Today I didn’t want to get out of bed. I didn’t want to put on my garb. I didn’t want to leave the house. Usually those are the days when I just need to push through. If I can just get out of the house, things will get better.

I got into the car with my husband and my friend. I told myself, “Fencing at the park with friends is fun.”

I got to the park and saw some of my friends. I made some new friends. …and I was completely overwhelmed. I tried to stay on the perimeter – near enough but not in the middle of the activity. Things weren’t quite going the way I wanted, but I was still going to have a good day.

Except I wasn’t having a good day. I wasn’t as patient as usual. I wasn’t as friendly as usual. I was uncomfortable in my skin and wanted to just get through what we had planned so that I could go home.

One of the good things about fencing is the mask. You put it on, and you don’t have to manage your face, just for a little while. You put on your mask, and the time to talk is over. It’s time to fence. My mask smelled like dust – either from last week’s event or from the park.

When I didn’t have my mask on, though, it felt like my attention was constantly being pulled in different directions. I couldn’t get into my head space. I couldn’t get away from the activity. I could never truly find quiet.

But then I asked for a hand with a fairly simple task, and no one heard me. Or maybe each person there thought someone else would help. I don’t know. All I know is that in that moment, I needed help, and it was the first moment that I wasn’t surrounded by people.

I didn’t comport myself well at that point. I tried to reel it back in, and then the marshal called my name. It was my turn to fence. I froze. He offered to do the next pairing first. I nodded.

I closed my eyes. I thought that if I just kept my eyes closed, it wouldn’t come out, but it didn’t work. I was crying next to the fighting field. I couldn’t stop it.

My husband collected me and took me away from the crowd. The unfortunate thing about having an anxiety attack at a fencing event is the armor. I couldn’t get out of my gloves. I couldn’t get out of my gorget. My husband couldn’t kiss my forehead because of the bar grill on his helm (that part kind of helped, actually – it was funny).

So at this point I was in a pickle. I needed to withdraw from my tournament. Nik needed to withdraw from his tournament, but I didn’t know how to tell him that. We needed a new marshal for rapier activities. My gear needed to end up in the car. I did not want to show my face, but I also couldn’t disappear. I just wanted to go home.

I was embarrassed.

I was worried people would think I was upset because of my tournament losses.

I didn’t want to scare away new people.

I have never seen a fencer of my rank lose her shit in the middle of an event.

I felt responsible for the members of my household and wanted to reassure them that I was okay even though I was not okay.

One of my lovely friends gave me some water. My husband helped me get back to the field. I mustered the strength to gather my gear, let people know I was bowing out and why, and make it to the car so that I could cry a little more in peace. Everyone was helpful and accepting. I didn’t owe anyone anything.

Still, in a way, having an anxiety attack is like peeing your pants. Everyone piddles, but when you do it in front of your friends, things get weird. It’s hard to see yourself as the rock, the steady influence, when you’ve been overwhelmed in such a public way.

So what happened next? I had Nik drive me home. I changed into comfortable clothes and looked at memes on my phone. I tried to rest, but I needed to cry some more. I took a bath with a bath bomb. I changed into even comfier clothes. I slept like a log, and my cats checked in on me. I ate comfort food for dinner. It felt good to be in my space and control my surroundings.

I’m okay. I’m exhausted, but I’m okay. Tomorrow I’ll go back to fencing practice and try again, or maybe I won’t. If I don’t feel up to it, I can go back another day.