Fearssss

Ever since I can remember, I’ve liked snakes. I can’t be certain when I was first exposed to my slithery friends. I suspect it was at some birthday party or nature center where a friendly, often awed at corn snake or ball python was being displayed around to a bunch of snot nosed brats—myself included.

“Do you want to pet his scales? He’s not slimy, is he? No, I promise you, he’s perfectly harmless. Very friendly.”

During these demonstrations I don’t remember any effect of gender on who wanted to touch and who kept their distance—contrary to my sister’s elementary school book that declared “While boys love to catch frogs, girls may find them icky and scream!”, which infuriated mother to no end.
All I know for certain is that I felt no fear at ogling or touching the legless creature presented to me. My interest, and eventual love, was cemented at the animal science department of the Arlington Career Center. My favorite day camp during the summer was Animal Care at the CC. I annoyed my teacher to no end with endless requests to hold the numerous snakes available for my hands and shoulders. Undoubtedly, my favorite was the black and white banded California King Snake. I held that thing every chance I could get. Something about his beautifully contrasting, smooth skin caught my heart. I loved it so much I decided to get one of my very own.

I prepared a PowerPoint to show my parents that I knew everything there was to know about competently and safely housing a furless friend. (This was a massive technological improvement on my impassioned case for getting a dog, which involved dragging a raggedy stuffed animal around the block and picking up leaves with a ‘poop bag’.) Somehow I convinced them, and father accompanied me to the Mid Atlantic Reptile Show in Maryland where I bought Henry, the ambiguously gendered, black and white banded California King Snake I could call my own. She became not so ambiguous about a year later, when I discovered she would have to be renamed Henrietta.

I loved that big girl—and she definitely got big—for about eight years until her death from cancer, my second year of college. I mourned her loss and took a multiple year break from herpetological bliss until about three months ago when I bought a new little girl, Vixen—a baby Corn Snake.

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Some might say that I’m one of those people who don’t mind the creepy crawly things that are the stuff of other people’s nightmares. Those people, however, are very wrong. There are plenty of bugs with enough legs and speed to make me scream internally and flee from the room. (I’ve never really been one of those people who show their fear with significant volume, except for one very unfortunate, very barefooted encounter with a slug.)

On Monday, the first day of my new job, the human resources manager had sent out an email with a short introduction to CT’s new employee—Me! She mentioned I have a snake named Vixen, which I had mentioned to her earlier when she directly asked me if I had any pets. She, in return, showed me pictures of the gigantic rattle snake she had encountered on a recent hiking trip. Not everyone in the office responded to the announcement of Vixen as well as this HR person, however—as I expected. My cube neighbor asked in horror if I really had one. She could not understand how the creature that is one of her primary fears could be my beloved pet. She told me that any picture or sight of a snake sends her into fits of hysteria: heavy breathing, screaming—the whole shebang. I assured her she was not the first person I had encountered with this phobia, but that I love my pet just the same. At that moment another office mate popped up and declared that he had a family of rock-spiders as pets in high school. The girl afraid of snakes said she had no problem with spiders. The girl afraid of my beloved pet was INDIFFERENT to one of my mild fears.

This got me wondering about the nature of fear.
 
In intro to psychology at Grinnell, we were briefly taught about fear in relation to evolution. According to evolutionary theory, some fears are adaptive, especially the fear of snakes and spiders. In the past and present, venemous spiders and snakes have posed a threat to humans’ health and, in more rare cases, life. It is adaptive to fear and avoid something that could potentially hurt you. But how does that explain other phobias unrelated to our evolutionary survival? I’m sure someone in this world has a phobia of something like chairs. Why? Of course there are other psychological explanations like past traumatic experiences, but we have lots of bad experiences that do not cause phobia. I and many of my friends have been scratched and made-to-bleed by a cat countless times, and yet we still love our furry pets. Why does one species of creature make one person afraid and one person completely unmoved? How can the creature I find beautiful and interesting, cause another person to hyperventilate?

And if fear should be logical, why do so many people hold onto a fear long after they learn all of the reasons their phobia is uncalled for? If someone with a fear of snakes, objectively and calmly observed Vixen for ten minutes, they would see that she is the biggest fraidy-cat of them all. All I’ve ever done is feed her and give her a warm place to live. I’ve never even once tried to eat her! That’s better odds then she would get in the wild. And yet the briefest glimpse of my hand is enough to send her fleeing in the other direction. Despite her fear, she has never once tried to bite me. Biting just doesn’t seem to occur to her. She would even rather cuddle with her food than eat it. I have to literally put it .0005 centimeters from her mouth for her to even consider opening up. And despite what some people mistakenly believe, Vixen will never, even at adult size—even if she wanted to—be able to strangle me or swallow me whole. She will not inject me with venom because she doesn’t have any. And if she ever does decide to bite, it won’t hurt because her teeth are tiny and Corn Snakes just do not care enough to hold on.

The fact is, I’ve been holding snakes for at least 12 years and I’ve never been bitten. I am not going to say all snakes are not dangerous. That is a lie. Although I still think they are beautiful, I would be afraid to stand in close proximity to a cobra or viper. Some fear is adaptive. Keeping your distance initially is a good strategy.  After some research and introspection you can approach or walk away fully informed. But to close yourself off completely from something you could come to respect, or maybe even admire, is tragic. Keep an open mind if you can. Listen to facts. And don’t rule your life by fear.

Now. Tell that to my deeply ingrained phobia of house centipedes!