Fighting Phobias, Facing Fears, and Finding Freedom

They take hold of us all at some point, twisting the truth, blinding us to reality, and dragging us down into whirlpools of anxiety. They confront us head on, or they stalk us, easing their way up furtively, concealed in beliefs and arguments we find compelling. We try to fight them with words, with reason, with acts that prove them wrong, to no avail. Worse, they separate us from our fellow man, who cannot understand why such a thing should take hold of us. Irrational fears are a nemesis we all face, and due to their very nature, we often face them alone.

Sometimes, during a rainstorm, my husband and I joke with our son about how he has a fear of brontosauruses. He quickly corrects us, “Brontophobia is the fear of thunder!”

We try to make him laugh, picturing herds of long-necked dinosaurs stampeding along in the clouds, and it usually works for a second, but at the next flash of lightning and peal of thunder, he comes rushing to my side and hides under my arm. No matter how many times we explain Faraday cages and the effects of grounding, he finds such weather terrifying. I don’t know what I can do except hold him close in those times.

Recently, my son has been facing a more constant fear—that my husband and I will forget him at school. The night before the first day of 4th grade, he couldn’t sleep because of his anxiety. “What if you forget to pick me up?” he asks in a small voice. No matter how many times I impress upon him, promise him, remind him that I have never forgotten to pick him up, he lives terrified he will be separated from us. To me, it seems preposterous that we would forget him—even if somehow my husband and I both arrived home without picking up our child, the school has both our phone numbers (and the phone numbers of other emergency contacts), and they would call us to come retrieve our son. However, my son isn’t arriving at his fear via rationality, so it’s likely some strange twist in his thinking has left him worried and afraid. I can’t use logic to reason him back from a place he arrived at illogically.

There are numerous other examples I could point to of people in my life with irrational fears, but I am not responsible for them. I am responsible for my son. I have the duty and privilege of guiding him through life to help him grow into a well-adjusted, healthy, loving, God-honoring adult. Part of that is knowing how to address his irrational fears. I am at a loss.

So, I look inside my own mind. How do I handle my own irrational fears? These following three questions strike at the heart of the matter.

1) How do I respond to the anxiety, blindness, and fright of irrational fears?

2) Is my response effective?

3) How ought I respond to irrational fears?

The first thing I must do is identify my own irrational fears. I could play it off and talk about my fear of cockroaches, which I admit runs deep. Just thinking of the popping sound they make when you squish them drives all conscious thought from my mind. My skin is crawling even now. However, my deeper, more enduring, more debilitating fear is this: that everyone I interact with has in the back of their mind how pathetic and detestable I am—everyone. It’s why I have such a hard time with criticism, which seems to prove to me the truth of that fear. Even if not in correction, I can see disgust in the most innocuous of gestures, facial expressions, and words. It’s like an imposter syndrome of being a likable human being—maybe people are acting as though they care for, like, and appreciate me, but really, beneath it all, they know or will soon find out who I really am.

How do I know this is irrational? Well, to be honest, I don’t. The fear is ingrained in my thinking and beliefs. The only evidence I have to the contrary is the testimony of others—of my husband, of my son, of my parents and sister and family, of my friends, of my coworkers, of my Sunday school classmates, and of almost anyone I meet for more than ten seconds, essentially of everyone. My husband has told me I am the “most universally beloved person” he’s ever met.

My brain doesn’t believe them. As I was discussing this topic with my husband, he told me regarding my feelings of self-doubt and self-deprecation, “No one should feel that way.” Of course, my brain interpreted that as a comment on how pitiful and repelling my feelings prove myself to be. He corrected himself, “No one should have to feel that way.” I couldn’t argue with his wording and declared a philosophical truce in my mind.

I meet my fears with belief and reality with disbelief rather than the other way around. That is the answer to Questions 1 and 2 of how I respond to my irrational fears—with reinforcement—and how it works out—it turns out poorly. I suspect I’m not the only one. My son continues to fear despite the innumerable days we have not forgotten him at school. Many people fear getting too close to others for the potential of rejection, commitment for the possibility of changed feelings, and letting others down because they did so once before. We all deal with fear with varying degrees of rationality, due to trauma or misfiring neurons or due to not knowing the future. We shy away from reality, flee the truth, and run straight into the arms of a deadly lie—that we are alone.

I think of how we respond to each other’s irrational fears. We try to argue with each other and prove the fears wrong. Some attempt exposure therapy while others hide the fearful individual in a metaphorical blanket of safety, promising they will never need to face their fears. Some just debate as though the fear might surrender in the face of superior reason.

My husband and I have done this with our son. We try to argue with him about the nature of electricity, but he doesn’t care about electrons and currents and insulative materials. He cares about the flashes of light growing closer and closer, the claps of thunders growing louder and louder, and his complete inability to save himself. When we tell him it’ll be okay, we are reinforcing to him that we don’t understand. When we tell him we will pick him up from school and ask him when have we ever not picked him up from school, we are communicating that we don’t grasp the gravity of his anxiety, the immense weight of it, its overwhelming force driving all thought and reason from his mind. He feels desperately alone.

As do I when my thoughts run wild. As do countless others when we try to persuade them not to be scared. I can’t convince myself that my irrational fear isn’t true. I can’t use logic to reason myself back from a place I arrived at illogically.

That brings us to Question 3 of how I ought to respond. I think the answer lies in some verses I have struggled to love: Philippians 4:6-7.

Do not worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (CSB)

People quote in regards to anxiety and fear all the time. For people with anxiety disorders especially, it is frustrating and even demoralizing to have these verses thrown at us. There’s usually a sense of condemnation—because you are not doing what Paul tells us to in Philippians, you are sinning. People will even flat out tell you anxiety is a sin. This is not helpful or encouraging or exhortative. It crushes our already fragile spirits. Often, we know our fears are irrational, that our anxieties are baseless, and we can preach to ourselves that “all things work together for the good of those who love God, who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28 NIV). But throwing rational truth at an irrational problem does nothing but twist things further. Furthermore, I don’t think that was what Paul intended when he wrote these verses. He wasn’t addressing sin; he was addressing our prayers and God’s peace.

I think the next verse gives some more context:

Finally brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable—if there is any moral excellence and if there is anything praiseworthy—dwell on these things. (Philippians 4:8 CSB)

Our focus is not what we are looking away from—our fears—but on what we are looking to—our God in prayer. Our minds must focus and dwell not on how to defeat the fear but how to love and live and glorify God where we are. Only then will we thrive. Focusing on the irrational fears or even on the “sin” of anxiety puts our minds square in the middle of darkness, while thinking of what is true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, morally excellent or praiseworthy picks us up out of the dirt and raises our attention to good, to God. Job spent chapters and chapters dwelling on his grief and confusion, and things didn’t change until God brought Job’s attention to Him. God didn’t try to reason Job out of his questions; He offered Himself as the answer, as He does to us.

When I feel trapped in a spiral of self-loathing and fear of people’s opinions of me, I don’t need to reason myself out by remembering all the ways they have appreciated and loved me. Rather, I have God as my answer. I can think of all the things He’s placed in my life that are true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, and commendable. I can consider the morally excellent actions people have taken in my life, and I can praise God, in the middle of the storm, in the middle of the fear, in the middle of the pain. I don’t need to look to reason, logic, and rationality to overcome my imposter syndrome of sorts. Rather, I have a Person who can interact with my fear and grow my heart and mind in the process. As for my fear of cockroaches, that will take a separate miracle.