In my imagination I'm a world traveler. I confidently jump on planes, trains, boats, and automobiles wearing a variety of cute travel outfits, appropriate for my exotic destinations. I stroll through the airport pulling my classic Hartmann tweed suitcase looking seasoned, confident, and a little excited about my next adventure.
OK, here's the real world scenario. I enter the airport in a bundle of anxiety, heart racing, sweaty palms, obsessively checking my purse to be sure I have Xanax. I shakily make my way through checking my bag (OK, it's a Samsonite, not a Hartmann) and on through security I go, not like a world traveller headed on her next adventure, but like a woman walking to her cell on death row. The only thing similar to my imagination is the cute travel outfit appropriate to my destination. I have my rituals and they have to be done and somehow in my jittery mind I feel a tiny measure of comfort and protection. First water fountain inside security is where I take my Xanax. Don't want to take it too late. I want it to be working when I get on that plane. Don't want to take it too early. It might start wearing out before the flight is over. I get a decaf coffee. I wait till they are almost ready to call my flight and go to the bathroom. My rituals are done. I pray and walk down the jetway like a condemned woman. I fervently hope that my favorite seat by the window, just behind the wing, is available. My heart is pounding. I'm not sure if I'm more worried about the plane crashing or having a heart attack while in the air with no fully qualified medical personnel to save me. My terror begins to subside as I use all the tools I have to manage panic, but by the time we push back I'm sweaty palmed again, my heart is racing and negative talk is racing in my head. We roll down the runway and we're off, with my heart in my throat. When, miraculously, I don't have a heart attack and the plane doesn't crash on take off, I settle down. Oddly, I'm not very anxious once we're flying unless I see or hear something I think is weird. When they say we can turn on mobile devices and the flight attendants begin beverage service, my anxiety thinks everything is normal.
Most of the time I fly with my husband. He's awesome. Before our trip he books the reservations, checks us in online, gets the boarding passes. He knows all the preparation increases my anxiety. He pats my hand on the way to the airport, understands my weird rituals, and supports me if I freak out. He never asks me to sit in the center seat even though he prefers the aisle. He knows I like the window and sits in the dreaded center seat so I can be in my safe spot.
We were on our way to Tampa to get on a cruise ship when I wrote this. I don't really love cruise ships, either, which added to my anxiety. I feel a little confined and think cruises are a bit cheesy. But, this was a family cruise with 15 of my in-laws, and we knew it would make my mother-in-law super happy if we went, so I decided to go. But, managing the anxiety wasn't easy. The night before our trip, I lay in bed for two hours with my heart pounding. Two rounds of Progressive Muscle Relaxation plus a guided sleep meditation and my pulse was still 92. I forced myself to stop obsessively checking my pulse. Finally, I drifted off to strange dreams of flying to Alaska in a tiny plane.
P.S. I few weeks after writing this, I found Tim Benjamin's website Fearofflyingschool.com with tips to reduce anxiety when flying. I thought my readers would like the tips!
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