Racing Heart, Sweaty Palms, Tense Muscles

I once knew a two-year-old who was terrified of pinecones. In nearly every other circumstance, he was a bold, confident child, but when he spied a pinecone he froze in fear.

One day, to his horror, noticed that there were cones on the branches of a scotch pine that lived on the playground. We all know the feeling, racing heart, sweaty palms, tense muscles. That day, he couldn't be outdoors at all. For the next week, it was all he could do to cross the playground to the front door each morning. The tree, he discovered, was visible through the classroom windows, so he attempted to spend the entire day with his back turned to them. He would go outside, he loved playing outside, but avoided the corner where the tree grew. There were moments when he forgot, and glimpsed the pine cones overhead and the fear would overwhelm him. Slowly, however, over the course of weeks, he began to intentionally turn toward the tree and its pinecones. Then he began to talk about them, "I can see the scary pinecones." Since learning of his fear, I'd been meticulous about discarding any stray cones that had fallen to the ground, but one day he asked me to "pick one down" for him. He kept his distance. He definitely didn't want to touch it. But he did stand his ground as he made is study from afar.

Another boy, likewise bold, was petrified by mascots, like the kind you see at sporting events. It normally didn't impact his life. Mascots are generally easy to avoid, but I once went trick-or-treating with him. It turned out that costumes were fine, he didn't bat an eye, but when we came across a person dressed in a full body suit and an oversized head, he freaked. Our daughter couldn't bear the presence of crabs, which is a problem in a seafood city like Seattle where live tanks abound. She would throw herself on the ground and refuse to move which meant I had to make sure our course around the supermarket avoided the fish counter.

One of my own irrational fears is dogs. Growing up in suburbia, my earliest exposure to dogs was being warned about rabies. If we were playing outdoors and a stray dog showed up (and back then a lot of dogs were allowed to roam the neighborhood) we were told to assume it was rabid and get inside, quick! Otherwise, we'd risk being attacked and, supposedly, the only antidote was delivered through a ten inch long needle -- at least that's what the neighborhood kids said. This is obviously the seed from which my irrational fear grew. In fact, it shows that there is nothing irrational about my fear.

It also illustrates that the difference between my irrational fear and yours: mine makes sense. I'm sure the boy who feared pinecones, if he'd had the words, would agree.

Today, of course, I live with a dog, the seventh one I've lived with over the course of my life, and I'm friends with many more. Yet still, when I see a dog running around off its leash, I have a brief physical experience of panic. My heart races, my palms sweat, my muscles tense, but my brain has learned to wave off these physical manifestations of fear, because, you know, it's irrational even if my body remains convinced by those earliest experiences.

I imagine we all have some kind of irrational fear, be it clowns, insects, or the sight of blood. These fears can, of course, be debilitating. In that case, we turn to professional help, but for most of us, we've come up, over time, with our own philosophy or strategy or other habit of mind that allows us to live with these fears. Most of the time it involves some version of ad hoc exposure therapy, often induced by life offering us a choice between our fear and something we value. In my case, it started when Mrs. Beale offered to pay me to care for their German Shepard JB while they were away on vacation. I had to choose between my fear and more money than I'd ever had before in my life. And so it was that I got paid $1 a day to begin what has turned out to be a lifelong process of exposure therapy until today most would consider me a dog lover, having no inkling of the occasional racing heart, sweaty palms, and tense muscles.

The boy who feared mascots became his high school's mascot during his senior year.

In our daughter's case, she still won't eat crab, but she's learned, over time, to be "fine" with other people at her table enjoying it. 

As for the boy who feared pinecones, I was his teacher for another two years and the subject never came up again after the day he had me "pick one down," although I could tell it persisted by the way he would occasionally cast a wary eye toward the tree. The school moved to a new location the following year. Our new playground had no pines, although the ground was covered in cedar cones. I don't know if he had any feelings about them. If he did, he never mentioned it. He was too busy doing what he enjoyed most, playing outdoors, but I imagine there were moments when his heart still raced, his palms still sweat, and muscles still tensed.

Therapists are there to help us overcome our irrational fears, but for most of us, most of the time, just by living, we encounter the exposure therapy we need. Sometimes we just call it experience.

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