When I first received a psychological assessment for my issue, giving my problem a name, it helped me cope with the symptoms. I'd suffered silent anxiety attacks--all my life. I use the word 'silent' purposely, because only the people closest to me recognized my distress--I hid it well.

I am an excellent public speaker, but suffer stage fright--horrible, disabling angst. Now if called upon in a group meeting to comment or share my opinion, I have no problem. I'm not at all shy about stating my point of view or entering into debates. Just please don't tell me ahead of time or ask me to prepare a speech. I did everything in my power to avoid advance notice and public speaking, but was always well-versed in situations if called upon to wing it.

What baffles me most, in reflection, was that I'd gravitated towards theatre productions, and almost always received a main role in school and community plays. Before opening night, I could barely sit still for make-up, and spent a good hour continually visiting the washroom. My hands would shake, my throat went dry and my opening lines were always delivered in a shaky voice. But within a few minutes of being on stage, a great calm descended over me, and I could perform to the best of my potential. I enjoyed the applause, but didn't bask in it. Mostly, I felt relief that I got through the play.

In my twenties, I was prodded towards sales. I wasn't aware of any limitations that might impede that career choice. Having spent four years in retail, I thought outside sales was a natural evolution, and far more lucrative than standing behind a glass showcase. And it wasn't easy getting into the field, in an industry where women weren't welcome into the brotherhood of traveling salesmen. My determination likely won that tug-of-war, that and my fierce feminist heart that refused to be shut out.

The old adage, 'be careful what you ask for, you might get it,' certainly applied to me. I saw the company car, the expense account and the freedom, failing to see the rejection or the potential of failure. I was the lowest of the lowest in the pecking order of salesmen in my first job on the road, given the worst territory, a region that hadn't produced in years. Other experienced reps turned down the territory--for good reason. It was my only chance to get into outside sales and I took it, but boy did I suffer. Every sales call was a cold call, and between the sexual offers, the disdain and the sneers that a woman was a 'salesman,' I paid my dues. I would stand outside the store and will myself to walk across the threshold.

The shrink didn't bother explaining why my determination to succeed trumped my anxiety attacks, but he did tell me his diagnosis, and even clarified the PTSD that etched my reactions into my psyche. I'm told I have an adjustment disorder, making change difficult. Now I have good reason to have core skeletons, childhood issues that included physical, emotional and sexual abuse, but that was a very, very long time ago. In that instance, I was very proud of myself for not allowing a dysfunctional beginning to determine a successful life. Surely I was over all that?

I've spoken and written about those circumstances and feel no shame or guilt for sins that were perpetuated upon me. Its not at all hard to talk about it, as I feel that I have adequately dealt with the residual damage, but what I apparently haven't been able to handle are my reactions to things that 'feel' the same today as they did when I was a child and powerless. They are ingrained in me with decades of reinforcement.

In adulthood, I have strived to achieve and retain the power I earned to protect myself. It is not a control issue. I really don't care what others do. I feel no need to be in charge, or for that matter, right. But the minute the lines get blurred, my defence system kicks in. Never surrender--never again.

As I get older, especially now in my early retirement, I have ample time and room in my brain for introspection. Looking back, every major change in my life has come with waves of anxiety--even the good ones. Deciding I'd had enough, that I needed to get out of a business that I no longer enjoyed, created a new flood of fears. What will I do? Will I have enough money to last? And then there was the big one: Who will I be? How will I define myself if I'm not working?
 
Going back twenty or thirty years, we didn't need this psycho mumbo-jumbo. We'd admit or accuse someone of being burnt out--case closed. No further explanation needed. But the time I spent with the shrink was valuable. It made me understand why I balked when I suddenly went from executive to soccer grandma, spending my time chauffeuring kids from one after-school activity to another. Sometimes I rebelled against myself, making lists of chores that I preferred to call agendas, failing to complete the list, then berating myself for laziness. It would have been less emotionally exhausting just to do the damn chores and not think so much.

At this point in life, it would be easy to avoid the rollercoaster, simply to avoid all things that require me adjusting to different circumstances. To a large part, I do. I could easily become a hermit and find no interest in shopping or running around to see people that I really didn't like that much when it was socially expected. Retirement gives everyone a chance to speculate, plan or revise life plans. In the hermit scenario, my life would remain predictable, safe and boring.

I also have to admit that I really haven't had a full-blown anxiety attack in years. It is entirely possible that the memory of those moments of internal terror have taken over, and the actual anxiety attacks have completely disappeared.

One thing hasn't let me down, my ability to laugh at myself. Now, when I look at my 'agenda,' and my 'staff,' the grandchildren, I think of myself as the Chairman of the Board. I've allowed my early love of drama to come back into my life, and my 'audience,' also known as the grandchildren, live for the moments when I roar like a lion and threaten to fire the lot of them. However, when I warn them I'm ready to sell them to the gypsies, they absolutely know I'm telling the truth.