Phobias represent our most extreme reactions to that which we fear; they are capable of evoking involuntary responses within us, and if unchecked, they have the power to create lasting trauma. But rather than rail off a textbook definition of a phobia, I'm going to share one of my own. I have melissophobia, a technical way of saying I'm utterly terrified of honeybees. I was stung several times in my youth, but the weight of my situation didn't really hit me until I was 12 years of age. Blood was drawn, tests were completed, and I was told that I had a severe allergy to the venom present in bee stingers. That means that any contact my body has with that venom can lead to dangerous amounts of swelling. The nurse sat me down and with little to no remorse told me, "If you get stung and you don't have your medication with you then you're probably going to die." It was quite a lot to accept at age 12, and I have to cope with this fact anytime I step outside.

My phobia of bees didn't just spring up overnight, however - it took time and a sort of episodic development to bring me where I am right now. At first, I was only made particularly uncomfortable when absolutely sure that there were bees in my general vicinity, but as time wore on so did my certainty. The sound of buzzing insects, moths or large flies that from a distance could be mistaken for bees became cause enough for moderate unease, and before I had realized it I was completely on edge whenever I was out and about in a field or floral area. The situation worsened once I turned 13. On two separate occasions a bee landed on top of my head, and although I was able to eradicate the unwelcome guests on both occasions without injury, I was unable to do away with the wounding memory of having that lethal force caught in my blind spot. Today, whenever I begin to panic in a situation where I believe bees to be present, I reflexively begin running my hand over the top of my head and down the back of my neck until I feel I've relocated safely out of harm's reach. It's a maddening and embarrassing process, but I find myself physically incapable of stopping this reactionary procedure.

Often I've been scolded or ridiculed for retreating from an outdoor meal or bolting out doorways in an attempt to distance myself from the airborne danger. I take no pleasure in such complaints, and I don't wish to inconvenience anyone with my allergy much less my phobia, but I will never apologize for it. Regardless of whether you deem it rational, a phobia is a deeply ingrained mental response that the owner seldom has much control over. When someone is caught in a panic attack, they need assistance, not indifference. If I identify a bee in my personal space and rapidly make an exit, I don't expect people to understand it, but I expect them to be understanding and keep their criticisms to themselves. I think all people are afraid of something; those fears certainly vary from person to person, but no one lives without them. Even the most courageous of people have their concerns and worries. When we acknowledge this fact, then we can begin to sympathize with and help others in need. Once we recognize the potency of phobias, we can begin to move towards consolation, not persecution.