Fear of flying.

I’ve been doing all this for more than a decade and believe me, it’s dull. On top of the fear itself is the exhaustion caused by being paralysed with terror for hours, even days at a time. You see, the process of being a freaked-out flier begins way before take-off.

A fellow FF describes it brilliantly like this:

“I start getting tense as soon as I book my ticket and the anxiety builds from there. I usually go very quiet on the day of a flight and start to yawn constantly on route to the airport.

Once on board, I listen carefully to every instruction but refuse to focus on the manual in case of an emergency, because I don’t want to prepare for an emergency.

As the plane prepares for take off, I grip the armrest and say a few reassuring words to myself like ‘breathe’ and ‘safe’ and then squeeze the hand of my partner or whoever is next to me. I’m unable to fly alone these days.

By this time I have sweaty palms and underarms, my temperature is elevated and my breathing is shallow.

If there’s any turbulence on the way up, my arms will start flapping uncontrollably and hitting whoever is near. Then I usually snuggle into my partner’s armpits whimpering ‘Is it okay? Are you sure? Promise? PROMISE?’ and he replies with gentle reassuring words like ‘it’s all normal and fine’ as if he’s talking to a demented poodle. By this time, people in nearby seats have begun to smile nervously at me. I spend every moment obsessively watching the flight attendants facial expressions and body language for any signs of concern and I have a habit of hitting my chest really fast to try to calm myself, which doesn’t work when I hear any changes in the engine noises. I’m jumpy as announcements come over the loudspeaker and I hate descending because that usually means more turbulence. When we land safely I almost pass out from the sheer effort of having kept the plane up in the sky with my mind.”

When you’re on a plane, freaked-out fliers can be tough to spot. This is because many of us are safely on the ground. In cars. On trains. Or at home. The downside of course is that when you’re limited to ground transport, there are so many places you can’t visit unless you have months to spend at sea. I used to think I hated travel but I’ve realised that it wasn’t the travel part I hated, just the flying there.

“My husband wants to take the family to Disney Land,” confesses one friend dolefully.  “I told him I would go if we could take a cruise there and back. “
(An aside: Why is every flying-phobic I know female? I’m sure there are men who feel the same way but you don’t hear much from them whereas women are very vocal about it.)

My own flight-phobia has improved dramatically over the last few years and while no single thing cured me, a few little ones combined to pry me out of the foetal position. Firstly, I just got sick of it. Sick of the fear, the stress and the toll it took on me and whomever I was flying with. Next, I was pregnant so there was a long stretch when knocking myself out with anything stronger than chamomile tea and rescue remedy was impossible. I just had to deal with it or stay home alone.

Another crucial breakthrough came when I read an article by a British woman who’d done a fear of flying course. On the first day, a pilot was brought in to talk to the group and compared turbulence to dessert. “Imagine the plane is a piece of pineapple in a jelly cup,” he explained. “When you shake the cup, the pineapple bounces around but it can’t fall anywhere because the jelly is all around it, keeping it in place. The pockets of air underneath the plane are like the jelly and the plane just bounces safely on top.”

Or something like that. Co-incidentally, dessert is my happy place so the jelly visual worked a treat for me.

Do you love travel? Are you a happy flier? Any tips or tricks that have helped you either with flying or travel in general?

[images by AnnuksA]