Agoraphobia therapy helped me see the world wasn't as perilous as I thought. Then COVID-19 hit

This First Person article is the experience of Sarah Ellis Fox, who experienced agoraphobia. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

At one point in my life, doing something as simple as leaving my apartment felt like an impossible task.

I developed agoraphobia in my late 20s, after being diagnosed with a life-changing autoimmune disease.

Agoraphobia is a type of anxiety disorder in which you fear places or situations that might cause you to panic and make you feel trapped or helpless.

In my case, my autoimmune disease flooded my system with thyroid hormones, causing tremors, a dramatically increased heart rate and weakness. As someone who had dealt with social anxiety since childhood, the idea of fainting or panicking in public was both a horrifying and very real possibility.

My avoidance of public places started out small — opting to walk instead of riding the bus, or only shopping for groceries late at night to avoid crowds.

Those compromises I made to placate my anxiety only seemed to fuel my growing agoraphobia, and eventually I began to rely on my partner to do any errand that took place outside our apartment. Together, we decided that I needed to find help.

After months of wait lists, I finally found a therapist through the Vancouver General Hospital Access & Assessment Centre. With their help, I went through two years of treatment that included one-on-one therapy, group therapy, a host of different antidepressants and my least favourite: daily exposure therapy. But I began to see a positive change in myself.

I took small, continuous steps forward and felt hopeful that I was finally ready to get back out there and rejoin society.

And then COVID-19 locked the entire world down.

What I had feared for years became real overnight: The outside world was officially a dangerous place. I braced myself, sure that I'd lose years of hard work and regress to a point where I could again no longer leave the house.

But that's not what happened.

It turns out that undergoing extensive therapy for agoraphobia ended up being a master class for pandemic resilience.

I became the designated grocery-getter in my household. I took precautions, made educated decisions and didn't panic buy toilet paper. I may have been uncertain about the world, but I had confidence in the choices I made.

'Fear is a universal experience'

For many of us, coming out of this pandemic might be just as terrifying as when we were in the throes of it, back when we barely knew how to protect ourselves. It's so easy to slip into a mindset of us versus them, where you can feel distrustful and apprehensive about everyone outside your household.

But here's what I've learned from living with agoraphobia: Although it may feel utterly isolating, fear is a universal experience. The end goal shouldn't be about overcoming this fear; it's learning to exist within it and not letting it control the decisions you make.

During my illness, I tried to imagine what life would be like when I got better: going into an office each day, riding a crowded SkyTrain, comfortably lounging in a packed restaurant.

I realize now that the goal of recovery was never these arbitrary milestones but instead the ability to embrace uncertainty, to do your best in the face of whatever happens, to keep moving forward, even if your momentum for the day may only be a single step.

During the pandemic, I've been able to practise trusting my decisions, and I worked on caring less about what others think of me.

I have gotten up and moved away from a maskless patron on the bus and waved ahead elevators with too many people inside, saying I'll get the next one. I was so worried before about making others uncomfortable, but when it comes down to it, I now understand that the only actions and reactions I can control are my own.

For me, the worst thing about experiencing agoraphobia was feeling utterly disconnected from the world.

The pandemic, as terrible and terrifying as it's been, has been the true final piece of therapy for me: understanding that the fears and anxieties that other people experience aren't any different from my own.

During the pandemic, I've found myself feeling more connected to my community than I ever have before, cherishing any brief encounters with strangers — making jokes with the cashier at the bakery, shoving my cats out on the patio while the cat-loving baby next door is playing outside, confiding to a man I passed while hiking with my partner that his dog was the absolute best dog I'd ever seen.

My anxiety isn't gone, but I've learned to live with it. And I think many people who might be fearful of returning to public life as the world reopens might benefit from some of the things that have helped me.

Take small steps forward, celebrate your victories and know that your fear doesn't isolate you, it makes you human. 

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