True Life | Claire’s story

I thought I was losing my mind and I tried to ignore it

Award-winning mental health blogger and author Claire Eastham reveals her journey from social anxiety to mastering self-care

Running down a street in central London, tears streaming down my face, I knew I’d really done it this time; I’d ruined my life. The mental health condition that I’d been hiding for 10 years, had finally seeped through my subconscious.

During an interview earlier that morning, I experienced what I now know was a panic attack – the worst of my life. But at the time, I thought I was losing my mind. I knew from the moment I entered the room that something was wrong, but as was my usual approach, I tried to ignore it. A warm sensation seemed to flow from my head and down my body, and by the time it reached my heart, everything exploded. I couldn’t breathe, I felt dizzy and I swear, my heart was pounding so hard you could see it beating through my shirt.

I can still remember the look on their faces when I rose suddenly from my seat and announced in a Jane Austinesque voice: “I have the norovirus and must leave at once!” Two things to bear in mind. Firstly, I’m from Bolton, so I’ve no idea where that posh voice came from. Secondly, I don’t think I’ve ever used the phrase “at once” since.

Claire has now written a bestselling book

I think I was born with social anxiety. I was always a shy and sensitive child, the one who hid at parties and got upset over the smallest things

The next few days were a blur of terror, confusion and tears. I’ve never been so afraid or felt so out of control. It was a nervous breakdown, one that had been 10 years in the making. Speaking honestly, I think I was born with social anxiety. I was always a shy and sensitive child, the who one hid at parties and also got upset over the smallest things. By the time I was 14, clear signs of a problem began to emerge. I’d blush whenever spoken to, developed a tremor in my hands, and froze if I were asked to share my work at school. I lived each lesson on edge. What if a teacher spoke to me? What if I couldn’t answer? During some lessons, I even feigned sickness and hid in the toilets. I hoped it was just a phase, something that I would grow out of. I didn’t let it stop me from doing well at university, making friends and having a social life. I had strategies to control it – alcohol was one and ignorance was the other. I suppose you could call me high-functioning. In 2011, I left Bolton to move to London, working for what I thought was my “dream company”. It was a fresh start; surely things would be better here? I felt like a movie star, strutting round London with a Starbucks coffee with all the other commuters. However, nine months later, I gradually noticed a change in my mood. The office that I worked in was filled with loud, dominant characters who were larger than life. I became convinced that they didn’t like me and avoided most colleagues at all costs. Even though we were on the 10th floor, I took the stairs rather than use the lift – good for exercise, bad for sweat! I didn’t use the staff kitchen, and I even started using the toilets on another floor to limit the risk of interaction.

I was tired constantly, but couldn’t sleep. I felt emotional and, once again, on edge. Something was very wrong, and I didn’t know what to do. On the day of my nervous breakdown, I’d finally reached a crisis point; I couldn’t hide my condition anymore, whatever it was. I finally opened up to my parents, who were incredible. I went back to Bolton and visited the doctor, who diagnosed me with acute social anxiety and panic attacks within two minutes. I burst into tears of relief; I couldn’t believe that it had a name. I wasn’t a freak. She prescribed medication and suggested therapy. So, what happened next? Well, it was really, really, really shit for a while. You can’t heal a broken leg in a day, and the brain is exactly the same – it needs time. I was signed off work for a month, which, at the time, devastated me, but in hindsight, it was the best thing that happened. It gave me time to get to grips with my anxiety and accept I wasn’t well. What helped me the most was something I didn’t expect, a form of therapy called “exposure”. Exposure therapy encourages people who suffer with panic to expose themselves in very small doses to a situation that makes them feel uncomfortable. To clarify, this doesn’t mean that if you’re afraid of heights you should jump out of a plane. Instead, make a list of 20 baby-steps that will ultimately lead you to your goal.