Here is the full transcript of author Dawn Huebner’s TEDx Talk on Rethinking Anxiety: Learning to Face Fear at TEDxAmoskeagMillyardWomen conference. To learn more about the speaker, read the bio here.
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Dawn Huebner – Author
A little anxiety is a good thing. I kept telling myself that in the lead-up to today, but a little anxiety is good. It sharpens our senses and gets us ready to take on challenges.
A lot of anxiety is another story. It’s a hindrance rather than a help. A lot of anxiety makes it difficult to take productive action. It sets off a primitive response deep in our brains, the old fight-or-flight response which actually has a third part: freeze.
All three are protective mechanisms with important evolutionary advantages when we’re faced with danger. But anxiety is about perceived danger, very different from actual danger. And in the case of anxiety, fighting, fleeing, and freezing are all problematic causing us pain, preventing us from moving forward, making our world small.
I became a psychologist in 1987 and had my first and only child several years later. Before you too get too concerned for him, “Poor kid! A psychologist mom who gets up and talks about him on a TED stage” please know he’s an adult now, and he’s given me permission to tell this story.
Anyway, when he was little, Eli was anxious. He was afraid of the scary characters in Disney movies, and haircuts, and shots, and splinters, and bees, normal-seeming fears although there were quite a few of them. Initially, we did what most parents do: we reassured him, and when that didn’t work, we helped him avoid the things he was afraid of: we stopped going to movies, we let his hair get shaggy, we stayed away from flowers, because of bees and rough wood because of splinters.
But like some weird monster, his level of fear continued to grow. He started panicking whenever he needed to go outside afraid he might encounter a bee, and it became difficult for him to touch anything made of wood.
Life went on as it does, and Eli became fascinated by history. When he was about 10, we decided to go to Fort Ticonderoga, a wooden fort with plenty of splinter potential. We did lots of planning: he would wear shoes, close-toed shoes, long sleeve shirt, long pants, no exposed skin. We promised him he wouldn’t need to touch anything, and he was actually really excited to go.
The day we went was a beautiful 90-degree day. We tramped around the fort for hours until we were exhausted. My husband and I plopped down on a bench to rest, a wooden bench. A wooden bench, Eli absolutely could not sit on nor could he move himself close enough to sit on one of our laps because he still might touch the bench. He couldn’t sit on the floor of the fort because it was a wooden floor or leaned against a wall — a wooden wall.
So he stood; rivers of sweat running down his face, utterly exhausted, utterly defeated by his fears. He stood because there was nothing else he could do. He stood, and he sobbed. It seems obvious in retrospect that we let things go too far, but somehow, the view from inside was different. We didn’t realize how bad things had gotten, how debilitating his fears had become not until that moment, that pivotal moment, when it became crystal clear that we needed help.
I brought Eli to a therapist who quickly deduced he’s 10 years old: he’s afraid of splinters, shots, and bees; long, sharp objects that poke. Clearly, this was a fear of penetration related to — get ready for Freud-Oedipal issues, his wish to overthrow his father to have possession of me.
I set there listening to this well-respected psychologist thinking how can this possibly help us, and the answer was it couldn’t. So I went on a quest determined to find a way to help my son.