Just breathe
About a dozen years ago, I was in a never-ending cave in Cappadocia, Turkey. One of the most intriguing historical sites, it includes, in addition to cave houses and mansions, underground cities. Oh joy! Amazing! Impressive! Sound the death knell: I’m claustrophobic. I had made this discovery several years prior while taking my young son and my neighbor’s daughters to the Liberty Science Center in Jersey City, New Jersey. I entered an exhibit, the Touch Tunnel perfectly unscathed by any phobia. It is a pitch black, twisting and turning tunnel which one must navigate on one’s knees with one hand on the floor and one on the wall. If one follows directions, there is no problem. Therein lies the rub. Entering a tunnel with dozens of children under 7 as well as teenage pranksters can lead to panic, hyperventilating and small-space pandemonium while crowded on all sides by trembling children and darkness.
“I’m scared Danielle,” whispered one of my terrified charges into my neck.
“We need some HELP in here,” I said firmly into the void – having been told the staff was always watching and that there were emergency exits along the way. Yet, we remained stuck while those in front of us either didn’t know how to proceed or thought it was funny to stop the line…It was NOT funny. No help arrived so I explained loudly what the people in front of us were supposed to do (left hand on floor, right hand on wall and CRAWL), and suggested, while moving (read: PUSHING) forward, that if they couldn’t follow the directions they should move out of the way for those of us who COULD and WANTED to complete the exercise.
I exited the exhibit a trembling shadow of my former self who could no longer stand in an elevator without crying (and jumping out). I took to taking 16 flights of stairs rather than risk getting stuck in an elevator. Plane rides became impossible in any seat but the aisle, and even then, screaming was always a possibility. As was uncontrollable crying as I fought to suppress unjustifiable fears that there was not enough air. Or of being crushed between the large gentleman in the middle seat and the window.
So, Cappadocia.
The tour guide asked if any of us had claustrophobia. I was silent. I wanted to participate in this historical treasure with my adventurous son and husband. I can do this, I told myself. (Fortunately, I extirpated the need to partake in their adventures with this rather tame one. Just a few years later they were jumping out of planes and climbing Everest. I didn't need to participate to know that I have a fear of heights and falling to my death from said heights.)
The beginning was a piece of cake. We walked around and down, listening to the informative guide. I got this!
The cake got increasingly stale as we continued down into the earth. There is air. It feels cool. I can breathe.
By level three, it was rock hard, fruit cake. The spaces were getting narrower, the ceilings, lower. People used to live down here without ever going to the surface. There is air. I can breathe.
By level four, we were on our hands crawling through tunnels and the guide laughingly told us about the time they got stuck because of an over-large gentleman who insisted on joining even though it was suggested it might not be the best idea. He got stuck in this very tunnel. When we reached the end of the tunnel, level five, another group was coming close behind us. The hairs on my arms and neck were standing. I was cold and trembling and could hear my heart in my ears as I choked on it. I handed my purse to my husband and told him to go with the guide and my son. I couldn’t continue with all the people. I had to wait until I was alone and then I would continue. Don’t worry about me, I said. Just go! I didn’t scream but I am sure my eyes were wild with unshed tears and stark raving unwarranted baseless fear. I felt the need to curl into a ball on the floor and cry and scream and shake. But, I knew if I did, they would carry me out for I wouldn’t be able to stop. I could feel the hysteria in my throat ready to bubble over.
So, I took deep breaths and recited a mantra in my head over and over and over: Breathe. You can do this.
And, eventually, I did do it. I made it back up through the cold depths of the underground city to the blue skies and copious amounts of hot air under the sun. Upon exiting, the guide reprimanded me for not telling him about my claustrophobia, but my son lifted me and twirled me around saying, "You did it!" Best feeling in the world...breathing.
I still don't like small planes or old elevators, but I find my mantra is helpful in those instances as well as just getting through daily challenges: Breathe. You can do this.