PHOBIAS

            I am acrophobic and claustrophobic – sort of.

Phobias are an odd lot.  Consider the Rouse version of acrophobia.  Standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon and looking down into its magnificent depths doesn’t bother me.  Flying in a passenger jet at 40,000 feet, I actually enjoy looking down at the clouds and the earth as its slides past far below.  However, just thinking about changing the lights that top the tower on the Empire State Building causes me to break out in a cold sweat.  I literally cannot even watch a video of construction workers walking the high steel of skyscrapers they’re building.  I know. It sounds weird, because it is.  My acrophobia is situational and inexplicable.  I’ve never fallen from a tower.  There’s no particular reason I can come up with as to why I’m terrified of certain types of heights, but that makes the fear no less overwhelming or real.  It’s rather embarrassing to start cringing when someone shows me a picture of construction workers casually eating their lunch on girders hundreds of feet above the ground, but believe me, it’s a toe curling experience.

The same holds true with my version of claustrophobia.  Folks have asked me about elevators and closets.  No, they really don’t bother me.  But the idea of spelunking in underground caves requiring me to squeeze through narrow places where I might get stuck – you can absolutely forget it.  Won’t happen.  Flying in a passenger jet is just fine, as long as I’m not sitting under the bulkhead with a three hundred pounder squeezing me against the window.  The old claustrophobia kicks in and all kinds of weird, panicky thoughts that have no basis in reality but are absolutely disabling start to overwhelm me.  I’ve learned to request an aisle seat when ordering my tickets.  There’s something about being squeezed into a tight place, even wearing tight clothes (I don’t), that can run the old claustro meter way up there real quick.  Once again, I have no idea as to why these selective times of terror occur.  I’ve never been caught in a tight place or shut up in a coffin.  I can’t blame genetics, to the best of my knowledge neither of my parents wrestled with either acrophobia or claustrophobia.  Did some “wires” in my brain randomly cross and produce these seemingly baseless fears?  My attempts to come up with a logical reason for these illogical moments of terror have been fruitless.  

It’s interesting that in talking about this with others, the same types of observations hold true.  Many phobias are about as irrational and illogical as we human beings are.  I watched a grown woman jump up on a kitchen table at the sight of a mouse.  There’s a dear friend who can’t sit in a booth at a restaurant.  Another who freaks out at the sight of a spider.  Several acquaintances of mine have varied issues with crowds of people.  One had a panic attack in a theatre and had to leave the movie.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve also noticed that my particular phobias, much to my chagrin, seem to have grown worse, not better.  Once again, I have no clue as to why.  Several other folks I’ve visited with, interestingly enough, have made the same observation.  One would think that with knowledge and awareness of the problem, a phobia could be addressed and cured.  Maybe mine could be if I dropped a ton of money on a psychiatrist.  But I wonder…

I’m sharing this because I’m fascinated with what this says about how our minds work and how much of whom we are is “hardwired” and how much of it is shaped by environment and all the other “stuff” that goes with trying to figure out why we are the complex creatures we are.  I know my own phobias have certainly made me more sympathetic and empathetic with others who labor under the sometimes debilitating effects of these fears.  There will be no stones quickly cast by me at someone who is struggling with a phobia.   It is an incredibly frustrating thing to deal with an overwhelming wash of emotion (read fear) that you know has no basis in logic, yet is absolutely consuming and perhaps disabling you at a moment’s notice.

As a “left-brained” person of long standing, it is also difficult to admit that applying a little “Spock-like” logic to an issue won’t necessarily solve it.  It certainly hasn’t in my case.  Squeeze me into the backseat of a compact car with two other people and the air conditioner off, and I’ll guarantee you all the logic and calming words in the world are not going to keep me from exiting that vehicle as quickly as possible.  Just thinking about that situation makes me draw up inside.

At the same time, while I never thought I would say this, I’ve come to view my phobias as something of a blessing (even if a mixed one).  They have forced me to confront my brokenness and weakness in ways that physical issues cannot. It is difficult to admit, but I can no more will myself not to be afraid in certain situations than I could will myself to walk if paralyzed.  There is a very real sense in which my fear exists out of my control.

 This has caused me to contemplate in a new light James urging us to “count it all joy” when we encounter various trials.  I had never considered, until recently, that those trials could include the phobias with which I occasionally wrestle.   I’m now convinced they are a “trial” that can teach me very important lessons if I’ll allow.

It also calls to mind Paul’s sharing of his struggles as recorded in 2 Corinthians 12.  He writes of his “thorn in the flesh” from which he begged God to deliver him.  I’d always assumed that thorn was a physical issue, agreeing with many commentators who lean toward a problem with his eyesight.  However, it is undeniable that it was in his struggle with that weakness, whatever it was, Paul made his life changing discoveries concerning the sufficiency of God’s grace and of power truly being perfected in weakness.

And so it is with weaknesses that are not necessarily physical, but perhaps just as debilitating.  We find our own power sadly insufficient to deal with them.  But at the same time, in the humbling realization of just how broken and helpless we are in the face of irrational and illogical fear, comes a deeper understanding of how dependent we are upon God to accomplish His purposes through us any way.  It drives home how very true is Paul’s observation that the treasure of the gospel is carried about in dirt jars (2 Cor 4:7). 

One last thought… I don’t know how these musings on phobias apply when it comes to addictions and compulsions.  But if the driving force behind them is as powerful as that which drives our fears, perhaps we should be far more patient and understanding with those who wrestle with them.  It could well be their pleadings of helplessness in the face of their addiction or compulsion is more a reflection of honesty than of the self-serving excuse which we so often attribute.