"I’d covered everything up with constant ‘busy-ness’, but dealing with nothing; the panic attacks were a physiological sign that I could no longer cope." Photo / Carolina Heza, Unsplash
Fiona Buckland went from super confident publishing executive to a “fearful shadow” of her former self. She tells her story.
It hit me out of the blue on what had been an ordinary weekday morning. Lying in bed I suddenly started feeling as though I was on a rollercoaster, coursing over the top of the rails, unable to stop. I was breathless; my heart was pounding and I couldn’t feel my legs. I wriggled from my bed to the floor on my stomach, gasping for air, convinced I was about to die. The feeling was so overwhelming, it was only by googling the NHS website that I learned it wasn’t a heart attack.
I had never imagined that, at 42, with an outwardly successful life and corporate career, I’d suddenly be struck by a panic attack. But over the following months, the attacks became so frequent that I lost count: I went from uber-confident publishing executive with a more-than-healthy social life to a fearful shadow of my former self, either withdrawing socially or ensuring I had my exit route mapped out in any crowded room.
I found it hard to talk about, and this was worsened by the fact that when I’d eventually opened up to friends, some wanted to minimise what was happening. Not because they didn’t care, but because they believed that would help. They would say: “But look at all the ways you are successful”. Trying to hold on to that facade of success, while internally crumbling, was part of the problem.
Cumulative stresses from every area of life had been piling up: there was the scrutiny at work, my brother had become critically ill, my long-term relationship had come to an end, and then there was the realisation that I was coming up to the age my mother had been when she died. I’d covered everything up with constant ‘busy-ness’, but dealing with nothing; the panic attacks were a physiological sign that I could no longer cope.
Eventually a friend who was worried by my behaviour suggested that I try therapy. I booked an assessment through the British Association of Counselling and Psychotherapy website and then started psychotherapy twice a week. It was a slow process. But just the act of talking seemed to help - not least because the attacks were so wrapped up in shame. Slowly, I began to feel lighter, addressing the issues I’d buried.
Beyond the more obvious issues of my brother being ill and having a job I had come to loathe, I learned that I’d heaped blame upon myself for my mother’s death (which led to me being adopted) when I was two. In my toddler brain I had believed I was responsible and that I, too, would die at the same age. It was devastating to realise what I had been holding onto, but by discovering what was underlying my panic attacks and facing this, rather than avoiding it, I was able to finally move on. After around three months the panic attacks slowed down; after six, they had gone.
I’ve since learned that panic attacks are far from unusual. According to research from Bupa, one in three people will have one at some stage in their lives; other studies have found that women are more likely to be affected than men, and that the most common age to experience them is between 30-44. They are different to anxiety attacks, striking at a random point apparently without a particular trigger or reason. The sheer terror and loss of control you feel truly makes you think you’re about to die.
The experience was life-changing and pushed me to train as a life and leadership coach. In the decade since that grim morning, I have worked with leaders at major companies around the world, such as Dow Jones, Google and American Express; I’ve given many talks, as well as being head of learning at Alain de Botton’s School of Life. I have also published two books, including Find Your Path, which reflects my own journey, as well as the tools I use when coaching people who are struggling to create a more meaningful life.
All of that would have been unthinkable to me on that morning I spent lying on the ground, my body seemingly no longer my own. But working with so many high-fliers of an age when you’re meant to have it all figured out has shown me just how many are barely coping. I coached one senior executive who was on the brink of burnout: contacted at all hours by colleagues on different time zones around the world, the messages refused to abate - even when he was in the hospital attempting to tend to his sick son.
His door-always-open policy had become unsustainable; he was unable to escape the image his company had of him, and felt pressured to maintain that illusion - in spite of being desperate to spend more time with his family and shift to a more creative role. Men - particularly successful ones - talk little about the issues they’re having, yet I have found that their story often features burnout, depression, anxiety, relationship breakdown and even substance abuse, because they feel they have no other outlet.
We used to talk - somewhat disparagingly - about the midlife crisis, smirking at people who’d solve their inner malaise with a sports car. It’s not always age-related, but there typically comes a point when you realise that life is finite; that you only have a limited amount of resources and energy left.
Those feelings are made worse by modern life, which seems to hinge entirely on efficiency - on emptying your inbox, or ticking off endless to-do lists. When you reach your last day on earth, trust me, you’re not going to care about your email count. Most people’s happiness comes down to the same thing: figuring out how they want to live their lives and working to make that happen.
It feels strange, sometimes, to now be in a career advising people over the very same issues that felled me 12 years ago. The route here was incredibly hard, but it’s so fulfilling; my coaching enables people to look at the big picture, to focus on what’s important, or to deal with the demands on them before they reach overwhelm. I still feel lost, sometimes. But now I see that as something I can overcome, rather than the sinkhole that would have once engulfed me.
- As told to Charlotte Lytton
- Find Your Own Path: A life coach’s guide to changing your life, by Fiona Buckland, Penguin Books
Going up the slide is okay, actually. (Sometimes.)