On The Threshold

Trapped at home, there seemed no way out...until a little bundle of inspiration arrived

I’m writing to tell you about the time I was stuck in the house and couldn’t get out.We’ve never talked about it before, but now I need to take the time to tell you. After your grandpa died, I was very sad for a long time. I was devastated.

Thankfully, your mum and dad would come to visit, take me to the cinema or invite me over for dinner.This was before you were born, when they lived in a small apartment.

All my life, I’d enjoyed going out.After we retired, your grandpa and I used to meet our friends in the café or stroll along the riverside.

When he passed away, it was hard for me to carry on doing these things without him, but it helped to keep the memory with me, doing these “missions”, as I called them.

It meant that I had something to occupy me every day.

I spent that first Christmas with your mum and dad.They let me have their room and they slept on their living-room floor on an inflatable mattress, but it was one of the most memorable Christmases for me, with happiness mixed with surges of grief.

They dropped me back to my cottage in the New Year and I decided to go out for a walk as I had no milk left in the house and only one tin of food for Gregson, my cat.

About halfway along the road, I slipped on a bit of ice and fell over.

A lovely young man helped me up. Another couple came to help, too, and I felt rather foolish, sitting on a stranger’s garden wall, waiting for an ambulance and taking up everybody’s time.

The doctor at the hospital told me I’d broken my ankle. It was all fixed up and covered in plaster.

I was glad to get back home, and needn’t have worried about how I was going to cope, because my neighbour, Freda, was always on hand, and friends brought me dinners they had cooked or would fetch shopping for me.

Your mum and dad came at the weekend to check on me and do some housework.

They even brought me your dad’s old computer and showed me how I could use it to talk to other people with a video, and even how to order my groceries from the internet and get them delivered.

To begin with, it seemed far too complicated, but it was a good little gizmo to learn about and it was like having a limitless encyclopaedia on my table, or an electronic genie that could get me almost anything imaginable, so I persevered.

Look at me now, gadget granny, writing this e-mail!

Finally, a nurse came to take off the plaster cast, and I was so excited because I could finally be independent again and fetch my own shopping and visit my friends.

That afternoon, I picked up my handbag, opened the door and stepped outside. I smiled, feeling the sun on my face, and enjoying the touch of frost still lingering in the air.

Then time stopped. It was a tiny pebble, that was all, I felt it under my right foot as it put me off balance. There was no chance of me falling over or tripping, but I couldn’t seem to breathe. My heart was racing and I felt hot and dizzy.

I stood very still, trying to catch my breath, waiting for the feeling to go away.

The moment it started to fade, I turned around and walked straight home.

I didn’t get as far as the shop or the café or my friends; I just needed to be home again.

I shut the door and leaned against it. I can’t tell you how feeble and silly I felt, and how frightened.

I took off my coat and sat in the big armchair by the window. It was a beautiful day, and I wanted ever so much to go outside, but it was impossible.

I called the friend I’d been going to meet at the café and told her I needed to stay in and would see her next week. But I never did.

Every week, there was a reason to stay inside. I used my computer to order shopping, like your mum had shown me.

When it was time to send a birthday card, I could order one to arrive at my house, sign it and ask Freda to post it for me.

Soon she asked me if I was getting out enough, so I began ordering cards directly from a website that you could sign and send with a click of the mouse.

It was cheating, but I never missed a birthday.

I didn’t say anything to your mum and dad; I was too ashamed.Your mum is my little girl, so I should be able to tell her anything, but I didn’t want her to know I was scared of leaving my cottage.

The weeks rolled into months, and gradually my friends realised I had a problem because I would always invite them to my cottage rather than meet them in town for a coffee.

They realised that I had stopped going to book club and even missed the harvest fair at the church, which was not like me at all. I baked cakes for the fair and I sent along some prizes for the raffle, but there was no way for me to go in person. I just couldn’t.

That Christmas, I ordered everybody’s presents on the internet. I invited your mum and dad here for Christmas, telling them it was to return their kindness the previous year and to give them a break from cooking.

Then it was January the third again, and I was in my armchair drinking my morning tea, looking out of the window and counting how many days I had been in a prison of my own making.

It wasn’t the house keeping me in, or the weather – it was my own head. I decided to use the computer to find out more about it.

After only a few minutes, I was amazed to find that there were thousands of people with the same problem.

It is called agoraphobia: a fear of going out into open spaces.

Some people had been stuck in their houses for years; other people had found solutions to help them get outside again and live like they used to.

I cried a lot when I realised how much I had missed in just 12 months.

When your mum came to visit that weekend, I told her all about it and she gave me a big hug.

She had suspected something of the sort, but didn’t want to put pressure on me until I was ready to speak about it.

She really is fantastic, your mum! We looked at some websites together to decide how to start getting better.

Instead of my daily “missions” of going to the shop or out to meet a friend, I would have little missions to help me get better.

To begin with I couldn’t let go of feeling scared. I even started to think that because I was already old, perhaps I wouldn’t need to go out again, so what did it matter? Everyone who knew me and loved me came to my house anyway.

After a few weeks I stopped and I gave up. I was not proud of myself, but I didn’t think I was strong enough to make the change. It was too upsetting.

Everything changed one Saturday morning in summer.Your mum and dad often came for Sunday lunch, and they would encourage me in my therapy, which I felt bad about.

This time, they told me some wonderful news: that they were expecting you!

They told me that, all being well, I would be a grandmother in the middle of January.Your grandpa would have loved that, and I felt as if he were right there with me as we all hugged and cried. I spoke to you for the first time.

“I can’t wait for you to come into the world, little one,” I said, and I meant it.

That was the day I knew I had to work harder to get better.

Once your mum and dad left that afternoon, I picked up the phone and asked Freda to come over. She agreed to help do whatever it took to help me leave the house again.

She was there when the doctor visited, and she helped me to find a therapist who coached me by telephone twice a week, so that I felt that I really was part of a team.

I could be honest again with your mum and dad, too, about the progress I was making, and all the little steps that finally took me out to a group of other people who had overcome similar anxieties. It was the hardest thing I had ever done.

I told her I would see her next week. But I never did

So here I am, on a sunny morning, writing this to you on the computer that helped me so much.

Your mum has been so worried about you recently, and told me that you have been suffering so much with anxiety at school that she didn’t know where to turn.

Every person has a different experience, but anxieties can be so overwhelming that you feel you will never get over them and that no-one will understand. It makes it so difficult even to ask for help.

I needed you to know that you are not alone, and that you do have the strength to come through this. Being a teenager is rough.

Every generation has its own pressures, but I think the pressure youngsters face these days is awful.

With exams and social media it’s no surprise you can feel overwhelmed, but you can come through it.

For a long time I felt hopeless, especially after I failed in my first attempts to get better. But I will never forget the day you arrived.

Your dad called to say that you had been born in the morning, strong and healthy with your eyes wide open.

You and your mum were taking a little sleep, recovering from your hard work, and he called to say that a taxi was on its way to bring me to the hospital to meet you for the first time.

Looking out of my living-room window after that phone call was an unforgettable moment for me.

It was the start of one of my life’s most important journeys: meeting you and getting to know you.

I needed to tell you how you were my inspiration before you were even born, and I hope you will let me help you, and return the favour.

You will get through this.We’re all here to help. Let’s get back out into the world together.

For more great stories, pick up the latest issue of The People’s Friend, out now