Since I’m sharing all my peculiar neuroses, and you all probably think I’m a sketchy basket case, let me now talk more about my fear of flying.
I’ve jut returned from a trip to California, involving two hour and three hour flights there and back. This time was actually one of my less nervous trips, so I guess that writing therapy is helping. But my husband still laughed at me when he reached for my hand and found my palm drenched with sweat. Especially if there was even the tiniest turbulence. I swear every time the plane hits a little bump I believe I’m about to die.
I’ve never tried anti-anxiety drugs, but I used to drink a lot before I flew, which helped quite a bit. Then we had kids, and I felt I had to stay sober so I could rescue them if something happened (like there’d be much chance of that if the plane crashes). I also tried to hide my fears from the children because I didn’t want them to be influenced by my craziness. Acting as if you’re not afraid actually helps a little, too. One time we had to split up and my husband sat with the kids and I sat a couple of rows back. I fiercely instructed him to “save the kids before you save yourself.” He looked at me with bewilderment and asked, “How am I supposed to do that?”
I know flying is the safest way to travel. I’ve heard all the statistics and the logical explanations. But fears are not rational. I’m just proud of myself for not letting my fear stop me from traveling.