I thought I’d have a panic attack and leave my husband-to-be at the altar — but I’m taking back control of my anxiety
YOUR wedding day is meant to be full of joy, but all Ciara Brimfield could focus on was not having a panic attack.
The 35-year-old reveals how she took back control of the crippling anxiety that cost her jobs and destroyed friendships.
Standing in my wedding dress, I felt a wave of terror rip through me. My heart started pounding and I began sweating. I was certain I’d walk into church and have a panic attack, leaving my husband-to-be at the altar.
It wasn’t simply pre-wedding nerves. I’d battled severe anxiety since I was a teenager, and it had ruined relationships, cost me jobs and left me suicidal. I dearly loved Ross, now 40, a painter and decorator, and wanted to be his wife, but I couldn’t stand the thought of all eyes being on me as I walked down the aisle.
My family say I was a happy child with no signs of mental health issues. The only red flag was a phobia of being sick – I’d always get very emotional if I thought I was going to vomit.
This went on through my childhood, and in 2002, when I was 17, I stopped eating. I thought that if I didn’t eat I couldn’t be sick, and I was so anxious I couldn’t eat anyway.
My parents took me to the GP, and I was never diagnosed with anorexia but food became something I could control. In desperation my mum would force me to drink specialist shakes, but still I lost a lot of weight and was very ill. I had therapy, and after a year or so I recovered enough to begin eating properly again, but the anxiety didn’t go away.
I’d drag myself to college most days, where I was studying for A levels in psychology, English and law, but other than that I was quite reclusive. I’d often cancel plans at the last minute.
People didn’t talk about mental health back then, so I never felt I could be honest about what I was going through. Friends drifted away because I let them down so often, and over the years I missed birthdays, hen parties and weddings.
I always wanted to go, but I was scared of people seeing me at my lowest or watching me have a panic attack in public. My parents Caroline, 59, and Peter, 62, were desperate to “cure” me and get me back to my happy self.
I’m the eldest of five children and I’m very close to my siblings Kelly, 32, Matthew, 30, Olivia, 27, and Niall, 24. But nothing they did made me feel any better. My panic attacks were very physical and I’d often have several a day. I’d sweat profusely, suffer heart palpitations and feel dizzy.
My mouth would go dry and I would shake and feel breathless. At the age of 18 I saw my GP again and was finally diagnosed with depression and panic disorder. I was put on antidepressants as well as medication for anxiety, and referred to a psychiatrist.
Even so, things escalated. The panic took over and I wouldn’t travel anywhere. I barely left the house, and despite being a sociology student at Cardiff University I missed a lot of lectures.
The psychiatrist I was seeing only lived half a mile away, but my mum had to drive all the way from Bristol to take me, as I couldn’t face it alone. I managed to scrape a 2:1 and felt better after graduating in 2006, but it didn’t last. The panic came back with a vengeance and I had my first breakdown aged 27.
I was working in an admin job for a big DIY retailer in Southampton, and it was just too much. I ended up being called in to speak to HR as I was missing so much work. I was having obsessive thoughts and began to feel suicidal, but I kept my feelings from everyone. Eventually, in 2011 I quit my job and did a distance learning diploma in copywriting so I could work from home.
I was living on my own in a small two-bed flat and barely left the house in two months, not even to buy food as I shopped online. I felt so low that some days I wouldn’t even get out of bed.
Friends and family came to visit me, but even that could induce a panic attack. I had a couple of long-term boyfriends over the years, but dating was hard as I didn’t like leaving the house.
One relationship ended just as I started my diploma, as he wanted to go travelling and I wouldn’t go with him. I met my now-husband Ross in November 2012 through mutual friends. He asked me out for dinner and I found myself agreeing. But it was three months before it actually happened – by which point I’d been able to be honest with him. He was the most understanding person I’d ever met.
He told me I had to learn to accept my anxiety, as only then would I be able to find ways of managing it, and he was right. I knew I really liked him, but the thought of dating someone and doing normal, grown-up things terrified me. After just six weeks I told him it wasn’t working.
Even though he knew about my mental health, he thought I wasn’t interested. But I got back in touch a week later as I missed him, and thankfully he missed me, too. Ross would encourage me to go out and do things, but he never put any pressure on me.
We moved in together in May 2013, and he continued to help me through the tough times. I felt constant guilt, as I could see our relationship wasn’t much fun for him, but friends and family were happy that I was finally living my life and sharing it with someone who was good for me, rather than always hiding away.
Ross proposed in September 2014 and a year later we tied the knot, inviting just a few people to the church. Ross had always wanted a big wedding but the only way I could cope was to keep it low-key, though many of our extended family and friends didn’t understand why they weren’t invited.
The ceremony was booked for 11am purely because I knew I would become too anxious if I had to wait until the afternoon, and I told my family I would get ready on my own and didn’t want a fuss.
My dad came over to collect me, and using all the tools I’d learned in countless therapy sessions I walked across the road to the church from my house.
I was terrified – my dad had hold of my arm down the aisle and I took Ross’ hand as I got to the end, as I needed to be held up. During the ceremony all I could think was: “Don’t run out of the church.”
I’m still so proud of myself for getting through the day. All I cared about was becoming Ross’ wife. Once the vows were done I knew I could relax and the rest of the day flew by.
Our reception was at my favourite local pub, which overlooks a lake. We had a hog roast for lunch and it was relaxed and informal. I felt so happy knowing that if I did panic it didn’t matter as I’d done the important part. We couldn’t go on a big honeymoon – I still can’t contemplate travelling by plane or train – so we had a mini-moon in the Cotswolds.
I’ve had lots of therapy over the years, including counselling, hypnotherapy and exposure therapy, and with my GP’s support I’ve chosen to come off medication.
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Drugs are absolutely the right thing for some people, but they weren’t working for me. I’ve been using yoga as a tool to help my mental health, and last year, after a period of intense depression, I decided to train as a yoga teacher so I can help other people like me.
It’s taken me until my 30s to realise there’s no cure for anxiety, but there are things I can do to not let it ruin my life and make every day more manageable.
Anxiety has cost me friends and jobs, and almost stopped me from getting married. Now I talk to people about it and run a to help others cope. Lots of celebrities such as Fearne Cotton have opened up about it, too, which helps. I hope that if anyone else out there is suffering like I was, they now know there is no need to suffer in silence.
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