by Janella Schnepp

Created on: October 15, 2009

It's happening again. My hands are shaking and my palms are sweaty. My breathing is shallow and I cannot make it any deeper. My chest feels as though it's about to collapse. And all I did was walk into my son's school cafeteria for open house.

I have lived with claustrophobia for the better part of 20 years now. And every time I just about think that it's gone for good, it rears its ugly head. No amount of drugs or therapy can keep it at bay for very long.

And last night as I chatted with my cousin online I had one of the world's biggest aha moments. A moment that all therapist long for their clients to have.

I was transported back to my aunt and uncle's home for Thanksgiving or Christmas - for in truth it doesn't matter which one. They were all the culprits.

We're sitting in a room that is no larger than 10' by 12'. The kitchen table consumes most of the room surrounded by eight chairs. And crammed into this space are at least ten adults and five or six children.

I'm sitting on the floor against the wall next to the half bath that is closest to the door that exits to the rest of the house. However, I know that I cannot leave. I tried that once or twice before. Leaving shows a sign of weakness, a sign of inadequacy, a sign of un-involvement.

It's not so much the fact that we're all crammed into this space like sardines that is the issue. It's what's occurring where the problem arises. Well, and the fact that I know I can't leave.

So here are these adults sitting around this table yelling and screaming at one another. Every one of them is talking at the same time. Chaos reigns.

Looking back on it two things occur to me.

First of all, it was stupid of them to insist that we sit and listen to their noise. We didn't participate. I tried once to "tango" with my grandmother theologically. It was the MOST valuable lesson of things not to do I have ever learned.

The second thing that occurs to me now is that they weren't fighting so much as they were debating. Someone would broach a theological, philosophical or political question and the words would start flying. It looked like one of those political shows on PBS. You know the ones where no one can hear themselves think or get a word in edgewise.

Generally speaking, these "discussions" would only settle down when someone (usually my aunt or my mom) stormed out of the house, slamming the door in tears. It had to be all three. It was as though these adults couldn't possibly come to their senses until someone stormed out, slammed the door and was in tears.

Then all of a sudden everything grew quiet. Chit chat resumed. The table would be set for dinner. And the hostage children were released to another part of the house or to retrieve whoever had stormed out back to the warmth and smells of the holiday.

And now I have a complete understanding of why I have anxiety attacks in the stores the day after Thanksgiving or in a crowed church following the service or a concert or in a school cafeteria during open house.

Will this knowledge help me to combat them? Who knows. All I know is that I can spend 10 hours in a variety of caves underground, but I freak out in a school cafeteria during open house. Something's not quite right!

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