For as long
as I can remember, I’ve had Cynophobia, a fear of dogs. Where it stems from is
anyone’s guess as I have never been attacked or bitten by a dog. We always had
a dog when I was a kid and I wasn’t quite so afraid of them as I was other
canines in the area. Always been a cat person instead. I don’t like being
afraid of dogs. It’s a phobia I’ve been working on conquering for my whole life
with some level of success – thanks to my husband and daughter and their
dog-loving ways.
I also have
Arachnophobia, a fear of spiders. The movie of the same name was torture to
watch, but I forced my way through it. It’s the spindly legged ones that bother
me the most. Oddly, if I HAD to pick an arachnid to hold, I’d take a Tarantula over
a Daddy Longlegs (aka Harvestman and technically NOT a spider) any day. It’s
all about the legs. Nope. Nope. Nope. Not gonna happen, kids! Snakes, on the
other hand, no problem!
One of my
more common phobias is Glossophobia, the fear of public speaking, or more
specifically in my case, the fear of public SINGING (Decantophobia). In high school I
was in Drama Club which involved several cases of group singing (which was
fine) and a couple minor speaking roles, not a problem. I also took an elective
class called Public Speaking. As a writer I’ve done a couple talks on my work
and always enjoy one-on-one chats with people who stop by to talk about my
books. Singing solo in front of other people, on the other hand, terrifying!
My Decantophobia may stem from the numerous times my Nana required me to sing to her Church lady friends during their get-togethers on Sunday afternoons following services. I was all of six or seven when this madness began and INTENSELY shy. I’m still very quiet and shy around people I don’t know. But, without fail, if I were staying with Nana and Papa and it was Nana’s week to host the luncheon, I’d inevitably hear “Come and sing for us, Pammy. Oh, she has such a pretty voice.” I remember trying to hide at least once, but I was always found and pretty much forced to perform either “Over The Rainbow” or “Take Me Home, Country Roads” under the watchful eyes and ears of The Church Ladies.
With this deeply entrenched fear of public singing, I went
and got myself hooked up with a musician about six years ago. I am more than
happy to let him stand in the spotlight while I sit at the table in the crowd
and enjoy his talent and skill. Unfortunately during one of our many Skype
calls, he apparently heard me singing while I thought he was out of the room eating
dinner. Once he moved in, I’ve never heard the end of “You need to sing more.
You have a really nice voice. You should sing karaoke when we go.”
Yadda-yadda-yadda. Like the whole spider thing, “No, no, no, and no. Did I
mention, no?”
I’ve been considering this for a long time – over a year,
at least. “Absolutely not” began to morph into “Only if I’m drunk enough,” to “Maybe,
if you let me hide in the ladies room while I do it”, to “Maybe, if I can hide
behind the stage,” to “Maybe, if I can just sit here at the booth.” to “Well,
if I were to do it, I’d sing this.” to “I’m pretty sure I could sing that a
whole lot better than she is.” You get the idea. And in no way, shape or form
was I going to stand up there ALONE! Way too self-conscious for that. For months
I’ve carried around one of the slips you have to fill out with the name of the
artist and song you want to sing on it that you hand into the DJ before the
singing starts. That, however, would require a solo. So, again, no.
That all changed while making chicken gravy and biscuits
for dinner.
Jim came into the kitchen and said, “You want to go to
karaoke tonight?” Aloud I said, “Sure.” In my head I heard, “And you’re going
to be shocked at what I’m going to do when we get there.” Lest I chicken out, I
didn’t mention this internal dialogue to the spouse. The closer the time came,
the more nervous I got, but something kept pushing me to do this. You’ve done
more difficult things. What’s three minutes of public singing? Pft. Nothing.
Before I could change my mind, I went up and grabbed a slip of paper and the
song book while Jim went and got us each a beer. By the time he returned, I’d
filled out the song and sat at the table waiting. I slid the paper over to him.
He read it … nodded, but obviously didn’t read the bottom line where instead of
writing just ‘Jim’ I’d written, ‘Jim and Pam”. Needless to say, the look he
gave me was one of utter surprise. “Really?” he said. “What brought this on?”
All I could do was shrug.
I spent the next twenty minutes forcing myself to think of
other things, nervously looking out the window, trying not to guzzle down the
bottle of liquid courage set before me, swallowing down those feeling of pure
terror, and taking big calming breaths. I could do this. I would do this, damn
it. With my heart in my throat and my hands shaking, I joined Jim after his
solo performance and took up a mic of my own. “Just be calm!” If you start
freaking out it’s only going to make it worse. Just do it.
Three minutes and one Dr. Hook song later (Sylvia’s
Mother), it was over with. I made it. I hadn’t passed out, thrown up, or burst
out sobbing with embarrassment even though I messed up a bit. Pretty sure my
face was beet red by the time I scurried back to the booth, but … done.
The point of this long-winded phobia-facing rant is this. I’m
a Horror writer. I’ve written about some pretty dark and disturbing situations.
I love scary movies and books. I love cemeteries and haunted places. I’m
fascinated by the darker side of life and for some reason a lot of people think
that makes me immune to fear. Everyone has fears. EVERYONE! If someone tells
you they aren’t afraid of anything, they are full of shit.
At 50+ years old, I am still learning and exploring who I
am. I want to grow and do things I’ve never done before it’s too late.
Accomplishing that and being all I can be and having no regrets means pouring
some water on those flaming fears that hold me back. I want to like dogs. I
want to be brave enough to hold a tarantula. I want to be confident in front of
strangers. And, apparently some place in me wanted/wants (?) to sing in public.
Who knew?!
Our perspectives of our fears are always a lot more
extreme that the actual result of stepping up to the mic and facing them. I
encourage everyone reading this to work towards conquering those fears you have
one tiny step at a time. And you people out there who mock people who have
phobias like mine, KNOCK IT OFF! Have some sympathy and stop laughing. You
aren’t helping. You’d not put a bottle of whisky in front of an alcoholic
trying to better themselves or a full needle of heroin in front of an addict
trying to stay clean, would you? If so, don’t even bother speaking to me. I
have no use for people like that.
Just like overcoming an addiction, the decision to face
and try to defeat a phobia must come from the one who suffers from it. They
have to want it, but it’s nice to know there are people out there who believe
in you and will stand by your side (sometimes literally as when I took that
microphone in hand last week) when you’re ready. Be encouraging, but don’t
push. For me, being pushed into something is possibly what started this whole
case of Decantophobia.
I became a little bit braver that night than I was the one before it. The relief and the sense of personal accomplishment for facing a fear I’ve had since childhood was amazing. That isn’t to say the fear is gone, not by a long shot. But, a bit of the edge has been trimmed. It’s a start … and who knows where it will go from here?
Speaking of phobias – check out my short story Because, Spiders over on Amazon!
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