I developed a panic disorder and agoraphobia in college. But I was schooled to be anxious long before that. My parents were afraid that I would not eat enough, sleep enough, or rest enough. They were afraid I was on the verge of getting sick, always. I don’t remember complaining about physical symptoms, but I remember well enough the bored, impatient look on the faces of the many doctors who were asked if I was really healthy, since I was so skinny.
In particular, I was warned against drowning. I don’t know why. I was never allowed near a beach or a swimming pool. They were, no kidding, afraid I was going to drown in the bathtub. In time, in order to matriculate into college, I had to learn how to swim. But I was never a good swimmer. Consequently, the whole subject of swimming was emotionally charged for me. I made up my mind that, when the time came, I would encourage my kids to swim. And dive.
When my kids were little, I invented games that would encourage them to be in the water and open their eyes under water, something I still could not do. I knew they were safe; and I wanted them to feel safe. I always encouraged them—pushed them, really—to do more and more in the pool. But it is very hard for a parent who was brought up as I was to show good judgment about just how much to push.
There was one incident that I remember painfully. My kids could swim well and even dive off the low diving board. They were 9 and 11. But I wanted them to dive off the high diving board. I knew if they did it once, they would want to do it again and again. Both were very hesitant. I cajoled them, offered to reward them, and when that did not work, I may have threatened them. I don’t like to think I did that, but I think I did. And it worked with my son! He climbed up on the board over and over again, and dove into the water over and over again. But even with his example, my daughter (she was the older child) did not. It was a bad time. She was angry and felt like a failure, I’m sure. I felt frustrated and foolish. I knew that I had made a big fuss over something that could have happened comfortably years later, without my goading her. And I felt guilty. I still feel guilty.
It is hard for me even to reconstruct what I was thinking at the time, but I knew I was reacting to my own fearfulness.
As a therapist, I have over the years encouraged phobic patients to do things that frighten them. Exposing patients to things they are irrationally afraid of leads them finally to overcoming their fear, and becoming stronger people in general. But when I had just started as a therapist, I think I pushed too hard sometimes. That was the way I got over my own phobia: by pushing hard all the time.
It is very difficult for a parent who has been phobic to know which things are safe for his children, or not so safe, and which things are worth making a big deal about in trying to make children independent. But that one time, looking at the diving board, I was just plain wrong.
Fredric Neuman is the author of “Superpowers” and a psychiatrist practicing in White Plains, NY. He is director of the anxiety and phobia center at White Plains Hospital. Other novels he has published are “The Seclusion Room” by Viking Press and “Maneuvers” by Dial Press. “Come One, Come All” is currently being published. The protagonist of all three novels is Abe Redden, a moody but likable psychiatrist. Dr. Neuman also blogs for “Psychology Today.”
Dr. Neuman has also published, “Fighting Fear” a treatment program for phobias and panic disorder and “Worried Sick?” a treatment program for health anxiety. Caring was published by Macmillan and is a guide to supportive psychotherapy. An additional novel Detroit Tom and his Gang is being published currently and is intended for older children.
