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I Am A 29-Year-Old Who Dreads Going Outside. Here's How Agoraphobia Affects Me.

The author. (Courtesy of Megan Lane)
The author. (Courtesy of Megan Lane)

About six years ago, the quality of my life significantly diminished. Leaving my home ― my safe zone ― unfailingly caused a panic attack: a feeling of suffocation, heart palpitations, palms sweating profusely, and a bleak sense of foreboding. I am a 29-year-old woman with a 9-year-old child who fears venturing into the outside world, where the sun shines and the cool breeze caresses my cheeks. I have suffered from a variety of mental illnesses — including generalized anxiety disorder and major depressive disorder since I was 13 — yet my agoraphobia has proved to be most crippling.

It developed slowly over time. I didn’t go from attending Mommy & Me classes with my newborn to becoming a self-imposed recluse overnight. There were signs warning against my downward spiral, but I was blind to them.

But looking back, I can clearly see the pattern that became agoraphobia. Around 23, I was leaving home less and less. I lacked interest in activities I once found pleasurable. Coming up with excuses to get out of family gatherings was exhausting. When I went anywhere beyond my front door, I felt uneasy. When I did leave, I repeatedly checked the time, counting down the minutes until I’d pull into my driveway and feel safe. Within six months, I had my first panic attack inside a children’s clothing boutique. After that, I continued having these attacks every single time I left home — which meant I only did so when completely necessary.

I am a 29-year-old woman who fears venturing into the outside world, where the sun shines and the cool breeze caresses my cheeks.

But I wasn’t always like that. I grew up enjoying outings to the mall with my mom and sneaking out of the house to go to parties with friends. After my daughter was born, I watched as she happily played with her peers on the playground after school. She and I treasured the evenings where we indulged in greasy garlic knots and fed seagulls down by the docks. I’d have to say my life...

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