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I’m scared of the weather.
Now I realize, since I live in Southern California, that this may sound ridiculous because, for the most part, we don’t even have weather. When I look at the news footage of the tornado-ravaged South, I feel I have little right to complain. But the recent storms in California were so bad that L.A. County was officially declared a disaster area. They were so bad that even the IRS, not known for its compassion, is giving us leave to file our taxes six months late. They were so bad that I think what I feel is no longer fear. It’s becoming a phobia.
I live in a beautiful, heavily wooded canyon, in a teeny-tiny house sandwiched against a hillside and completely surrounded by trees. I love it, and I never want to leave, except…except I’ve grown terrified of what I’ll see out the window after it rains. In the last couple of weeks alone, seven(!) of my trees have fallen after the heavy rains. One of them, a big eucalyptus, took out my neighbor’s swimming pool and garden. A week later, an enormous sycamore toppled with an ear-splitting crash that sounded like a fusillade of gunshots. Five more of my trees were crushed beneath it. Amazingly, no one was hurt, but now I figure it’s only a matter of time. The disaster odds have finally caught up with me.
My therapist tells me I’m engaging in all sorts of cognitive distortions: catastrophizing, future reading, and globalizing, just to name a few. She’s right, and I know it, and I’d really like to stop. But my house has floor-to-ceiling windows, and the trees taunt me everywhere I look–especially the gigantic oak that canopies my entire living room. That oak was my favorite aspect of the property until the last few years. When it had to be trimmed for fire regulations, I winced as if it were me being cut. Now I’m no longer one with its magnificence. Now it’s just a threat.
While my therapy session made me conscious of my thought distortions, it didn’t banish my fear. So I turned to Dr. Google. To my surprise, I discovered that there are at least seven different types of weather phobias: fear of rain, fear of thunder, fear of wind, fear of heat, fear of cold, fear of snow, and even fear of clouds. There are actually a lot more, but you get the drift. I decided I might have lilapsophobia: fear of tornados, hurricanes, or extreme weather that will turn into a catastrophic storm.
I thought it would help to give it a name. After all, when my doctor told me I had bipolar disorder, the diagnosis was a blessing–it finally made sense of my erratic, up-and-down, rollercoaster life. But alas, other than being fun to say, lilapsophobia hasn’t made much of a dent in my anxiety. Logic hasn’t been of any use, either. No matter how Spock-like I’ve tried to be, the weather operates on its own commands and can’t be reasoned away. I have absolutely no control over the situation, and that’s the crux of the problem.
So I asked myself: what, if anything, do I have control over?
My answer: I have control over my body and, to some extent, my mind. If I can’t govern external forces, maybe I can work on my internal response to them.
Since my brain wasn’t helping, I turned to my breath–I made myself sit down and engage in mindfulness meditation. As the deep breathing gradually calmed me down, my situation became clearer. I realized that I was ruminating about the past (the seven trees that fell) and obsessed with what might happen in the future (the threat to my oak). Mindfulness is all about living in the present–and I was as far from being in the here and now as one can possibly be.
When I opened my eyes some thirty minutes later, I knew one thing: in the present moment, I was safe. Granted, it’s not raining today, and the sky is a crystalline blue. But I feel stronger; strong enough to go outside and commune with my trees. I might as well appreciate them now since now is all I–or any of us–really have. I may be unable to control the weather, but I can breathe. No matter what, I can always breathe.
To find a therapist, visit the Psychology Today Therapy Directory.
