I used to think my fear of flying was totally rational. I mean, who wouldn’t be freaked out by voluntarily entering a pressurised metal tube, hurtling through the sky at 500 mph, trusting that a stranger named “Captain Dave” had his coffee that morning?
Let’s be clear: I wasn’t just scared of flying. I was elite-level scared. Olympic-tier anxious. I had pre-flight rituals that would put NASA’s launch protocols to shame. If you’ve ever Googled “how to survive turbulence” at 3 a.m. with trembling hands, hi—we might be soulmates.
But the good news? I’m writing this from row 17, seat F, mid-air, and guess what? I haven’t burst into flames or demanded to speak to the pilot. That’s growth, baby.
Chapter 1: Chicken or Flight?
I wasn’t always this way. There was no dramatic mid-air experience that scarred me. No rogue goose incident like in that Sully movie. It was more… like a switch. One minute I was flying across the world and being annoyed that the flights were “only 14 hours” The next, I was white-knuckling armrests and watching the screen for a full 8 hours, whilst whispering apologies to the sky gods.
My fear became so intense that I considered driving everywhere. Paris? I’ll swim. New York? I’ll walk. Mars? Hard pass.
It got to the point where, before every trip, I would go through the five stages of grief:
- Denial: “Maybe teleportation will be invented before my flight.”
- Anger: “Why do planes even exist?! Whose idea was this?!”
- Bargaining: “If I survive this, I swear I’ll stop eating airport Pringles at 8 a.m.”
- Depression: “I’ll just live in my hometown forever. It’s fine.”
- Acceptance: “Okay, I’ll fly… but only if I’m sedated and wrapped in a weighted blanket like a burrito.”
Chapter 2: The Therapy Turbulence
Eventually, I got tired of missing out. On weddings, job opportunities, cheap last-minute trips to Italy (I still mourn that £29 flight). So, I did what any determined, emotionally-fragile adult would do: I Googled “how to not freak out on planes.”
I landed in therapy—figuratively at first.And considering Im a therapist myself that felt like 100 ways of let down!
My therapist gently asked, “What is it about flying that feels so threatening?”
I gave her my usual speech: physics, crashes, terrorists, malfunctioning tray tables. But she smiled and said, “No, emotionally. What’s underneath?”
Cue internal breakdown.
Turns out, my fear had less to do with airplanes and more to do with control. Or rather, my complete lack of it once airborne. On a plane, you can’t steer. You can’t pull over. You can’t even open a window! (Trust me, I checked.)
Chapter 3: Flight School for Anxious Adults
I started learning the science behind flying. Did you know turbulence is basically just the sky’s version of potholes? Or that pilots go through more simulations than the average gamer before they even touch a real cockpit?
I also discovered calming techniques that didn’t involve pharmaceutical-grade naps or whispering “please let me survive” into my neck pillow. Who knew the same deep-breathing exercises and grounding rituals I recommend to clients as a therapist would actually work on me too? Add in my personal mantra—“Statistically, this is safer than crossing the street”—and suddenly I was the calmest person in seat 23B (give or take a mild sweat).
Even better, I made peace with flying—imperfectly. Sure, sometimes I still sweat through my shirt like I’ve just finished a Zumba class at 35,000 feet. But now? I can ride it out. I started by naming my fear, giving it a granola bar, and politely telling it to sit in the corner and keep quiet while I enjoyed my in-flight pretzels like a functioning adult. I’ve let go of the grip it had on me. It doesn’t drive the plane—or my life—anymore. After all, it’s not a monster.
It’s just flying.
Chapter 4: I Believe I Can Fly (With Minimal Panic)
My breakthrough moment? Oh, just casually boarding a flight alone—in the middle of what meteorologists dramatically referred to as “the worst snowstorm in recent history”—with the small, totally chill goal of crossing the entire Atlantic from New York to London. Because apparently, I don’t do baby steps—I do cinematic plot twists.
Having a real-life pilot casually checking the weather and sending me a transatlantic pep talk didn’t hurt either. His calm, collected “Everything is okay” had the same effect on my nervous system as ten therapy sessions and a weighted blanket.
I didn’t cry, didn’t hyperventilate, and—wait for it—looked out the window. And instead of thinking, “We’re all going to die,” I thought: “Wow, clouds look like mashed potatoes from up here.”
I felt something I never thought I’d associate with flying: awe. And maybe a little motion sickness, but mostly awe.
Final Approach: What I Learned
If you’re terrified of flying, you’re not broken. You’re not dramatic. You’re just human, with a beautifully overprotective brain. The trick is learning how to be in the sky without letting your fear be the pilot.
So here’s my unsolicited advice:
- Educate yourself. Knowledge is a powerful anxiety repellent.
- Don’t aim for “zero fear.” Aim for “fear that doesn’t run the show.”
- Embrace the weirdness. Bring your lucky socks. Whisper affirmations into your pretzel bag. Whatever works.
You may not fall in love with flying overnight, but I promise—one day, you’ll look out that tiny window, mid-air, mid-life, and think:
“Hey… this isn’t so bad.”
(And then immediately check how long until landing. You know, just to be sure.)