At one point, I dinged the bell to call over the flight attendant and asked her if it was OK that there was ice on the window pane. I remember being overwhelmed by all of the instructions I was getting, worrying that I’d do something wrong on the plane.

I had a blue plastic wallet around my neck with all my travel documents in it. I was seven and flying as an unaccompanied minor to visit my grandparents in Romania. She asked about my earliest memories of flying. Passengers queue inside the departures terminal of Terminal 2 at Heathrow airport. Could my fear of flying be a symptom rather than the cause? She suggested that perhaps I wasn’t actually afraid of planes or even flying, but something else. The first place I sought help was my therapist.

Either way, I knew I was far from alone in my predicament. Back in 2015, Americans’ fears of flying were already at a peak, and travel-related anxiety is only thought to have only worsened since the pandemic. There aren’t consistent statistics on aviophobia, or fear of flying, with one literature review noting that estimates of its prevalence “range from 2.5% to as high as 40%” of the US population. But when one of my closest friends invited me to her wedding in New York this past May, I knew it was time to take my first solo long-haul flight in six years. Needless to say, I had zero plans of doing any air travel this summer. Thanks to the climate crisis, clear air turbulence is now occurring more frequently. So convinced am I that it’s the end, I start typing out my goodbyes to loved ones on the notes app on my phone.Ĭatastrophically for me, flights have been getting bumpier. Even if I’ve managed to hold myself together through take-off, the moment we hit a bump I’m a goner. So convinced am I that it’s the end, I start typing out my goodbyes to loved ones on the notes app One way I distract myself is by trying to work out if there’s an air marshal on board – the frowning single men playing video games on their phones are usually good candidates. Above a vast body of water, I’ve held my hand over my chest, waiting for an impending heart attack. I’ve squinted out of the window, scanning the horizon for rogue planes that might collide with us in midair. Once I thwack down one intrusive thought, another even more viscous one pops up. My fear of flying is like a game of Whac-a-Mole. I can’t possibly be knocked out because when – sorry, if – something goes wrong, I need to be ready to fly the plane. I don’t take a sedative, or even drink, on a flight because I must be alert at all times. I say I don’t because my doctor told me there’s an increased risk of blood clots.

He one minute cure