail my mind created, and I felt and continue to feel such power having done that. At NCTE, I was ready to share that celebration on a small scale. Now, on the anniversary of my book, I’m ready to share. I will always have anxiety and setbacks. I will always wear that badge. Just like my book, which in the end is fearful of the reader leaving it on its own. No one is 100 percent absolved of their anxieties. That is not real life. But those anxieties can become more like lint on a sweater. I acknowledge it, pluck it off and move on. I don’t need to feed it any more energy.
Writing this brings those memories back for me as clear as if it were yesterday. This also reminds me of a conversation I had with Bethany Hegedus for her “Courage to Create” podcast. She asked me what gives me the courage to create. I said that I was going to flip that question on its head and say creating gives me courage. Writing gave me courage. I think THIS BOOK IS SPINELESS saved my life in some form or fashion. It was my therapy. Without writing, I am lost.
To be transparent, I took Lexapro to “help” with the initial depression and it made the depression worse, suicidal ideation worse, so I weaned off of it. What worked for me was Klonopin for the anxiety. I did take Klonopin when absolutely necessary, but not when I was working on re-training my brain and getting on and off the highway. I knew that I had to do this without help. I had to tell my brain it was O.K. and I was O.K.
Thanks for coming here and reading my story. And if you suffer from panic attacks and feel all alone out there … you are not. Feel free to reach out. I am here. If you are having suicidal thoughts and don’t know who to turn to, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255.
Lindsay, I couldn’t be prouder of you for your courage to tell the world how you have overcome so much of this debilitating anxiety. YOU did it yourself. Today you shared those fears again and gave them away to others whined to see their own way through the darkness. Here’s to SPINELESS and finding that silver lining. HUG and cheers.
Thanks, Kathy. You are such a wonderful cheerleader. Although I did do it myself, I had the best support system. Namely my husband who held me at my darkest hours. Cheers to those silver linings!
Thank you for sharing this powerful piece of yourself & your personal history. As a fellow writer aspiring to publish picture books, plus also being in the trenches of fighting driving-related anxiety, it meant a lot to me to read your story.
I’m sorry you are in that fight, but I think I know who is going to prevail. (Hugs)
Thank you for sharing your story, Lindsay. It is a brave and vulnerable thing to do. I resonate so much with what you said, as we seem to have shared similar experiences. I can 100% say that writing helped saved my life. I’m glad it helped you, too. 💚
I’ve heard from many people today who have had similar experiences, which both lifts and crushes me. I think you know why. And, yes, thank goodness for writing.
I’ve seen your book pop up on Twitter quite a few times, but I haven’t read it yet. I’m going to remedy that right away! Thank you for courageously sharing the story behind the story. I know it will inspire so many. I too have dealt with intrusive, overwhelming anxiety in the recent past, but I had very different triggers and fears, and the journey out of it is no small feat. Way to fight the good fight! And I too, have published a picture book in the last year (My Big, Dumb, Invisible Dragon) that is inspired by my own experiences, although not in the way one would suspect at first glance. That’s the beauty and power of this art form, isn’t it? We ground our stories in personal truth while allowing them to grow into something different and new—and that’s what gives them wings.
I couldn’t agree more about the art form. Good luck with your book. I’ll check it out!
Lindsay, you are a total badass! So proud of your vulnerability and courage! You are an inspiration.
Thanks for that, Donna. It’s nice to be told you’re a badass from a badass. 🙂
Thank you for sharing your story. It’s so brave of you and I know it will help others going through similar situations. You are awesome. <3
Thanks, Kelli. I appreciate your kind words.
Your story inspired me. I have suffered from panic attacks and anxiety for years. Thank you for sharing. You give others courage.
Thank you, old friend (old, as in we haven’t seen each other in a while…never in age). I’m sorry that you have suffered, but in some way all this panic and anxiety makes us stronger and makes us focus on what really matters. Hugs to you.
Thank you so much, Lindsay, for sharing your backstory. You’re a brave person to confront and beat back such a terrifying emotion. Thank you for creating such a wonderful book that will be a touchstone for many children (and adults, I might add). Your story reminds me of the one behind Dan Santat’s After the Fall. I love how authors can pour their hearts into their stories. It makes a difference in so many ways. Congrats on your book’s first birthday!
I remember reading After the Fall and crying. One of my all-time favorites. The back story was powerful and I thought to myself that my husband could surely relate to Dan’s art and words. Thanks for your comments and support, Jilanne.
Lindsay, thank you for the courage to share. I know I am not the only person that this message helped and gave peace. We are all on some sort of struggle bus. You rock!
Thanks, Lori, and I might have to steal your term “struggle bus”. Good to hear from you and I’m glad my words helped, somehow.
You are brave and smart and tenacious — a winning combination. So glad that you fought for yourself, and that we got a wonderful book out of that process.
Oh, Julie, thank you. I’m glad, too.
Thank you for sharing your story, Lindsay. Your candor and vulnerability are just as beautiful as your spunk and creativity. It is an honor to know you! (And you inspired me to buy a few MORE books to share with others I love who struggle in similar ways.) Thank you. xoxox
XOXOX, Jenny. Thank you! The honor is all mine.
Lindsay, I have been there, too. It’s absolutely terrifying to have a panic attack and not realize that’s what it is. I am so grateful that you’ve shared your story. All best to you. <3
Thank you, Lindsay. I’m sorry you’ve been there, too. But we are stronger for it!
Thank you for sharing your heartfelt story. Hugs. So glad you found your writing therapy. A reminder to all of us that there is a way through the darkness. 🙂
I believe there is a way. Thanks for taking the time to read my story. 🙂
Anxiety stinks big time. I fart in its general direction. This post is beautiful, vulnerable- and I can only imagine how sharing this might help someone reading this. xoxo
I, too, fart in its general direction. You crack me up, Kari. And humor is such a good weapon against all ills.
Thank you so much for sharing your painful journey. I am happy you were able to work through it and get to a better place. Writing is so essential in my life to helping me keep my sanity. Sometimes life can be hard. Your bravery in sharing has emboldened my day.
Thanks, Traci. I’m glad that sharing my story has helped in some small way.
There is so much trouble in this world. Im sorry we all have to go through that same thing! We all get our own equal share of happiness!🌈