Opening the front door: Overcoming agoraphobia and severe anxiety

Agoraphobia is a form of anxiety that can grow so severe that you can’t leave your home. At its worst, my agoraphobia didn’t let me leave my bedroom.

What started as a fear of planes and crowded public spaces soon grew to be a fear of everything and everywhere. One summer evening in my local pub, I was crying into my drink, desperately trying to stop myself from hyperventilating and making a fool of myself. I was petrified to be so far from home, away from my safe space. My friend sat next to me and pointed out of the pub window. “I can see your window,” she said.

She was right. There was my bedroom window, not 100 metres away from where I was sitting. I was so consumed by my agoraphobia that being in a building over the road from my house was causing me to experience a full-blown panic attack. I couldn’t go to restaurants because I felt trapped, and the anxiety made me feel sick so I couldn’t eat. Cinemas, buses, trains, anywhere far from home – you name it, I couldn’t do it.

That evening in the pub was the turning point for my recovery from agoraphobia. By that point, my entire universe had shrunk from endless possibilities to my small bedroom in a house share in North London. At its worst, I didn’t like leaving my bedroom, not even to go to the kitchen. The local shop was a two-minute walk away, but I often asked my roommates to pick things up for me. I was finishing my last year of university and barely attending classes, and I had quit my part-time job. At the height of my agoraphobia, my entire universe spanned approximately seven square metres.

Hitting rock bottom

To climb out of this hole I’d dug myself into, I first had to hit rock bottom. My wonderful mum came to London to help me move house at the end of my second year of university, and I was so crippled by my anxiety for the entire day that I must have scared her half to death. I was a shell of who I used to be. I followed her home that night on the train to the countryside, too scared to be left alone. I spent the summer at her house, crying every time she left the room. She emailed my university to warn them that I might drop out.

Continuing down this path would have changed my future in many ways, and not for the better. I came back to London at the end of the summer, desperate not to drop out of university. It took a few more months after that for me to summon the courage to change, but one day I decided that enough was enough. I wanted my life back.

Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) – A life-changing experience

I referred myself online for CBT therapy with the local IAPT (Improving Access to Psychological Therapies) service. The initial consultation was over the phone. I was then invited to a group session involving a PowerPoint presentation at a local NHS clinic which provided an overview of what CBT does, to make sure we knew what we were getting ourselves into. I walked the hour-long journey to the clinic because I was unable to take the bus.

I distinctly remember how tense the atmosphere was in the room – twenty or so people riddled with severe anxiety had been pulled out of their houses and forced to sit in a crowded room with total strangers for an hour. Every two minutes I had the uncontrollable urge to run out of the clinic door and all the way home, but I didn’t. Some people did.

After the group session, I was assigned to an amazing CBT therapist. Together we created a list of the top ten things I wanted to achieve by the end of my twelve-week course, ordered by their difficulty. One by one, I exposed myself to all of them using CBT techniques to keep me calm. After the sixth session, I took the bus home. After twelve sessions, I ticked off the most difficult item on the list: I boarded a twelve-hour flight to America for my brother’s wedding. Having previously told him I wouldn’t be able to attend, being at his wedding was, and still is, one of my proudest moments.

Succeeding at exposure therapy

Since completing my course of CBT, I’ve travelled the world. I’ve seen the black diamond beaches in Iceland and climbed mountains in Seoul. I’ve eaten fresh pasta in Italy and made friends with strangers in Fukuoka. I graduated from university with honours. I got back into work and built up a successful career. There have been many setbacks and a couple of top-up CBT sessions. It has not been easy, but it has been worth it.

When I think back to the girl in the bedroom, the one who was too scared to go to the kitchen and make a cup of tea, it’s hard to imagine that it I’m the same person, but it was me. It was simply a version of me who listened to her anxiety. I still have bad moments, bad days, and even bad weeks. I recently burst into tears during a road trip through Liechtenstein because I was anxious about going to a restaurant. It’s easy to forget the achievements – there was a time I couldn’t walk to my kitchen, so being on the open road in Liechtenstein should be impressive enough. But it doesn’t always feel that way.

Sometimes, it’s tempting to push yourself too hard or ignore your achievements. It’s okay to stay home when you don’t feel like going out, but I felt that I had to say yes to everything, or my anxiety had won. Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m physically unwell, or if it’s just my anxiety. I’ve gone out a few times on an upset stomach only to realise it was purely physical.

Pulling yourself out of that hole is not easy. It requires persistence, patience, and an intense amount of willpower. I had days that felt impossible, and things I wanted to do that felt too daunting. But I didn’t give up, and I thank myself for that every time I experience something new, something my anxiety would not have let me do.

I still don’t love the underground at rush hour and will actively avoid it, but recovery is a journey, and one I will keep travelling on.