Fear of heights: experiment at height

TEST OBJECT

Author Antje Kunstmann, a totally down to earth person

TEST ENVIRONMENT

A climbing garden, a church tower and a parking deck

MISSION

Step on without greasing

It is well known that the path out of fear leads through fear. Sounds great in theory, in my case like this: up high. Actually accompanied by a therapist, I am taking two of my four children with me. The goal is the tallest building in the world. At least that was St. Nikolai in Hamburg for a few years when the church opened in 1874. It's been a while, of course, but the 76 meters of the viewing platform halfway up is enough for me. Especially since you come up with a glass elevator. "And what's the point?" Asks one of the children. "You drive up and you are scared and you drive down and you will still be scared."

Body on alert

Not when I pull myself together, I think. But then the lift takes off and something hits me in the pit of my stomach. At the same time my knee joints give up the ghost. If I hadn't clung to the railing of the cabin at the same moment, my legs would probably have slumped. I feel sick, my heart is racing. As we step out of the elevator at the top, I gasp. But something tightens my throat.

I look into the distance at the cranes in the harbor. The fear does not decrease, the dizziness remains. You're safe up here, there are bars through which your leg only fits, I tell myself. My body still does what it wants – so keep the alarm. With tiny steps I trip back to the elevator. On the way down I break out in a sweat again. Back on the floor, the children roll their eyes in annoyance and I feel miserable. The fear is gone, but not the feeling of failure.

As a kid, I loved climbing trees. We had a pasture in the garden; my best friend Dorothee had a walnut tree. Both of them reached heaven for us. We wanted to go there. We spent whole afternoons in the treetops. In doing so, Dorothee still made it up a branch – did it all begin then?

"Fear of heights is nothing to be ashamed of"

Still, my life has not been short of high points since then. I've been to television and church towers, I've been in the mountains – on paths that sometimes went hundreds of meters downhill. The fear then crept in, in my late twenties. I remember a ride in the ferris wheel. Of course we held our children, then two and one, tight, but suddenly the picture was there, the little bodies could slide out of my hands and over the railing. On every lap, when I looked at the asphalt between the cracks in the gondola floor, I felt sick. I remember going up a medieval tower. The stairs spiraled up the inner wall of the building and my knees went weak. I got back down, trembling. I remember one evening in Paris and how I only made it from the Eiffel Tower because I forced myself to look at my tiptoe and never look down.

At some point I preferred to stay downstairs. At least as far as I can. I don't want to be a spoilsport. When everyone in the family wants to go to the viewing platform or the cable car, I come along from time to time. Then I just stand cramped as far away from the abyss as possible, hold my breath and only breathe again when I stand with both feet on solid ground level. The family thinks it's funny. My friend used to be a chimney sweep, so he has no problem when it goes up, and the kids can apparently never get enough of the heights tickle anyway.

Nevertheless, I think: Fear of heights is nothing to be ashamed of. Even babies show this primal fear when you let them crawl over a glass surface. One of our children has a button phobia – there is much less understanding for this. Still, my problem annoys me sometimes. And over time, more and more. Fear that you leave to yourself is stupidly increasing. In the meantime, my feet feel uncomfortable when I watch the high altitude shoot of "Germany’s next top model". And the bundle of nerves that I am on my rare soaring heights somehow does not fit the image of a confident woman that I otherwise have of myself.

Overcome fear

Maybe I'd rather start from the bottom up. One day after the church disaster, I'm sitting on the second level, which has one of the children's rooms, about three meters high. Even my fear is not enough, but it is enough to make me feel uncomfortable. I do research on my mobile phone: I read a distinction between vertigo and fear of heights. The former is a normal physical reaction when the eyes are too far from the nearest solid object. In order to fix this, the head and then the body begins to sway imperceptibly. But since the feet report to the brain at the same time that they are fixed, one becomes dizzy. And that can be very scary. I realize: I definitely have vertigo. I also know the fear of falling or possibly losing control and jumping, which is part of the real fear of heights. When I look down, I shudder because of its pull. But the worse thing is the dizziness. Even professionals like mountaineers and climbers know it and often have to work it off again at the beginning of a season, I read and feel a little better.

The next day I stand on the deck of a parking garage, about 20 meters above the ground, testing tips against vertigo. Looking into the distance – good. Look down – bad. Stand with your legs apart – better. Hand on the railing – better. Take the adjoining building into view so that the eyes have something to orientate yourself – better. Exhale and inhale deeply into your stomach instead of shallow shock breathing – better. Obviously something is going on! My body follows me and is not just a plaything of fear.

Next task: climbing garden. I've been there twice, but of course: on the ground. After all, someone has to take the photos of the climbing family. Of course, I'm stuck there in a belt that is threaded with an eyelet on a steel cable, but objective security has never bothered my fear. I am accordingly nervous. Nevertheless, shortly afterwards I am sitting eight meters above the ground in a tree. How did I do that? Don't think, just climb. The tunnel-like rope ladder requires all my concentration and strength anyway. Up on the small platform I prepare myself for dizziness and fear, but only feel a slight tingling in my stomach. I lean against the trunk of the tree, feel how stable it is, and look around. Sure I'm tense, but is that bad? I take a deep breath and focus on the solid wood at my feet and the bark under my palm. A gust of wind comes, the tree sways, I feel weak for a moment, but I keep breathing. I am at the top for 20 minutes. I don't trust myself to do the course at this height, but I could have stayed longer. Back on the ground, I'm a little proud of myself, and after mastering a lower course and not being more clumsy and hesitant than other climbers, even euphoric. It's really fun!

Be greater than fear

Still, I don't quite trust my new altitude suitability. Maybe I just had a good day climbing. A week after my first miserable visit, I'm back in front of St. Nikolai. As soon as I get into the elevator, I grab the railing on the right and the child's hand on the left. "Not so tight," it says, and then a little more gently: "You can do it, mom." And indeed: we float upwards, and stomach, knees and heart just carry on like on the ground. Even when we step out of the cabin upstairs, the fear does not budge. We look for roof terraces on the houses below and consider which one we would like to have breakfast on. "What do you feel, mom?" Asks the child. "Nothing," I say – and have to laugh. As we go down, we hold hands again. Better safe than sorry. But the last few meters before the elevator hits the ground again, we even dance a little. I am probably not cured forever. But at least now I know that I am bigger than my fear.