My fear of flying arrived with full force and every day I ask myself if I will ever fly again. It’s a thought that sits with me daily.
Anxiety arrived without warning and it packed a punch when I was 15.
Before then I was a normal teenager having fun and enjoying life. School holidays were spent with my best friend and her family at their holiday house on Phillip Island in Victoria.
We would spend our days swimming, jumping off the Cowes pier, sneaking out at night to see the boys at the end of the street, but the highlight was waterskiing and going floundering at night. I was fearless.
My panic attacks became more frequent, I felt more and more claustrophobic and trapped in many situations and often needed to flee if I was out. It soon became evident I needed professional help. At 16 I went to see a psychiatrist. He told me I had unresolved issues regarding my father who left when I was young and has never wanted to see me again.
My last flight was about 10 years ago when I went on a holiday from Melbourne to Byron Bay with my three best girlfriends.
The day came and they knew the biggest challenge would be to get me on that plane. Once inside the airport, they took my suitcase and went to the check-in counter and asked if they could check my bag in “stat” because they had a nervous flyer. Success, bag checked in. While this was happening I had wandered off trying to think of ways to get out of going. I was feeling more and more desperate and started to beg them to leave me behind.
Begging isn’t a good look, I can tell you.
Once I had exhausted my begging, the girls manoeuvred me to the bag-scanning area. When my turn came, I put my bag on the conveyor belt. As I walked through security, a man stopped me and said, “Is this your bag?” I tried my hardest to keep my shit together. “Yes, why?” I asked. “Well you have a knife in it,” he said. “No I don’t,” I said with attitude. He pulled out of my bag a serrated knife. He then pulled out a tomato and a tin of tuna. It was then I remembered I had them in my bag for lunch from the day before at work.
“I am going to have to keep that knife,” he said, to which I replied: “Well you may as well keep the tomato and the tin of tuna too.”
By this point the girls were looking at me unravelling and thinking, JUST GET HER ON THAT PLANE NOW.
After that trip I knew it was time to see another professional, one who specialises in helping people overcome their fear of flying.
Over the course of five sessions, we set out a plan that would ultimately have me flying from Melbourne to Launceston and back with him sitting next to me. His reason for Launceston was because it was a short flight and over water, which meant I had to fly back. Sounded like a good plan ...
Looking back at that day, I need to find the humour in it even though at the time I was terrified. In my mind I have turned that experience into a funny story to tell people. What I wanted to tell them was that I was successful and strong and got on that plane to Launceston … oh wait, I DID GET ON THAT PLANE.
The day was stormy and the wind literally blew us into the plane. Feeling panic-stricken, I made my way to my seat, reluctantly sat down and immediately began plotting my escape. The doc sat down next to me and told me I was NOT to get off the plane until we reached Launceston.
He instructed me to breathe through it and my feelings of fear would peak and then subside and, before you know it, we would be there. I had an overwhelming sense of feeling trapped with no escape route; I was in danger and needed to flee; my body was buzzing and my thoughts were not rational.
In that moment I felt untethered, my vision was blurred, I felt like I was going to faint, my heart was about to pump out of my body, my hands were tingling and I was hyperventilating. I needed to go to the bathroom and I was sweating profusely. I had a strong desire to punch the doc and anyone else who tried to stop me getting off the plane.
By that stage I was a complete crazy person (definitely not a good look). I got up and told the cabin manager I was getting off the plane (luckily the doors were still open). This all took place over about 15 minutes but felt like a lifetime. The cabin manager was lovely and tried every trick in the flying manual to calm me down, without success. As I fled that plane I knew it would be the most humiliating moment in my life (and I have had a few).
Anxiety is just one part of me. The bigger parts I think are that I am high-functioning, I am strong at times, and I am learning to be vulnerable too. I am a leader, I am an organiser, I am a mother, I am a daughter, I am a good friend. I can be funny, I can talk a lot, I’m quite good at off-the-cuff speeches and am happy to make fun of myself. I have much to offer in life.
So I ask myself if I will ever fly again. I don’t know the answer but I do know we need to have hope in life. One day I might wander through the black door to see what’s on the other side. And if I don’t, well that’s OK too. Until then, I will look for possibility and meaning with each new day.
Danni Elle is a Melbourne mother of two with a 40-year career in television production.