Facing

​When I was very little, 2 or 3 years old, thunderstorms scared me. The lightning, the loud booms. Terrifying. My mother, knowing I had many long years ahead of wind and rain, decided to put my fears to rest. So, as one storm approached, she set up chairs in the garage, and through the open door, we watched. She answered my questions. Thunderstorms transformed from frightening to fascinating. They have remained so.
 
At age 6, we went for the first time to the pool in our new neighborhood. Having known how to swim since I was a wee peanut, I was ready. However, upon seeing how much larger this one was than the kidney bean-shaped one of my preschool years, I had a meltdown. My parents encouraged me to swim across the 25-yard length and convinced me that treading water in the 13-foot diving well was the same as in shallower water, so that I could pass the swim test to leave the kiddie area. To keep my courage up, in addition to standard swim lessons, they signed me up for the summer league swim team, too. I cried at every new pool, but did eventually swim my races. Serious about water safety and concerned about my developing a fear of water, at the end of the summer, my dad said, “Why don’t we sign her up for the winter league?” The tears lessened significantly that autumn. The last time they appeared was at the final meet in the spring. It was held at Ohio University. It was a short-course (25-yd) meet setup perpendicular in an indoor, long-course (50-meter) pool. It really was a bigger pool.
 
(I suppose I did cry at other meets over my 12 years of competitive swimming, but those were for other reasons altogether. Never again over fears related to the pool size.)
 
In 4th grade, the talented and gifted (TAG) class did a unit on ancient Egypt. Every Thursday, we would do activities together, and we were also given time to work on our independent research project. We were all assigned topics based on our interests. I remember one girl had makeup from the time period, and her friend had clothing. Another person had pyramid construction, while others had the construction of temples and the Sphinx. The list goes on; everything was covered. Me? I had mummification. It was a good fit…in the daytime. At night, however…*shudder*…I had nightmares for weeks! They all centered around the process for removing the brain. I would sleep in this twisted, sprawling manner because I did not want to make it possible for an embalming mummy to come and place my body into the necessary stiff and straight, cross-armed position.
 
I felt so much shame about this because I did find the topic interesting and could talk about it enthusiastically, and none of my classmates seemed to be struggling. And yet, every evening, my stomach would be filled with dread. Wednesday nights were the worst because TAG met the next day. The very, very, very worst night was the night before our field trip to a museum that contained a real mummy. I don’t know if I slept at all. But I do know, once I saw the mummy, and all the other displays, my nightmares began to decrease noticeably. They didn’t go away all at once, but actually seeing one in real life was a definite transition.