At a friend’s 50th birthday party last year, I was asked to say a few words about the Man of the Moment. Just a few. Nothing special. In front of a small gathering.
Nothing large. All people I knew. And have known for years. But as the moment to stand up and be heard approached, I went into meltdown. My heart raced, my breath quickened, my brow became a slick of sweaty beads.
I was having an anxiety attack.