My Therapist Says
My Therapist Says ‘Yes, And’
I’m learning to reject the overpowering desire to have the one answer to my anxiety.
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In early 2017, I experienced my first panic attack. I was in a work meeting with my manager when I began to feel hot and claustrophobic, sure I was going to throw up. I kept looking to the door, willing it to open and for an invisible force to propel me out of the room to safety. Eventually, I excused myself, explaining that I didn’t feel well.
On the subway ride home, as in the meeting room, I felt trapped; each time the doors slid shut, a wave of dread washed over me. After a few stops, I summoned the courage to exit the train, and, in tears, started wandering downtown Boston in the vague direction of my apartment, which was miles away. I meandered to a park, where I sat for about 45 minutes before my roommate who worked nearby came to get me. I spent the rest of the day in her office, composing myself, before she chaperoned me home.
When I began seeing my current therapist, I was trapped in a cycle of panicking and then worrying about the next time I would panic (a hallmark of anxiety), and desperate to uncover why this was happening to me. What was causing my anxiousness? What was the reason, the culprit? I’d offer hypotheses: Maybe a specific aspect of a situation triggered my anxiety. Maybe I didn’t eat enough, which made me woozy, which made me panic. Maybe the mocha I had made me jittery, fooling my body into anticipating an anxiety attack. Or perhaps the environment of sociopolitical upheaval we’re all living in played a role.
To these theories, my therapist will often offer some version of the same response: “Yes, and.” Yes, I probably didn’t eat enough, and something specific likely triggered my anxiety. The coffee and the state of the world were likely both factors.
“Yes, and” is best known as an improv exercise (and an episode of BoJack Horseman), in which an actor offers up a concept that other cast…
