By May. Two months off medication. The treading continues. The water has not receded. The water is the anxiety and the anxiety is the water and I am in it, daily, the way I am in the kitchen daily, the way I am in the practice daily. The anxiety has become another practice — the practice of noticing it, acknowledging it, continuing despite it. The despite is the bravery. The bravery is exhausting. The exhaustion is Tuesday.
I made comfort food all week — the week of the panic attack, though I do not know yet that this is the week of the panic attack, because panic attacks do not announce themselves, they simply arrive, the way earthquakes arrive: without warning, without negotiation, with the total, absolute, body-seizing certainty that the world is ending and you are dying and the dying is now.
The panic attack happened on Thursday. At Trader Joe's. In the checkout line. I was holding a bag of frozen edamame and a carton of eggs and the attack hit like a wall of water — the chest tightening, the vision narrowing, the air disappearing, the world closing in from all sides, the brain screaming: YOU ARE DYING, YOU ARE DYING, the body believing the brain because the body has no choice, the body is loyal to the brain even when the brain is lying.
I abandoned my cart. I walked out of the store. I sat on the curb in the parking lot. I breathed. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. The breathing that my therapist taught me. The breathing that the yoga taught me. The breathing that twenty-five years of practice taught me. The breathing that is the only thing between me and the full collapse, the only rope in the avalanche, the only practice that works when no other practice works. I breathed on the curb in the Trader Joe's parking lot for fifteen minutes. The attack passed. The attacks always pass. The passing does not diminish the terror. The passing only confirms: you survived. Again. The surviving is the practice. The practice is the breathing. The breathing is the only thing you have when you have nothing.
I called my therapist from the car. She said: "Come in tomorrow. We need to talk about going back on medication." I said: "I know." The knowing was the defeat. The defeat was the wisdom. The wisdom was: the experiment has produced its result. The result is: the pill is not a crutch. The pill is a leg. You cannot walk without a leg. I will go back on the medication. I will not go back ashamed. I will go back informed. I will go back knowing, for the first time in twenty-four years, exactly what the pill does and exactly what happens without it. The knowing is the experiment's gift. The gift cost a panic attack in a parking lot. The cost was high. The gift is permanent.
That whole week — before Thursday, before the parking lot, before the curb — I kept coming back to this skillet. Not because I planned it, not because it was the right recipe for anything in particular, but because it was warm and it was simple and it asked nothing of me I couldn’t give. Ground beef and spinach and a pan: the math was easy when nothing else was. After everything, I’m still making it. The eating is the practice too.
Beef and Spinach Skillet
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 1 lb lean ground beef
- 1 medium yellow onion, diced
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
- 5 oz fresh baby spinach
- 1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
- 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
- Salt and black pepper to taste
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1/4 cup shredded Parmesan cheese, for serving
Instructions
- Brown the beef. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the ground beef and cook, breaking it apart with a wooden spoon, until no pink remains, about 6–8 minutes. Drain excess fat if needed.
- Soften the aromatics. Reduce heat to medium. Add the diced onion to the skillet and cook until softened, about 4 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more, stirring constantly so it doesn’t burn.
- Add tomatoes and spices. Pour in the diced tomatoes with their juices. Stir in the Italian seasoning, smoked paprika, red pepper flakes if using, and a generous pinch of salt and black pepper. Let the mixture simmer for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the liquid reduces slightly.
- Wilt the spinach. Add the baby spinach in large handfuls, stirring between additions. Cook just until the spinach is wilted and bright green, 2–3 minutes. Taste and adjust seasoning.
- Serve. Spoon into bowls or serve over rice, pasta, or crusty bread. Top with shredded Parmesan.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 290 | Protein: 28g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 10g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 430mg