How we learn to be afraid
When I’ve had the privilege of watching my toddler grandson as he learned to walk, run and play, I noticed something striking: As he gained experience in the world, he grew more confident in some ways and more cautious in others. And in both things, he often took his cues — about how to feel and how to respond — from his parents and other caregivers.
Taking his first steps, he was awkward and fell repeatedly. But he would quickly get up and try again. If he happened to bump his head or land on his hand, he would often look up anxiously to see the reaction of nearby adults.
If they were smiling and nodding as if to say, “Yep, that’s how we learn,” he would smile, get up and walk some more. But if an adult nearby happened to look alarmed or concerned, he would start to pout and cry.
He also learned the value of a placebo. When he seemed to feel some pain from a minor fall or bump, rubbing a spot or whimpering, we would ask if he wanted an ice pack and he would often nod vigorously.
He usually waited patiently (and silently) while we went to get it, then he’d perfunctorily touch the ice pack to the spot he hit, which was now magically healed, and he’d be back on the prowl.
On the other hand, there are some things he’s grown surprisingly afraid of. He used to love going down slides at nearby parks. On his butt, on his stomach, on his side.
But something must have happened that I didn’t witness, because for the last couple of months he’ll do anything else at the park except go down a slide!
With some work, I’ve gotten him to slide down sitting on my lap, which he enjoys immensely. But he still won’t slide solo. I’m sure he’ll get back to it when he decides the time is right for him.
Of course, I have also learned from (often painful) experience over the years to be more careful. Two tumbles in particular stand out for me. Once, I tripped over some rocks at a public park when I thought I heard one of my children calling for me.
Another time, I landed hard on an asphalt parking lot when my foot caught on a concrete car stop that had been pushed out of place. In both cases, my recovery took some weeks (and stitches).
Both reminded me of sound advice from childhood: Watch where you are going, and don’t make any rash moves! Taking a little more time can avoid a lot of agony.
Looking at folks who work out at my gym, I see a number of older men and women working hard to stay fit and truly maintaining some impressive strength.
But many of them nonetheless walk hunched over and shuffle between the machines. I assume it’s a habit born out of earlier falls, fading eyesight or both. I’m hoping to avoid a similar gait by noticing it in others and trying to stay upright even if I walk more slowly than I used to.
Sometimes, however, I’m still the speedy walker I once was, and from that I learned yet another lesson about fear. I was heading into the supermarket the other day to pick up a head of lettuce. I hoped to make it a quick errand and get back to work.
I found myself entering the store behind a frail older gentleman moving very slowly with a rollator through the main doors. There was no getting around him as we went through the crowded entry vestibule and by some narrow fruit displays, and I was getting antsy.
Finally, I saw my opportunity to break to his right as the cantaloupe display ended, and I quickly slipped past him — without touching him or his rollator — toward my destination.
After a quick beat, I heard him yelling quite loudly after me: “Don’t scare me like that! I’m an old man!” I quietly apologized from a distance as I reached for the lettuce.
Of course, I felt terrible. I didn’t mean to scare him. It made me wonder what he had experienced that made him perceive a rush of motion behind him as disorienting and even frightening.
It made me a bit fearful, too: of possibly becoming so frail one day that I might feel the same way. I guess it depends on what I learn to be fearful of as I continue to move through life.
If you have thoughts on the topic of learned fear or would like to share lessons you’ve learned, please send us a letter to the editor via mail, email or our website. In the meantime, stay safe!
