The Girl who had Papyrophobia

The Girl who had Papyrophobia

I’ve heard of all different kinds of phobias in my life, considering that is my line of work as a psychologist. I help people with phobias. But none of my prior patients could have prepared me for Lucy. She wasn’t afraid of spiders, or heights, or even ketchup. (Yes, I said ketchup!)No, Lucy was afraid of paper. Paper!

For the first week or so, I had to remove every book and sheet of paper from my office. Making up the Mind by Chris Frith? Gone. Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion by Robert Cialdini? Gone. Without any books, what was I to work with? Was it even possible to cure such a thing? So many questions surfed through my mind. Don’t get me wrong, Lucy was a little more tolerant than many of my other patients, but how could I possibly cure her of a fear of paper?

Lucy decided to come every Wednesday, at five. So I decided to start out with simple questions. I asked her how she felt about trees. About wood. About the process it goes through to become paper. None of this seemed to affect her. Only when I showed Lucy a physical piece of paper did she become bizarre. By bizarre, I mean that Lucy would fidget with her hands when she was talking, and seemed very nervous. To me, it all seemed irrational, even though psychologists are meant to know everything. However, this was not true. I had never been more lost than I had with Lucy’s case.

Then one day, Lucy and I had a breakthrough. I had asked her to tell me about her childhood. First, I asked her what her earliest memory was.

“Bouncing up and down with my father, staring at my laughing reflection is his blue-gray eyes. I was probably two years old,” Lucy replied. This clearly gave me no insight relating to her papyrophobia.

“But also,” she continued, “I have a nebulous recollection of me as a child, around the age of four or five, surrounded by stuffed animals and I was playing with them.” Lucy looked at the ground, as if she didn’t want to finish telling me the story.

                “Keep going Lucy, it’s alright,” I told her. I didn’t want her to stop now, in the middle of her story, because it might be leading her and I to some answers regarding her fear of paper.

                “All I remember next is a lot of screaming and confusion. I think my parents tried to comfort me, but I was too hysterical. I was bleeding, although I don’t remember why, and we were out of Band-Aids. But the next day, I noticed a stain from the blood on my favorite of all the stuffed animals I owned, my orange and yellow giraffe. I still have that giraffe, somewhere inside my closet. Sometimes, I will come across it, and try to remember what else happened, but I can’t.  That day, I cried and cried, and decided that I would never look at paper the same way again.”

                “Lucy, this is wonderful! I only wish we had gotten here sooner.” I felt like we were finally moving forward, instead of the stagnancy we had been experiencing the past three weeks. I was thrilled that were finally getting somewhere.

                That night, I told my wife Linda about my session with Lucy as usual. But this time, I was happy to tell her we were making progress.

                “That’s nice, sweetie. I just wish that you didn’t have to work so much or so late. You coming home so late really interferes with the Sophia and Isaac’s bedtime. You always used to put them to bed, and now that their routine is messed up, they have a hard time sleeping.” Linda was a wonderful mother, and I knew she wanted what’s best for our children, but I had no choice. I simply couldn’t change my work schedule.

                “I know Linda. I’m sorry, but this is work. Lucy won’t be my patient forever. After today, I have a feeling we are going to be done sooner than we both thought. She’ll be rid of her papyrophobia before the moon is full again,” I joked trying to lighten the tension between us, but I could tell Linda was concerned.

That night, after everyone was in bed, I got out the current book I was reading; ready to relax, as usual. I looked across the room, and there on the windowsill, was a stuffed purple hippo. I walked to the window and picked up the hippo. Was this one of my child’s toys? Had I bought this? I felt like I had never seen it before in my life.

 This made me think about Lucy’s revelation earlier that evening, about her stuffed animals surrounding her in a circle, about the stain of blood on her favorite stuffed animal, a giraffe. It made me think about what my wife had said. I mean really said.

I thought about my day to day work schedule. Was work really my top priority? Mondays, I had to stay after work for meetings, and therefore got home after my children were in bed. Tuesday, I had double sessions with Matthew, who had a severe case of acrophobia (which is a fear of heights), and I usually got home around five. I was always late for dinner on Wednesdays because I worked with Lucy from five to eight (although we normally ran later). Thursdays, I met with the Wyatt twins, who feared being separated from each other. Fridays, I had an early morning session with Mrs. Needleman, a sweet old lady with a fear of cats. Saturdays and Sundays I took the day off and would sometimes take my daughter Sophia and son Isaac to the park, as long as they had been good that week.

I realized, though, that I hadn’t taken them to the park in months. I hadn’t sat down to dinner with my family since who knows when. All at once, it dawned on me that my wife was right. I did was work. Did I even know my own children anymore? I could never put into words how much I loved them, but would anyone ever believe me if I said my family was my life? I suddenly realized that I spent so many hours in a day, talking to people I barely even knew. Sitting in that raggedy old leather chair in front of a desk for the past five years (Sophia was five, wasn’t she?). I felt the sudden urge to cry. Was my lifelong dream to raise a beautiful family on love and care, or was it to die working?

Although I did not know it then, this was a turning point in my life. I had wasted so much time working; wasted so much time that could have been spent with my wonderful family. But it would have been wrong to say I didn’t like working. Because I did in fact enjoy it. I liked to look back at all the people I had helped. Truly helped. But I had finally recognized the reality of the situation. I was nothing short of a workaholic. And now, after five years of working as a psychologist, I was finally coming to this realization.

The worst part of it though, was that when I realized this, I could not bring myself to tell my wife. I could not bring myself to admit my mistakes, to admit that I was wrong. Was it my pride? Was it worrying that people would look down on me? I searched inside myself to find the answers. I sat on the couch in the family room as I tried to solve this puzzle.

Isaac and Sophia were already fast asleep, my wife nodding off in the bedroom down the hall. I felt like a third wheel with my own family, and didn’t know what to do about it. For once, I stopped worrying about everyone else’s problems, and tried to fix my own.

I walked to the bedroom. My wife was sound asleep now. No matter how much she tried to reassure me, I knew that she was not as happy as she wanted to be. On top of all my problems with work, Linda couldn’t have any more children. The doctor told her that she was lucky enough to have had survived the pregnancy with our youngest daughter, Sophia. He thought for sure that she was not going to survive. I felt a sting in the back of my eyes. I was on the verge of crying.  I hadn’t understood that she was going through so much, that she wanted someone there to comfort her.  I was her husband after all; I should have realized she needed me.

 I was alone in the world, with no idea of what to do, again. I felt as lost with myself as I had with Lucy that first day. It seemed as though I was the one who needed the therapy. I was the one who had the problems. I tried to put myself in Linda’s shoes. How would I feel if she were the one who worked all the time, not even knowing her own children? I would be as concerned as she, wanting the best for our children like she did. I knew I wanted to make it up to both her and the children, somehow. I wanted to show them that I finally understood. I wanted her to know how much I loved her, and that I was going to change. There was still time to change this pattern of my life, but first I needed to get some sleep.

The next day, Thursday, I called off work. I postponed my appointment with the Wyatt twins for the following day. For breakfast, I made my legendary crepes. Had I known my children a little more, I would have acknowledged their appreciation with even the smallest of gestures. Isaac and Sopiha ate their crepes with smiles from ear to ear. My wife also seemed to appreciate the fact that I had decided to call off work and stay home (for the first time in many years). I just hoped she knew how much I was trying to change.

After breakfast, we all took a walk to the park. Linda and I sat on the park bench, watching intently as Isaac tried to convince Sophia that she would not fall off the slide if she went down.

“Sophia, you’ll be fine. It’s just a slide. Every time we come to the park, you say you won’t go on…are you a scaredy-cat?”

“No. I just want to be safe, okay Isaac?”

“It looks like Sophia has a bit of acrophobia” Linda stated, laughing a little at the way our daughter refused to go down the slide. “She may need to have a few sessions with you, Eric. I mean Dr. Frederickson.”

I laughed at the thought of my own children having one of the ridiculous fears which I help people to get rid of every day. Sophia with acrophobia, a fear of heights. Isaac…? Perhaps aviophobia, a fear of flying? Linda with gerascophobia, a fear of growing old. I even tried to imagine myself with a fear. Me with misophobia, a fear of germs. But being a psychologist who dealt with these every single day, I doubted the possibility that I would ever acquire a phobia of any sort.

                For the rest of the day, I tried to enjoy myself. I had not had as much fun as I did that day in a long time. After the park, I took my family downtown for a special treat: frozen custard. Considering the fact that the children and I were lactose intolerant, we only went once in a while. That day, surrounded by the three people I would never be able to live without, my butter pecan waffle cone had never tasted so good.

                The following day, I felt deflated and relieved. I had enjoyed so much the day before, and now I had to go back to work. But at the same time, I was happy to get back into groove of things, considering I was a routine kind of guy. I felt something different, though. In the middle of a session, I would start to think about the smile on Sophia’s face as she woke up to find her father in the kitchen, standing next to the cooktop, spatula in hand, making breakfast. During lunch, I would remember Linda’s hand in mine as we sat on the bench in the park.

Instead of feeling disconnected at home, I felt that way with my patients. I guess I was experiencing what you would call homesickness. It was a new feeling that I had never felt before. After one whole day with my family, I had begun to change, for the better.

That night, I arrived home just in time for dinner. Isaac and Sophia were just as surprised as I to find their plates arriving at the table the same time my plate was. Linda, on the other hand, seemed as though she had expected this. Either way, I was happy to come home.

From then on, my life was completely different. I spent more time with my family, and less time with myself. They needed me, after all. And to my surprise, I needed them too.

I continued my weekly sessions with Lucy. She soon realized that there was nothing life threatening or dangerous about paper. She learned that quite frankly, paper could have a lot to offer her. Lucy had been previously working at a local farm. She had known the owners, and would gather vegetables and organize them inside the store, and occasionally bag the groceries. By overcoming her fear, however, she was able to get a stable job as a secretary for a company in town.

Since she got her job, we had decided to stop the weekly sessions. We ran into each other about a month later, and sat down for coffee.

“So Lucy, tell me how you’ve been. It’s great to see you working as a secretary for a thriving company.

 “Everything is going great, Dr. Frederickson. I just want to thank you so much for what you did. I feel as if I am a completely different person. My whole life has been turned around. I could never have made the connection between getting a paper cut at the age of four and having a fear of paper. I don’t know about any of your other patients, but I think you are marvelous. “

“Thank you, Lucy. You are very kind. You have grown tremendously since that very first day in my office. To be completely honest, I had no idea then how I was going to help you. But we worked together, and look where we are now!”

All in all, I guess you could say that things turned out pretty good. Well, at least for a little while it did.

I decided to stop working on Fridays, on which I would take Isaac and Sophia to the park if the weather was nice. Most of the time, Linda joined us on our trip, too.

Sometimes, I would glance over at Linda, and see her lost in thought, her eyes shiny with the threat of tears. Eventually, she would be able to move past the fact that Isaac and Sophia were going to be our two and only children. But until that day came, I would be right beside her, with two shoulders for her to cry on.

And in time, my feeling of being disconnected from my family faded away. It was like a gray storm cloud had passed over me, and I was able to feel the sun on my face again. I was able to breathe in the fresh air, feel the breeze blow through my hair…

“And how long has it been since you last met with Lucy, Eric?” Dr. Hackett asked me.

“A year and a half, although it feels like it’s been a lifetime. Even in this short amount of time, I could feel it creeping up on me. Whenever I would think about Lucy, and I was near a piece of paper, I would start to feel like Lucy did. I would get nervous. I would stammer when I spoke. As Lucy began to get better and lose her fear, I acquired it. But it was strange because I loved to read. I used paper every single day, and then all of a sudden, I didn’t want to have anything to do with it. It seemed irrational, and still does right?”

“So how long after the last time you saw Lucy do think you first started experiencing these symptoms of… what is it again?” Dr. Hackett looked at me over the rim of his glasses, as if looking down at a young student. I wondered if I had ever looked at my patients that way, with a sense of superiority.

“Papyrophobia” I replied.