One Breath.

By Katie Scoble

Clearing storm.

Photo by Tegan Scott

One Breath.

“I can’t breathe.”

This was my first thought upon waking, on an ordinary Friday morning. 

Why can’t I draw a full breath? My heart was beating, my limbs moving. I seemed fine. Except I had lost the ability to fully inflate my lungs. I felt as if I was living in the inhale. Waiting to exhale. It remained with me all day.

It was strange to have to think so deeply about a mundane and involuntary process. Breathing. I decided to see my doctor. She believed it was possibly related to my asthma and ordered a lung function test and also a chest X-ray. 

“How are you?” She enquired. 

“Tired,” I replied. But I have four children and a business. Of course I’m tired. All the results came back normal. No irregularities.. Relief, but still no exhale. 

“Perhaps it’s psychological.” She tentatively approached. 

“Perhaps it is.” I replied. 

Despite the strides made to de-stigmatise mental health, there is still a unique shame around an issue that lives in your mind. A flippant phrase like -“it’s all in her head.”As if this should make it less important. Less real. Less worthy of compassion or help. Because for me- it was all in my head. 

I’ve always had anxiety for as long as I can remember. I didn’t have a name for it but when I was a child I would lie awake at night with a series of horrible noises in my head. Garbled nonsense and horrific scenes flashing. I started to sleepwalk. Up and down I would pace, for hours at a time. I was always searching when I slept. I didn’t know what for, but I searched in a panic. And although they say you should never wake a sleepwalker, the relief I felt when I realised these imaginings were not real, was enormous. 

My anxiety when I was younger mainly centred around things I couldn’t control. I took the saying  “things always happen when you least expect it” to the EXTREME. I used to spend my evenings listing everything I was afraid of, every possible outcome. In the hope that since I expected it, It couldn’t possibly occur. This list gradually grew. I soon came to realise it wasn’t rational. But anxiety rarely is. 

When a panic attack came, it was always a ferocious wave that crashed over me. Familiar tides of thought dragging me in, time and time again. But as I grew, I developed coping mechanisms. Distractions found in a love of art and writing. A way to escape. I had no clue that my anxiety could evolve, shape shift. Transform into an insidious undercurrent. Invisible to the naked eye. I thought I was no longer battling waves, I felt calm and in control. 

Until I couldn’t breathe.

Just go with your gut. Listen to your instinct. Your inner voice will lead you. Trust your intuition. But what if your gut is a cyclone of fear? Your instinct is always in survival mode? Your inner voice is screaming NO. Then who do you listen to? Where do you turn?

I realised when I became a parent that my anxiety had completely crippled my instincts and rendered my intuition useless. After all, parenting is a series of decisions. Over and over again. 

Where do I send them to school? 

What age do I give them a phone? 

When should my child have their first sleepover? 

Some decisions are simple. 

“No you cannot pull the toast out with metal tongs.”

“No you cannot tip that cup you just peed in on your sister.” 

Other decisions are not.

So I have to be careful. I have to weigh it up. I have to ask myself “is this your gut instinct or your anxiety?” Is this fear real or imagined?” 

These questions developed an entirely new layer when we started the cake business. 

Tegan and I were always sensitive souls. In fact the first day we met she was sitting on her own, crying. I sensed a kindred spirit. Someone else who understood fear and worry didn’t always come with a reason.

While I walked in my sleep, Tegan talked in hers. Still to this day, she often wakes screaming in complete panic. Terrifying, imagined scenarios playing out in the darkness. 

Is it easy running a business with two incredibly anxious people steering the ship? Well...no! But our anxiety has gifted us a depth of understanding and empathy for the issues that arise, real or imagined. “What are you worrying about that for?”

“Stop stressing all the time.” These phrases are uttered continually by people who simply have never felt it. Because anyone who has anxiety knows that there is not always a reason or a why. Sometimes the smallest issue will be played on repeat and escalate beyond your control. So we help each other press pause. We provide relief and make each other laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Other times we just need to bear witness to the anxiety. To just sit in it with each other for a minute. To feel completely overwhelmed and then start all over again. 

Thankfully we rarely seem to fall apart at the same time. We take turns breaking down and helping each other pick it back up again. We balance the neurotic scales in each other's favour and lighten the load when needed.

The best lesson I have learnt in running a business is that often the issue is bigger than yourself. It’s the same when it comes to parenting,or any crisis management. At some point you just have tell yourself “You don’t get to fall apart. Right now you just get the job done.” 

Then we take the smallest steps to override the fear. We just place one foot in front of the other. Afterwards, that’s when we allow ourselves to feel it. That’s when we let it all in. 

The walls crumble. Then we build it up again. 

I asked myself recently. If you were offered a complete instantaneous cure for your anxiety, would you take it? To be honest I would.  Just to be able to breathe easily. 

But at what cost? Would it make me less creative? Maybe I would never have sought outlets to escape my mind. Would I be a less sensitive and empathetic mother? 

Would Tegan still be able to create these incredible designs? Would her mind still seek refuge from the chaos to be able to lose herself completely in the colour and shape of a cake design? Would we have a business? Would we have even connected? 

I’ll never know the answer to any of these questions because anxiety and I remain inextricably woven together. But the key is knowing that it is simply a part of me and not the whole of me. Breaking it down to just one breath at a time.