An Anchor Practice is an effective tool for returning to calm during a panic attack. In this article, you’ll learn what could be the root cause of a panic attack as well as:
- The neurological adaptations that occur as a response to trauma that may be causing your panic attacks
- The value of an Anchor Practice for stopping a panic attack
- How to find your emotional anchors
The room spun. My heart raced; my stomach flip-flopped. I sat in art class waiting for a critique of my sculpture. My neck and face broke out in red blotchy hives. I couldn’t catch my breath. Am I having a heart attack? My body didn’t know whether to pass out or throw up.
At the doctor’s office later that day, medical tests found no physical explanation for my ailment.
“Must have been a panic attack,” the doctor said.
He handed me a sample pack of blue pills.
At home, I took one. The panic attack remained, accompanied by fogginess, like I couldn’t think clearly. Feeling like I was losing control only made me more anxious.
The next day, in two-dimensional art class, again, out of nowhere, I gasped for air as my chest tightened. In Art History, the same thing happened.
The trigger for the attacks was never clear. They started in art classes but then continued to erupt randomly. Eventually, I dropped out of school.
Panic Attacks and Trauma
Panic attacks are a symptom of past trauma. Traumatic events are terrible to endure, and the neurological adaptations that occur in response to the event or events cause chronic, debilitating symptoms that continue like aftershocks for days, weeks, months, or years…even decades.
People suffering from these adaptations are tempted to view them as an indication of brokenness, but the opposite is true. These biological changes make you better at spotting threats in your environment. You’re quicker and more efficient at protecting yourself. However, when the threat is no longer present and the heightened reactivity causes panic attacks, it’s hard to calm yourself.
If you have a history of trauma, you know the sudden and destabilizing jolts of terror that overtake you when something from the environment triggers you. Your desire to avoid the triggers, to avoid a panic attack, can feel like dodging landmines. Living with the looming threat of a panic attack makes life feel limiting at best and out of control at worst.
The Difficulty with Healing with Chronic Panic Attacks
If you’re like most trauma survivors, you’ve courageously attempted healing. Perhaps you’ve tried mindfulness, exercise, medication, and others. While these techniques can be effective, they take time.
Meanwhile, the panic and heightened anxiety continue, and it’s easy to get overwhelmed. Out of desperation, many trauma survivors cope by using things like alcohol, drugs, disordered eating, and self-harm to create a fast, albeit temporary, numbing effect. While these coping mechanisms can have severe and unwanted consequences, sometimes trauma survivors are forced to weigh the need to escape the distress with the unwanted effects of these adaptive strategies.
If this is you, you’re not alone. Like you, others have felt hopeless and even doomed.
I Discovered Anchors While on a Boat, and They Stopped My Panic Attack
On a cruise ship, the chandelier swayed violently as waves knocked around the boat. Or at least that’s what it seemed to me. It had been years since I quit art school due to panic attacks. In the auditorium on the cruise ship, my husband and I watched a dance performance. No one else—including my husband—seemed concerned about the swinging chandelier that, in my mind, was about to fall off the ceiling and shatter over all of us. The dancers on the stage spun about, never losing their balance.
Still, my nerves revved up. Suddenly hot, my heart rate was rapid. I couldn’t think. I have to escape, I thought. Now.
By this time, I’d been sober from alcohol for seven years. Like many others, I’d resorted to alcohol to calm my nerves when the panic started. My drinking turned into a six-year addiction. On the cruise boat that day, drinking to escape wasn’t an option.
The dancers finished their act, and a hypnotist took the stage. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Her dark brown curly hair bounced as she walked to the center of the stage. Stopping in the middle, she slowly, silently scanned the crowd. She stood tall and confident with relaxed shoulders and a gentle smile. When she spoke, it seemed the audience collectively exhaled.
After a short introduction, she guided us through an exercise. With eyes closed, she asked us to imagine a favorite place that was safe and calm. My soft couch came to mind, and how the cushions envelop me like a big secure hug. The hypnotist guided us to recall other sensory sensations in our safe place. I thought of the lightweight blanket on my chest, the warm sun that shines in the window, and the smell and feel of my favorite book in hand.
In my mind, I was no longer on the swaying cruise ship. I was safe at home on my couch, where I felt secure. The panic was gone, and well-being washed over me, starting at the top of my head, and moving downward. My forehead, which was previously wrinkled in a frown, released. Relaxation found my neck, shoulders, and belly. I felt safe.
I had used the memory of calm to shift my keyed-up nerves. Simply bringing to mind the sensory experiences of a time when I felt safe shifted my nervous system; it sent messages of peace and calm.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I had done something called accessing an anchor. Although I’d been studying trauma and had worked with trauma survivors professionally for years, I wouldn’t learn of this technique until years later when reading Deb Dana’s work on PolyVagal Nerve Theory. That’s when I learned to integrate into therapy with others, what we now call an Anchor Practice.
I’ve since implemented Anchor Practices in therapy with clients. The intentional creation of an anchor system helps them escape distress before it overcomes them.
How to Start an Anchor Practice that Stops Your Panic Attacks
Anchors exist in everyone. Think back to personal experiences of peace and calm.
Make four lists:
- Who: List people (or animals) with whom you feel safe and connected
- What: List activities that offer comfort, like reading, walking, crocheting, or gardening
- Where: List places of peace, like the ocean, a coffee shop, an outdoor patio, or a soft couch
- When: List moments of calm, like getting into bed at night, quietness in the house in the morning, or the drive home from work
When making your list, be as specific as possible, listing sensory experiences like what you smelled (if applicable), saw, heard, tasted, or touched. The list should remain easily accessible, for example, in the Notes app on a cellphone or a piece of paper in a wallet.
It can be helpful to practice calling these experiences to mind when you’re calm. For example, practice in the quiet morning as you sip a warm drink.
When unease, panic, or dissociation seizes you, take a deep breath, then pull out your list. Imagine the experiences on your list. Connect your anchor experience with all the senses. Recall what you feel on your skin, what you hear, what you see, and so on.
Don’t Lose Hope
The adaptations your body makes in response to traumatic events prove that your mind and body can also change back to a calmer state. Trauma recovery is complex and requires a variety of interventions. I invite you to include an Anchor Practice in your healing to guide you back to the neurological signature of serenity—to prevent you from getting swept away by the rising current of emotion.
References
Dana, Deb, and Stephen W. Porges. Polyvagal Exercises for Safety and Connection: 50 Client-Centered Practices. W.W. Norton & Company, 2020.
