Separation Anxiety

When I was younger, I suffered from an inexplicable fear, a phobia in the truest sense. When friends would get together for sleepovers or school or girl scout trips were planned, I was always excited. I wanted to be included, involved. I would think about how much fun I would have visiting a new place or playing games and staying up late. And, in general, I would have a fantastic time. Until nightfall.

For reasons I still do not understand, as we neared bedtime and I was faced with the thought of sleeping away from home, I was stricken with a completely irrational, yet paralyzing, fear. Although I'd enjoyed myself during the day, and could foresee additional fun the next morning, I could not face the thought of the hours in between. I would suffer a complete breakdown, knowing only overwhelming fear.

There was no consoling me. No amount of rational discussion ("You're safe here," "You'll be home tomorrow," "It's only for a little while") could ease my anxiety. I wanted to be home, and I wanted to be there NOW. My parents had to be called. Often, they had to come get me. There were tears. Uncomfortable hosts. Angry, tired mom. Eventually, it reached the point where I was no longer allowed to even entertain the idea of attending a sleepover, regardless of how much I begged and pleaded. I so badly wanted to go, but it wasn't fair to anyone involved so long as meltdowns were a factor.

None of it made sense. I was an independent child. I wanted to go places and do things on my own. I wanted to explore away from home. I enjoyed going new places and spending time with friends. I wasn't clingy, needy, or particularly reliant. But every time I slept over somewhere, without fail, I would freak.

I eventually outgrew it, although even into my teenage years I suffered from bouts of anxiety when away from home at night. As I grew older, I could rationalize with myself, and convince myself to stick it out until morning. I learned that if I could suffer through an uncomfortable hour or two, I'd eventually fall asleep, and could enjoy myself again in the morning. At some point I realized that the fear had, for the most part, disappeared.

Recently, I've been thinking a lot about my impending move to WCU. On the whole, I'm really excited to make the transition to graduate school. I can't wait to get started. I'm looking forward to meeting my cohort, starting classes, developing a relationship with a new adviser, discovering new research outlets, making new friends, and living in and exploring a new part of the country. WCU is a beautiful place, and I've had fun thinking about hiking and backpacking in the surrounding natural areas. And I'm starting toward my PhD, my long-time academic goal. What could be better than that?

At night, before I fall asleep, I often envision my new life at WCU-- places I'll visit, people I'll meet, potential successes, potential hardships. In my mind, the way things fall out are largely positive. Although I'm admittedly nervous about moving to a new place and becoming a graduate student, I'm looking forward to this next step in my life. I can see good things coming my way.

But occasionally, just before I fall asleep, I'll be struck with a pang of fear reminiscent of a phobia I've long since outgrown. Because as excited I am to go, the thought of leaving my home, a place and the people I love, and the security and familiarity of the life I've built here?

It downright terrifies me.