Kathryn Hecht

Now, I'm not doing this stuff because I'm an evil psychologist.

I'm doing this because as a pediatric anxiety and OCD expert, I'm a professional bravery coach.

I'd like to tell you about a kid that I worked with years ago named Sammy.

Sammy was this sweet little third-grade string bean who lived for adventure.

bright, curious, optimistic, could tell you everything you honestly never needed to know about airport design.

But Sammy had a fear.

Bees.

His brain appreciated bees, vital pollinators.

His body, however, reacted like they were flying yellow needles with some anger issues.

As soon as those leaves turned green, Sammy would initiate his own personal bee safety protocol.

No sweets outside, social distancing from the flowers, even staying inside during his family's cabin trips.

When Sammy got to me, he and his parents had tried everything to get rid of this anxiety.

Deep breathing, distraction, no luck.

They had also debated the fear endlessly.

His parents would reassure him, "'You won't get stung.'

Sammy reminded his parents they were not fortune-telling wizards in four words.

How do you know?

This phobia was stealing Sammy's childhood, one sunny summer day at a time.

When I sing happy birthday with a cringing 12-year-old as loudly as possible in the grocery store produce section, when I rank order photos of vomit by chunk level,

Or, yes, when I lick my own dirty shoes.