Self-hypnosis and panic attacks

I remember when I was in my middle twenties, going out to lunch with my mother. I had just read an article in a self-help book about how every morning you’re supposed to look in the mirror, say, “I love myself completely” and see what miraculous effects it can have on your life. My mother, who was facially disfigured as an adult said to me, “I love myself completely but I don’t like how I look.” I didn’t know how to respond as she rarely revealed her feelings, so I was quiet. I stopped talking too much about “self-healing” to her. She was famous in my mind for one line during the sixties. “What is all this communication nonsense anyway?” She was from English stock and more about action than pouring out your heart. Though my need was more of the heart pouring variety, from the lens of time, I think she had a point. But that wasn’t going to help me in my time of need.

I was no stranger to some of these self-healing techniques: a dear friend I met while I was in graduate school gave me a round mirror. With deep red lipstick she wrote “I trust myself completely.” The trunk was packed too full and by the time I drove from Buffalo, New York to San Francisco in a ’68 Camero(God knows why I bought that car) the mirror had cracked. I tried not to take it as a sign that I wasn’t trustworthy and continued on my way to figuring out who I was—through life itself and plenty of therapy, all varieties(especially available on the West Coast). I still had my New York skepticism, though, so even though I went to one “rebirthing session” where people were put into a tub of water, I didn’t quite believe that their momentary “spacing out” was really that they were reliving their anesthesia in the womb. They were trying to reclaim that time as if it would be a key to future happiness. That was too much for me. I never went back to be rebirthed(once was enough).

But even though I stumbled on all sorts of techniques, some helpful and some not, to help me deal with childhood trauma, when I was having panic attacks in my forties, Isabel Gilbert helped me immeasurably. A hypnotist who worked all over the world she had me write a letter to her with my particular story and what I wanted to work on. Then I met with her twice. She made a series of tapes for me: one was for sleep, one was for relaxation and the crème de la crème tape was directed specifically at me—She talks to me, “Louise, you are now…..” Basically, she had me visualize myself taking care of myself as that traumatized child. I was to hug myself each night before sleep and say, “I’m happy, safe and healthy.” She also used words like “deserve” and had me see myself with a finished book, accepted by a publisher, happily walking down the street.

She taught me “three minute” self-hypnosis techniques and said that some of her patients said they didn’t have three minutes in their day. “Can you believe that?” she said. I religiously did self-hypnosis every day, even with my hands shaking from panic and my breath short. Over time, I believe that along with other help, the self-hypnosis worked wonders. I still listen to the tape every day. I’m much older than the woman on the tape and much stronger. I have a book about to come out. Many of the things I’ve wanted in my life have come to fruition. I don’t think anyone “deserves” anything more than anyone else, but I did believe that her words—which get integrated into a part of the brain I know little about, have helped me bit my bit—in small and big ways.

My mother has since died—and my relationship with her has grown. She appears as a helpful ally, now, annoyed with some of my emotional needs but understanding. And she now completely accepts how she looks and loves herself completely.

I’m happy to tell people more about my self-hypnosis techniques and how it worked for me.


My book, Burned: A Memoir about a family tragedy will be published in April, 2010 .
Visit louisenayer.com for more info.