How I Got Over My Fear of Flying

Writer’s note: Okay, first off, if anyone is reading this after dealing with years of panic and fear around flying thinking this will be a prescriptive answer for you, hold your horses. This isn’t a prescriptive remedy by any means. This is just my story and what’s worked for me. Maybe it’ll work for you, but I’m by no means claiming that this is a magic bullet for everyone.

Me in the cockpit after a Delta flight to La Guardia

All that being said, here’s my story–I’ll share:

Exactly how my anxiety and fear manifested (in vivid detail, which is actually quite hilarious as I look back on it),
What flying looks like for me today, and
What helped me make that shift.

What flying used to be like for me

I used to freak out on airplanes. Leading up to the flight, being on it, and even landing. Just about every moment from thinking about that upcoming plane trip until I actually touch down back home from my connecting flights (because surviving one flight wasn’t enough to cure my anxiety) was absolutely horrifying.

It was fun as a kid

I think back on all this and can’t help but find it funny; as a kid, going on an airplane was a reason to spring out of bed with the adrenaline and excitement as though it was Christmas morning. Me and my older brother would even use the line, “We get to go on a plane today!” as a lie to wake up my younger brother on days when he wanted to sleep in (oh, the cruel humor of kids back in the 90s).

It was something to look forward to. And not just the destination of where we were going, but the whole experience of it–the drive to the airport, finding our gate, the airplane snacks and movies.

When the fun turned to dread

Somewhere along the lines, though, that excitement turned into dread. Maybe it was when my ears started popping on flights and I didn’t know how to fix it. My mom would be prepared with chewing gum to help us get in the habit of popping them by opening our mouths really wide when we chewed.

(Side note: To parents flying with young children–no one gives you enough credit for all that you do.)

Still, somewhere as a teenager, the reality of how planes don’t reach their destination 100% of the time started sinking in, and I was always looking for ominous signs to say why THIS PLANE—my plane—would be the one that went down.

I’d look at my flight number for any weird Final Destination number patterns and think to myself, Yea, Flight UA 646, that has the ring of a number that would be reported on the news as the one that went missing. I’d automatically start imagining it as one of those flight numbers people remember because of what a freak accident and tragedy it was, like Malaysia Airlines Flight 370.

The fear once I was on the plane

I’d get so worked up. I was one of those people who would try to not sleep the night before so I could sleep through the takeoff, with the thought that if something catastrophic (and likely very loud and disturbing) happened, that I’d merrily sleep my way through it.

Now when I think of that poorly planned strategy, I picture everyone else screaming at the top of their lungs, freaking out, and then they’d see me sleeping peacefully in my window seat and shush each other, saying, “We may be going down, but be quiet— we wouldn’t want to wake this lady.”

Yea, I don’t think so. But somehow, it made sense at the time.

While boarding the plane, I’d look in the cockpit and intentionally make eye contact with the pilot. I’d try to overhear any cues from the crew talking with each other about their son’s baseball game this weekend or something like that. I’d think, Great! They’re making plans for the future. They have kids. They want to survive this too! That would give me a little peace.

If I couldn't pick up any cues, I’d say something like “I can’t wait to meet my new niece for the first time when we land!” thinking that if they had any bad intentions that my 3-second encounter with them might convince them to change their mind. And they wouldn't even have to thank me, I’d tell myself. I don’t need the credit for saving the plane. I can be one of those unsung heroes and be at peace knowing what a difference I’d made.

I’d always been a window seat kinda gal (what’s the point of an aisle seat, be the first one to need to jump out of the plane in a water landing? No thanks–after you, sir.)

I’d get in the habit of texting everyone really sappy, “I love you. You mean so much to me” messages each time before takeoff—playing through in my mind how they’d reread that text for the rest of their life as “the last thing Jolié ever said to me.”

Listening to the crew safety instructions like it was a sermon

You know those crew safety instructions at the beginning of each flight? I’d take those SUPER seriously. They’d get my fully locked-on attention, as if each time they were going to tell me a totally new way to survive a crash that this flight crew knew about but somehow kept secret and didn’t share with anyone else in the aviation industry.

With such unblinking eye contact, the attendants had to be sure that I was either the person trying to hijack the plane, propose to them, or have a panic attack they’d need to add to their list of needy passengers to attend to for the day.

If the person next to me was talking or being distracting, I’d give them a premature look of death that said if they didn’t shut up, that when this plane inevitably (in my mind) goes down, I can be the one to survive and give them a final look of, “I told you so” for not paying attention.

God forbid someone try to talk to me while this was all happening. As a teenager, I’d unashamedly shush grown men in business suits with a righteousness that I’m sure confused the heck out of them.

Inspecting the safety instruction pamphlet like it was the snack menu

I’d also read that safety pamphlet—the one with no words, but just vague images and arrows pointing at what I was somehow supposed to decipher as instructions for the specific course of action I need to take for how to save my life. I’d read and reread it as if it was the snack menu, with me double taking and trying to grasp how the price of M&Ms seems to skyrocket 400% at 30,000 feet.

I’d read each and every line, turning it upside down and right-side up, squinting to try to interpret any specific details so that in an emergency, I’d be able to take the lead and tell all the panicked passengers—“It’s okay! I read the pamphlet! Now all we need to do is….”

Checking with the crew about all the weird noises

Have you ever paid attention to all the noises that happen just before takeoff? I would be TUNED IN (as if I could recognize if something “sounded right”). Whenever I’d hear something, I’d find an excuse to make eye contact or ask the flight attendant to make sure they heard it too and check that everything was kosher.

Of course, this all needed to happen without trying to seem too panicked (there’s a lot of emotional work that goes into all this, obviously), otherwise, when there actually was (an inevitable) crisis later in the flight that I’d try to alert her about, it would be like the boy who cried wolf with that paranoid passenger freaking out again.

She’d tune me out and we’d crash because there was a sound she could have done something about if she paid attention to me so now we’re all dead (wow, not dramatic at all, Jols).

Plane de-icing

One time in the winter, I asked the flight attendant what all the people outside the plane were doing spraying the wings with their water hoses. “They’re de-icing it before liftoff.”

What??? Then, all of a sudden, I was glued to the window making sure they weren’t missing any spots. “Listen bud, I get that you don’t need to take this as seriously as I am because YOU’RE ON THE FLAT GROUND AND I’M ABOUT TO BE THOUSANDS OF FEET UP IN THE AIR RISKING DEATH AT ANY MOMENT. YOU MISSED A SPOT. PLEASE TAKE YOUR WORK SERIOUSLY!” (I must’ve been such a joy to be around.)

Turbulence and finding God

Turbulence was the moment I’d become the most religious person on the plane. It was the moment of reckoning. A couple bumps and I was sure that today was my day to die. I’d repent of all my sins and I’d pray that this time God, this time I swear to the heavens above that if I just make it through this one flight, I promise I’ll be different.

My seatbelt would stay buckled and tightened the whole time. I was afraid to even go to the restroom, convinced that the very second I unbuckled my seatbelt would be the precise moment that the plane would go down, as if the seatbelt would save me at that point.

(Side note on seat belts: as a kid, I remember one time I asked my motorcycle-riding uncle if his bike had a seatbelt on it. He laughed and said, “What good would it do? That would be like having a seatbelt on a horse.” As a 10-year old, I didn’t get the analogy. I actually thought that would be a very good idea to have a restraint device on an animal that can pull 15 horsepower and was surprised he didn’t change his mind the second he heard it come out of his mouth.)

What I didn’t realize until I was an adult was that a seatbelt won’t automatically keep you safe in every scenario. In some ways (note: SOME–for all you seatbelt hating conspiracy theory radicalists), it's just an imaginary comfort and false security. Still, you couldn’t tell me that on those flights. I had it on and tightened to a point that it was nearly difficult to breathe properly. I figured it was better to have it too tight than to be dead.

I say all this in hopes that if you have a fear of flying, that you feel seen, heard, and know that I can totally relate.

Let me paint you a picture of what flying looks like today.

What flying is like for me these days

I get to the airport in my favorite velcro flying shoes (which double as my skydiving shoes so there’s a positive association) so it’s easy to get through security because by this point, I know the drill. (And of course, that’s the time when it’s a “leave your shoes on” kind of day.) Security doesn’t faze me much these days. If you just take EVERYTHING–every penny, every random piece of paper and lint–out of your pockets and remember not to try to smuggle in a 4-pack of Red Bulls in your carry-on, it actually goes pretty smoothly.

I’m so not worried about the flight that I even ask the TSA people how they’re doing. Once I’m in line to board, I can tell the people who don’t fly much, there’s just something about their energy, very nervous and sketched out about everything, and so on guard.

Boarding the plane

I still say hi to the pilot and flight crew when I board, but it’s not to feel anything out, it's just to be a friendly hello. (I even brought these delicious matcha cookies for the crew on my overnight flight to Ireland thinking they might bump me up from Economy…no luck).

My happy place is still the window seat, but just because it lets me cozy up on the wall and feel a little bit like I'm in my own little corner, my own little nook in the sky!! (I once heard of a woman who always picks a middle seat to double her chances of meeting someone interesting to talk to. That’s commitment.)

Sometimes I totally miss the crew instructions in the beginning because I’m reading or writing. I still might pick up the flight instructions, but only because it’s blocking the snack menu.

Snacks and air-picnics!

Snacks and meals on planes are one of my favorite things. It’s like a mini-picnic in the air! (Why do people talk so much crap about the quality of airplane food? Have you ever lived by yourself, people? Do you realize that this is more of a complete and well-rounded meal than I make for myself most days?)

United’s morning Stroopwafels with my tea are the BEST. I get my tea and a V8, I enjoy the cookies and read the Sky Mall magazine with all these cool travel ideas and stories. I love those. (The advertisements for Untuckit shirts have left a mark on me.)

Turbulence (and pissing off the other passengers)

When there’s turbulence, I kind of giggle at the drop in my chest like I’m on an amusement ride (which, like planes, is designed for a purpose of fun and entertainment, not for killing you), which I’m sure pisses everyone off who feels like they’re dealing with a crisis of mortality on their hands.

Getting my best writing done

Flying is also one of the places I get my best creative work done. My boss from my first job out of college would say he did the best work in his office at 30,000 feet, with no one bothering him, no meetings to attend, no distractions. I agree with him.

I think something with the altitude helps my thinking. Maybe it’s something with cabin pressure (don’t they put something in the air up there?). I do some of my best writing up there. I’ve even thought of a hypothetical day in the future when I’m on a writing deadline and facing the most severe writer's block that I’ll book a round trip flight for the same day, just so I can spend 10 hours in the sky, writing.

Other things I look forward to

I’m actually excited to one day try one of those first class sleeper seats that totally lies back for overnight flights. Tell me that doesn’t sound fun! My one friend always flies first class for work and shows off the slippers, silverware, and 18-course meals that he gets served up there. It’s another world beyond the curtain, folks.

All that being said, I actually like flying today. I even like trying to estimate how high we are when we’re first taking off by looking out the window. With enough skydives under my belt, I start to get an idea of what 12,000 feet above the planet looks like.

So, what changed? What helped make that shift?

One time, I was worried sick on a flight, and I played out the scenario that changed everything for me:

So, let’s say something DOES go wrong with the plane. What could I do about it?

I can do whatever the safety packet says, pray, clear the space near my aisle, and head to the nearest exit when it’s time, but that’s it- not much. If there’s an engine malfunction, something wrong with the wings—really anything that could go wrong—the hope of us being saved is totally out of my control.

It’s not like I’m going to have some spiritual awakening and yell to the pilot, “Oh! It seems like the aft pressure bulkhead failed! It destroyed the vertical stabilizer and severed the hydraulic lines! Did you try Thruster 3.0 to correct for the stabilization imbalance?”

No (I don't even know what any of that stuff means). So the ability of me offering any knowledge or information that would be helpful in the case of an emergency is about 0.00%.

BUT HERE’S THE KICKER…

Trying to help would only make things worse

I realized that any attempts to help with any of that would likely only make things worse—I’d be distracting the trained professionals from doing exactly what they’re trained to do. Even saying “I don't want to die”-would only be a distraction (and an annoying statement of the obvious) from the work that really needs to happen at that point.

So really, the best, most helpful thing I could do in a moment of crisis in the air really would be to just sit in my seat, and stay calm. I can trust that they’re going to do the best they can to figure it out, and that their best is much better than my best, given my lack of experience.

The most capable person to help is not me—they’re in the cockpit

It took me a minute to realize that the most capable person to get us out of an emergency is the person already in the cockpit. (Thank goodness I’m not in there.)

Once I realized that, I realized, I really am powerless. There’s nothing I can do. If the plane is going down, there is nothing I can do to fix it. I’m not going to have a random moment of knowing what we need to do.

There’s no way to suddenly Matrix my way into learning how to fly a plane in 2 seconds and even if I did, there’s no guarantee that would fix anything! The person in the pilot seat did the whole matrix thing already. And there’s a co-pilot there. Two times the knowledge and skillset to get us out of any blips. (Maybe that’s why it’s really only a one in a million chance that something goes wrong? By the way, when you’re flying, driving to the airport is actually the statistically most dangerous part of your day. So by the time you’re on the plane, you’re already a survivor!)

Accepting my powerlessness and finding freedom

So in powerlessness, once it really sunk in and I accepted it, I found something I wasn’t expecting: freedom.

It’s a freedom to enjoy the flight. To laugh. Sleep. Talk to people. Be giddy about my air picnic. Feel turbulence and remind myself of my smallness in the great cosmic ness of the universe. Now I look out the window and remember how big the world is.

It’s amazing. It’s incredible. Look at us up here! Someone came up with this idea of flying, and now we’re up here, isn’t this amazing! Holy shit.

More often than not, I’ve found that remembering my smallness and insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe is actually quite freeing. It’s like being a kid– you can’t really do much, so you might as well just enjoy the ride. And that’s more or less my motto for living these days.

I’ll be flying in 2 weeks to Mexico! Can’t wait!

Drop a note in the comments for what your experience flying has been. What’s helped for you?