I’ve been pretty open about my anxiety over the past several years. All my close friends and family know I deal with it, and even a majority of my readers know about it too (I mean, I wrote an entire book about it). But I don’t think I’ve ever really spoken about my experience with diagnosed agoraphobia (or as I call it, anxiety’s annoying little brother). So I’m writing this post to shed some light on it.

I’m sure a lot of people have heard about agoraphobia, but unless you’ve experienced it, have studied it, or know someone with it, you may not fully understand. When I’ve mentioned it to people in the past, they assume it means I’m afraid of crowds. That’s like the Cliff’s Notes explanation. It’s an okay general overview, but that’s not all that it is. There’s more depth to it.

Let me use an example (because that’s my favorite way to explain things).

I do not like flying. I’ve flown several times in my life, from one-hour domestic flights, to 9-hour transatlantic journeys. If possible, I try to avoid flying. Many people automatically assume that I don’t like flying because I’m afraid of things like turbulence or heights (yeah, I’m not a fan of heights, but that’s not my main concern on a plane). The real issue comes down to feeling “trapped” on a plane.

I’ve driven from Pennsylvania to North Carolina twice. That’s like a 10-hour drive. But I would take that over flying for the same length of time because I don’t feel trapped. If I don’t feel well in the car, I can always pull over. You can’t do that on a plane. You can’t even really do that if you’re taking a train or bus either (I guess technically you could if you put up enough stink, but I digress). The point is you can’t “pause” on a plane trip. Hence the feeling of being trapped.

Another example: in my first semester of college, I had a class with a very strict teacher. He forbade anyone from leaving class at all, even for the bathroom (he stated it was a distraction). It was an hour-long class, which doesn’t seem long, but being told you can’t leave at all is a little uncomfortable. I regularly got mini anxiety attacks in that class because, once again, I felt trapped.

Let’s go with another example that takes a different route. My agoraphobia became really severe the summer before my final year at college. I could barely leave my house without having a panic attack. I couldn’t even go to the doctor for an emergency visit about my anxiety because I was afraid to leave the safe space of my home.

Okay, one more example. In my younger days as a bachelor, when I started dating, I was very cautious about where I went on dates. I never took anyone to dinner because I once again felt trapped in the middle of so many people. I also had an issue of getting anxiety attacks randomly while eating, which only exacerbated them, so restaurant dates were out of the question.

The only place I ever really took dates was to the movies, and I always made sure we sat on the edge of the row so, if I were to start feeling anxious, I could go walk outside and do my pacing routine with minimal disturbance.

Are you starting to see a pattern?

Agoraphobia has an interesting linguistic origin. An agora was a central meeting place/market in Ancient Greece. And we all know how phobia essentially means “fear.” So we have a fear of the marketplace. By the way, I was even afraid to visit the grocery store during my severe agoraphobic phase.

When I have an anxiety attack, I have a specific routine I follow to help combat it. It mainly involves pacing and catching my breath. I can do that safely in the confines of my own home, but if I get an attack in public, there’s very little chance I can do that. I certainly couldn’t pace in that class I mentioned. Or on a plane. But if I’m in control of my environment, like when I’m driving, I’m all good because I can pull over. I can address my anxiety without issue.

Another component of my agoraphobia is almost a fear of “what ifs.” When I have an anxiety attack, I’m worried about what if I pass out. I don’t want to faint in public because A) it’s embarrassing, B) I’m not sure how people would react (like if they would help me or ignore me). Since my anxiety attacks could happen at random times, I was afraid of being outside of my home due to my fear of fainting in public. This almost aligns with the slight misconception that agoraphobia is simply a “fear of crowds.”

We come back to my main point: the fear of feeling trapped, not just a fear of crowds.

There are many ways to treat agoraphobia, from cognitive behavior therapy, exposure therapy, support groups, and simple breathing techniques. Unfortunately, none of those worked for me as my agoraphobia progressed and became more severe. In my instance, I had to turn to medicine (and I don’t regret it one bit). Nowadays, I may have slight episodes where I feel anxious in a scenario where I’m “trapped,” but it no longer impairs my life as much as it did in the past.

I primarily wrote this article to be informative since I see so many people unfamiliar with agoraphobia. Hopefully this will answer questions and make readers better understand how my mind works.

For any readers dealing with agoraphobia, I don’t have a magic solution that will definitely work for everyone because we’re all so different. What I do want to tell you is these two things:

If you suspect you have agoraphobia, don’t feel bad or embarrassed about the fact. You’re not alone. There are plenty of other people out there who have conquered this fear, or are at least able to manage it.Please seek professional help if you suspect you have agoraphobia. There is no one-size-fits-all solution for everyone, but speaking with someone with extensive knowledge and/or experience in agoraphobia (and anxiety in general) can potentially put you on the right path to treatment.

The post Feeling Trapped: What Is Agoraphobia? appeared first on Alessandro Reale.