As I observed my children eagerly rush towards the expansive glass doors, their excitement palpable, I felt a familiar surge of anxiety. They tilted their heads back, attempting to take in the towering structure above them, and my heartbeat quickened. The dread washed over me, and I discreetly wiped my clammy hands on my shorts. The sweltering heat of Chicago and its suffocating humidity surrounded me, yet I couldn’t shake the chill that ran down my spine.
Despite my feet being firmly planted on solid ground, my rising panic was undeniable. As I hesitantly directed my gaze toward the peak of the tallest building in the nation, I fought back the bile that threatened to rise. “Thousands of people make this trip every day,” I reminded myself. “You probably won’t die. Probably.”
I tried to muster some courage and match my kids’ enthusiasm, but the thought of taking an elevator to the 103rd floor of the iconic Willis Tower (or Sears Tower, as locals still affectionately call it) made my stomach churn. As someone who grapples with acrophobia, the fear of heights, I’d much rather admire the skyline while firmly grounded than from 1,300 feet in the air.
“Mom! There’s a glass ledge you can stand on! Can we do that too?” they urged.
Gulp. Sure, why not?
After purchasing our tickets, I slowly approached the elevators, joining other visitors. As we waited for our turn to board the lift that would take me to what felt like my own personal hell, I resisted the urge to shout that we should turn back. What sane person willingly steps onto a ledge 1,300 feet above the ground?
When the elevator doors slid open, revealing the breathtaking view, I inhaled sharply, trying to calm my racing heart. Every muscle in my body tensed, and sheer dread enveloped me. Rationally, I knew the 103rd floor was safe, and other guests seemed to revel in the stunning vista of Lake Michigan, yet my body reacted as if I were facing imminent danger.
Unless you’re a bird, no one should be more than three feet off the ground, thank you very much. I spent the duration of our visit practicing deep breathing, mindfulness, and praying I wouldn’t plummet to my demise. And yes, I kept my glutes tight; safety, after all, comes in the form of strong muscles.
While I do have a souvenir photo of me on the Ledge, the reality is that I backed into the space, knelt down, and focused on my daughter’s face as I urged my son to snap the picture immediately. Smoke and mirrors.
Understanding Acrophobia
Living with acrophobia is no trivial matter. All humans are born with an innate fear of falling; most will instinctively avoid precarious edges that could lead to a fall. However, those with acrophobia can experience debilitating panic attacks at merely the thought of being in high places. This fear isn’t confined to towering cliffs or skyscrapers—individuals with acrophobia can suffer intensely from the prospect of climbing ladders, ascending high escalators, or even sitting in nosebleed seats at stadiums.
Acrophobia affects approximately 7% of the U.S. population, translating to about 22 million people. While it tends to impact women more than men, it ranks as one of the most recognized social phobias. Essentially, those with acrophobia can become immobilized by fear even just a few feet off the ground.
To those who find amusement in teasing someone afraid of heights by pretending to tumble off an edge or ladder, you might want to reevaluate your behavior. Mocking someone’s genuine panic only serves to highlight your insensitivity.
Symptoms of Acrophobia
Common symptoms of acrophobia include shortness of breath, rapid heartbeat, excessive sweating, nausea, and an overwhelming sense of dread. When these symptoms hit, the panic can be so intense that a person may struggle to safely extricate themselves from a high location.
My most recent experience with acrophobia occurred while hiking with my partner in Utah. The breathtaking scenery compelled me to step beyond my comfort zone as I marveled at the sprawling canyons and rock formations. I employed my deep breathing techniques and recognized the signs of impending fear, managing my anxiety effectively—until I couldn’t.
On a particularly precarious stretch of trail, panic took hold. My body froze, tears filled my eyes, my breath became shallow, and as a full-blown anxiety attack set in, I frantically searched for something to hold onto. My fear was putting me at risk of literally falling off the path—one with a 1,000-foot drop.
My partner, a few yards ahead, quickly turned back and returned to my side. As I sobbed, he cautiously made his way toward me and took my hand, grounding me in the moment. The comfort of his grip, the sound of his voice, and his reassuring presence helped reduce my anxiety enough to take a few steps toward a wider area of trail. With every stride, I felt terror, only able to breathe freely once we were back on solid ground.
Acrophobia is utterly draining. When I finally regained my composure, we began our slow trek back down the trail, no selfie to commemorate this venture.
Finding Comfort in Limits
Living with acrophobia sometimes means not reaching the summit of a mountain or ladder. And that’s perfectly okay. Knowing your limits is vital. Besides, once you’ve seen one panoramic view, haven’t you seen them all?
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Summary
Acrophobia, the intense fear of heights, can lead to debilitating panic for those affected. This condition, impacting around 22 million people in the U.S., goes beyond the fear of high places to include anxiety over ladders and escalators. Through personal experiences, the author illustrates the challenges of managing acrophobia while also emphasizing the importance of recognizing one’s limits and finding comfort in the ground beneath one’s feet.