Photo by Abby Park Photography
A 95 degree day felt easily 120 degrees as I waited for our food. This was supposed to be a first-ever family fun adventure, but felt more like I was in a tunnel full of fire.
I walked out of the custard stand and stared at my husband across the parking lot without saying a word.
“Are you okay?” he asked, hurrying over. He says I looked like I’d seen a ghost.
“No, we need to go,” I told him without explanation. I didn’t have one to offer.
Months later, sitting on the couch in my therapist’s dimly lit, air conditioned office, I would learn that was my first panic attack, 10 days postpartum with our beautiful baby boy. It wasn’t my last.
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