Fear of Falling

I’m afraid of falling. I can’t figure out why. I can’t even stand on a curb without the feeling of vertigo, and forget walking down a stairwell without a handrail. Just thinking about it gets my heart beating fast. It’s not the height that scares me, I’m fine flying on a plane, or standing on a bridge, or riding in an elevator. But if there’s nothing between me and the ground (even if it’s only six inches away) fear sets in and I panic. I was on a hike last week and we came to a muddy part too deep to walk through without stepping in and getting mud to our calves, so we had to find an alternate route. My friend went first, nimbly jumping on a log and hopping across to the other side. I stared at the log for twenty seconds before stepping foot on it. It was wide enough for both of my feet, so I started to shuffle slowly across, ignoring the mud pools on either side of me. When I got to the middle, the log tapered to a single foot width and I could no longer ignore the fact that there was nothing keeping me on the log but my own balance, and that suddenly wasn’t enough. I looked up at my friend with a self-depreciative smile and said, “I think I’m stuck.” And I was. There was no going forward. She looked up at me and said, “You’re going to make it, just walk fast!” I shook my head. “Nope. Not walking fast.” Going faster makes it worse. I get wobbly and even more off balance when I go fast. “Yes, you can do it, just run across!” She smiled encouragingly and I bit my lip, feeling bad for not listening to her, but also knowing that I would most definitely fall if I went fast. I always do. “Do you want me to hold your hand?” She asked half jokingly, half serious. I knew she would if I needed her to, but I’m sort of prideful and I wouldn’t allow myself the weakness. “No thanks,” I said and took a deep breath. I didn’t want her to get frustrated with me for such a stupid thing, but I was afraid. I knew it was ridiculous, the mud was just mud, and there was no threat to my life if I did fall. Even with those rationalizations, I still couldn’t put my foot forward and go. “Just think of it like a hardwood floor,” she said. “Can’t,” I said, “it’s not a hardwood floor.” I looked down, a foot and a half separated me from the mud. I wasn’t up that high, but that fear still paralyzed me. So I started to shuffle backwards. “No, you can do it!” She said as she stepped onto the log to take my hand. I knew she’d lunge after it if I backed up far enough, she was quite determined to get me across that damn log. Once my feet were on the wide part of the log again, I started to feel okay. I looked at her, then down at the log, once again at the mud, then back at her. “Okay,” I said. “I’m going to do it.” I didn’t want her to be annoyed for cutting our hike so short (we were only a quarter of the way through at that point) and I didn’t want to be frustrated with myself for letting something so insanely ridiculous keep me from doing something fun. I stepped forward with my left foot, but instead of walking across like a balance beam, I turned my foot, and the rest of my body, so I could shuffle sideways. The log got even smaller towards the end, but it was close enough to jump to hard ground, so I did, and my friend smiled. “See! You did it!” I smiled tentatively and looked back at my accomplishment. The log really wasn’t that long, nor was it very high, and it nearly defeated me. I tucked away the incident to go over later, and we carried on our hike, which was amazing.

So where do I go from here? I don’t know where this fear stems from, it’s impossible to tell if it’s a repressed memory or feeling from when I was little, or me just being plain irrational. The moments where I can temporarily overcome it are small triumphs, but the fear of falling always comes back, and the next time I face that log I’ll still hesitate.

I suppose further research into the depths of my psyche is my only answer. Wish me luck.