TRAVEL MEMOIR

Overcoming My Fear of Flying

An exercise in trust

“We need you to travel to Las Vegas to attend a convention on new merch possibilities.”

My manager’s off-handed comment dropped a colossal glacier on my panicking heart.

Flying was not something I did. The idea of physically boarding an airplane brought out a stubbornness in me that I thought I’d left behind at age four.

Avoiding eye contact with him, I gave a noncommittal nod. I went back to my desk and started spiraling. As the primary breadwinner for my young family, how could I refuse? My husband attended college, and my mom watched our nine-month-old son. My profession supported our family.

That night, I tossed and turned in my sleep, dreaming of walking down the plane’s crowded aisle, sandwiching myself in a seat, and clenching my jaw until take-off. A countdown would begin for the moment when I’d hear the engines explode, or worse, hear them sputter and go silent as we ceased climbing and reverse-plummeted back to earth. Chaos erupted in the fuselage as people’s baggage spilled from overheard compartments, oxygen masks dropped, children cried, adults screamed…

I had to tell my manager I couldn’t go. Maybe he wouldn’t fire me.

When you have a fear of flying, it seems you pay attention to the oddest things. A coworker discussing their recent work trip or a friend sharing a family vacation overseas causes you to wonder at their courage and nonchalance at doing something that feels impossible to you.

I had long given up the idea of seeing places like Scotland, Hawaii, and Patagonia. I released the dreams that would never happen in order to make room for modified versions, places to visit in the contiguous U.S. Beautiful locations, no doubt, but further down the list of top destinations to see before I die.

My fear wielded total control over me, which made me angry at myself. Would fear really force me to look for another job, one that would never ask me to fly or that wouldn’t mind if I drove and would automatically spot me the extra 10 days it would take. I had a great job I loved. Finding another job didn’t interest me. So…

I started researching how to get over a phobia, specifically one associated with flying. My fear had two components: claustrophobia and mechanical malfunction that resulted in a fiery crash. I found a fear-of-flying program online, a box set of CDs that guaranteed to cure anyone of their fear to fly or they’d refund your money.

Approaching my manager, I explained the situation. Would he consider paying $200 for me to listen to this program? At that time, our household income couldn’t cover the expense. (Hello Similac and Pampers!) To my immense relief, he agreed.

The program walked participants through the psychology of fear, specifically of flying. It comforted me to hear others speak of our shared fear, and encouraged to hear how they overcame this fear and were able to fly today anywhere. I watched in awe.

What would it feel like to overcome my phobia, to have it loosen its hold on me? Just envisioning that freedom made me breathe deeper, drop my shoulders, unclench.

The CDs included pilots and statisticians, psychologists and mechanical engineers, all describing how flight works, what the different noises indicate, how to focus on breathing and mental imagery, and what to do if a person can’t get ahead of their panic. If I could trust these experts, it would crack the door open on shifting my mindset from remote possibility to hesitant probability.

Maybe I could actually do this.

The flight to Las Vegas would take three hours with a layover in Dallas. I could choose a window seat (having a view of the ground oriented me). I could ask my doctor for Valium. I could hold my Rosary beads the entire time.

One of my coworkers attending the same conference was assigned the seat next to me. “Are you okay if I need to hold your hand at take-off?” Fear throws pride out the window. I could tell she didn’t understand, but she was kind enough to agree.

And so it was that I boarded an American Airlines aircraft, let the pilot know about my fear of flying, which the program suggested, and allowed him to give me a tour of the cockpit. I scrutinized his face for signs of extreme fatigue or alcohol use, anything that might contribute to a crash. He was friendly and looked to be in his early 60s, which rendered to me the most valuable trait in a pilot: experience.

I found my seat, popped a pill, and began the Apostles’ Creed. We taxied down the runway, the engines crescendoed, I grabbed my coworker’s hand, and we lifted.

Writing these next words cannot begin to communicate what sheer terror and simultaneous release I felt.

I. Was. Flying.

I did not panic. I did not vomit or make an insane spectacle of myself. The engines never failed. The plane did not crash.

When we’d reached altitude, I looked around, imagining we were all just passengers on a bus, on the ground. Normal things like ordering a Coke and choosing pretzels settled me. I put on a free movie, a comedy, which had the magical ability to fast-forward time so that in no time, we were descending to DFW. Descent is my favorite part of a flight because it means we’re almost back on the ground and safe.

Bam! The wheels hit the tarmac and the reverse thrusters roared to slow us down.

Tears still come to my eyes when remembering this. It was the exact moment I regained control of my life and relegated fear to the backseat.

Since that flight, two decades have passed. I’ve grown to enjoy flying. Those are words I never thought I’d type! Turns out, traveling suits me. Now, three kids later and racing headlong into mid-life, traveling allows me to push pause on the daily grind of schedules and cleanup and deadlines. Others serve me, whether flight attendants, hotel staff, or wait staff at restaurants. It feels luxurious.

During COVID, I picked up hiking and now enjoy flying to locations specifically to have an epic wilderness adventure. Freedom has allowed me to discover new parts of myself. Flying to new places broadens my perspective on people, food, and just how shockingly beautiful the world is.

I wasn’t ready to tackle my fear…until I was. A large part in getting there meant I had to face a fact that no one wants to think about: Dying. When I came to terms with my own mortality, my fear of flying lost some of its grip on me.

We all die. But the larger force in me wanted to live boldly between now and when that inevitability arrived. As a person of faith, I needed to rely entirely on the belief that my life was in God’s hands and I could trust Him with whatever happened.

My family booked our first trip to Hawaii for next summer. It’ll be my first trip over the ocean, and the first where my whole family flies together. I sense the old apprehension trying to creep in, but I have a steely resolve to block that door from opening.

Maybe reading this article has called to mind some fear you have, a fear you don’t share with others, but that nevertheless takes up a lot of mental space. Would you be open to taking the first step and naming your fear?

As a former-phobic, no one will have more empathy for you than me. But even if you aren’t ready to call it by name, promise me one thing: Don’t let fear get the last word. Freedom is waiting in the wings.

Thanks for reading.

To read more about how I came to terms with mortality, check out this article.