Flying is not all sunshine and roses

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Photo by Hailey Kean on Unsplash

This is the post where I get to look like a bit of an idiot, so let’s just get it out of the way early, and then we can all relax and enjoy the rest of the trip.

Travel, for me, can be a love-hate thing. While I love the idea of travelling, I love the planning, and I love getting to a destination and experiencing all that it has to offer, I’m not such a big fan of the “getting there” when there are long flights involved.

So, in the interests of full disclosure, and because I hate all that pretend-y “life is always just wonderful”, I’m going to confess that I struggled to get on the plane in Perth. For many years now, my anxiety response has had a very low threshold. Why this is the case, well I have my theories, but a theory doesn’t really help when the adrenaline starts pumping. I would say that this was so close to a panic attack that we might as well just call a spade a spade. I’ve experienced this kind of thing before, but two particular events stand out.

The first, when my boys were little, happened the night before my ex-husband and I were due to fly to Melbourne for a weekend away without the children. During the night I became panicky about the thought of getting on the plane, leaving them behind, and yes, about the possibility of dying in a plane crash and leaving them orphaned. That’s how quick and extreme the catastrophizing becomes.

The second time was when my dad was diagnosed with cancer, and it was the first time I’d ever considered a world without him in it. That thought also triggered a panic attack.

For me, panic attacks feel like a sudden or significant adrenaline rush that then sets in motion a cycle that can be really hard to break. It’s triggered by thoughts, but once the physiology gets involved no amount of “just relax” or “it’ll be fine” really makes a dent. It feels totally out of my control. But I feel like I SHOULD be able to get control of it, and that just adds to my despair. And that’s how it felt before our flight to Doha. Several times I wailed to hubby, as he hugged me tightly, prayed and rubbed my back, “I don’t think I wanna go now” and frankly I just wanted to lie down, curl into the foetal position and rock.

Prayer helps. God helps. He is faithful, and I trust that this is all part of the process of learning more and more to trust in His goodness and His sovereignty. Within the next hour or so, as we sat on the observation deck where it was quiet and there was fresh air, the anxiety abated, and once we were on the plane I felt much more relaxed and calm.

I’ve had these lyrics in my head repeatedly over the past week, and as annoying as it can get when these “ear worms” (as they’re called) take hold, the words have been timely, comforting and, I believe, just for me.

Sing with joy now, our God is for us
The Father’s love is a strong and mighty fortress
Raise your voice now, no love is greater
Who can stand against us if our God is for us.

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