As my children dashed toward the towering glass entrance, I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. Watching them look up in wonder at the skyscraper, my heart raced. That familiar sense of dread crept in, and I discreetly wiped my sweaty palms on my shorts. The humid Chicago air clung to my skin, yet I felt a chill run down my spine.
Even though I was firmly planted on solid ground, my anxiety levels were steadily climbing. As I reluctantly directed my gaze upwards to the peak of the tallest building in the nation, I struggled to swallow the knot in my throat and took a deep breath.
“Thousands of visitors make it to the top every day,” I reassured myself. “You probably won’t meet your end. Probably.”
I mustered up some courage, trying to mimic my kids’ enthusiasm. But the thought of taking an elevator up to the 103rd floor of the iconic Willis Tower (or the Sears Tower, if you’re a true Chicagoan) made me feel nauseous. With acrophobia, the fear of heights, I prefer the sights I can enjoy with my feet securely on the ground rather than from a dizzying height of 1,300 feet.
“Mom! There’s a glass ledge we can stand on! Can we do that?” my kids clamored.
Gulp. Sure?
After purchasing our tickets, I slowly walked toward the elevators alongside other visitors, all while fighting the urge to announce that we were leaving immediately. Who in their right mind would stand at the edge of a 1,300-foot drop?
When the elevator doors opened and I first laid eyes on the view, I inhaled sharply, trying to calm my nerves. My body tensed, my fists clenched, and a wave of dread washed over me. Although I knew logically that the 103rd floor was safe and that other visitors were marveling at the beauty of Lake Michigan, my body reacted as if I were in imminent danger.
Unless you’re a bird, I thought, no human should be more than three feet off the ground. And even that feels risky.
During our time at the top, I focused on deep breathing, mindfulness, and praying not to fall. My glutes were clenched tight, as if safety came from muscular tension. While I now have a souvenir photo of me on the Ledge, the truth is that I backed into the spot, knelt down while maintaining eye contact with my daughter, and urged my son to snap the picture immediately. Just smoke and mirrors.
Understanding Acrophobia
Living with acrophobia is no joke. While everyone is born with a natural fear of falling, those of us with acrophobia can experience debilitating panic attacks at the mere thought of being elevated. Our fears extend beyond standing on the edge of a cliff or a tall building; even climbing ladders, riding high escalators, or sitting in the nosebleed seats of a stadium can trigger intense anxiety.
Acrophobia affects approximately 7% of the U.S. population, which translates to around 22 million individuals. Though it tends to affect women more frequently, it remains one of the most common social phobias. People with acrophobia can find themselves paralyzed with fear just a few feet off the ground.
For those who think it’s amusing to tease someone with a fear of heights by pretending to fall, please stop. Making fun of someone’s genuine panic only makes you look foolish.
Symptoms of Acrophobia
Common symptoms of acrophobia include shortness of breath, quickened heartbeat, sweating, nausea, and overwhelming dread. When these symptoms strike, the panic can be so intense that the individual is unable to safely exit a high place.
My latest experience with acrophobia occurred while hiking in Utah with my partner. The breathtaking landscape pushed me to step out of my comfort zone on the trails. I practiced my breathing techniques and recognized the signs of anxiety, managing to keep my fear in check for the most part.
But then came a particularly daunting stretch of trail where panic overwhelmed me. My body froze, tears filled my eyes, and I struggled to breathe. As I began to shake and my anxiety escalated into a full-blown attack, I frantically searched for something to hold onto.
My fear was putting me in real danger of falling off a trail with a sheer drop of 1,000 feet. My husband, who was a few yards ahead, quickly turned back to assist me. In tears, I felt him reach for my hand and his calming presence helped ground me enough to take a few cautious steps toward a wider part of the path. Each step felt terrifying, and I didn’t breathe easily until we were back on solid ground.
Living with acrophobia is draining. Once I regained my composure, we slowly made our way back down the trail—this time without the obligatory selfie.
Accepting Your Limits
Acrophobia sometimes means missing out on reaching the top of a mountain or climbing a ladder, and that’s perfectly okay. It’s important to recognize your limits. After all, once you’ve seen one panoramic view, haven’t you seen them all?
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In summary, acrophobia can significantly impact daily life, making certain activities daunting and sometimes impossible. Understanding this fear, and its effects, can foster empathy towards those who experience it and help in finding coping mechanisms.