I grew up in Chattanooga, Tennessee, and I still love to revisit as much as I can. What a wonderful city!  In second grade, we went on a field trip to Ruby Falls, which is an underground waterfall deep down inside of Lookout Mountain. Because of how deep it is, it requires an elevator ride to get into the cave that leads to the waterfall. I have since been back, and it is now a beautiful, clean elevator with a pretty glass door to let you see the rocks pass by as you work your way down. This was not the case in the 80s. Things were different back then. They weren’t worried about safety. On my field trip, the only thing keeping your hand from touching the rocks was an old rickety metal cage that looked like something out of a horror movie.

Well, on our way down, another student touched the metal cage. Apparently they had considered there may be some level of danger in their setup because the elevator stopped when the cage was touched. In my already somewhat anxious second grade brain, we were stuck, surrounded by rock, deep in a cave with no access. I lost it.

Needless to say, we got out safely, but the emotional damage had been done. I became horribly claustrophobic after this incident to the point that I would become very afraid in any room with the door closed. My parents sought out counseling for me as this was obviously causing problems in our day to day lives.

Instead of encouraging my parents to understand my situation, to work around my feelings, and to have the world change for me, the counselor did something very different. He made me confront my anxiety. Sessions began relatively comfortably. He had me begin by talking about my fears. He then had me draw an elevator. He later asked me to make an elevator out of Legos, which was a toy I absolutely loved. (Let’s be honest, Legos may be the best toy ever).

And then, he sprung his trap. He met with my parents without me present, developing the diabolical plan. Soon after that, I had to go ride elevators all over Chattanooga, the last of which was the one that scared me the most: The Marriott elevator, which was a 17 story glass elevator that overlooks Chattanooga. (It can still be seen to this day. I think about this experience every time I pass it). This whole experience looked like a kidnapping as my parents literally forced me onto elevators in the mall. I legitimately kicked and screamed and fought to keep from going onto the elevators.

But you know what? I’m not scared of elevators anymore. I don’t think twice about shutting a door behind me. This is all a comical afterthought, a humorous story to tell about my childhood. Why is that? Because I avoided my fears? No. I confronted them. That’s how anxiety works.