Throughout my time writing this blog I have mentioned on several occasions my battle with emetophobia, or the fear of vomiting. It’s something I’ve struggled with for a few years now. It is during this time of year when cases of the dreaded “stomach flu” start popping up. Last night, it reared it’s ugly head with my oldest son. Throughout the night he was up and down, vomiting anything that came in contact with his stomach.
But this is not a sad post. This is not one of those posts where I recount the events or me freaking out. Last night was actually positive and through teary eyes I told my son this morning how proud I was of him.
You see, he never cried. He was never scared. He never showed fear. Instead he would get sick then sit in the floor and, smiling, would say he has germs and was feeling better. No tears. He actually smiled.
When I woke up this morning I thought back to that and realized my fear is not childish; it’s absurd. If my four-year-old son can be sick and think nothing of it then why have I been letting this fear overtake my life in recent years? So this morning, as he laid on the couch catching up on some rest, I told him how proud I was of him and how he’ll never realize the lesson he taught me last night. I even explained to him, in simplest terms, my phobia. He said “it’s okay, dad.” Then he smiled.
I have hope now that I am finally conquering this fear and it took my four-year-old to open my eyes.