I had to take my dog Freddie to the vet the other day for an infected paw.  As I’ve said in previous posts, Freddie has many fears, and if he could rank them, he’d give Dr. Hambright a 9 or 10 on his BUDs (Barking Units of Distress) scale.  I’d rate going to the vet with Freddie an 8 on my SUDs scale (Subjective Units of Distress—the measure commonly used to create an anxiety exposure hierarchy in behavior therapy).

Even though I’m very nervous about vet appointments with Freddie and really, really don’t want to go, I’m willing to endure them because the health of my dogs is important to me.   When I work with people who struggle with anxiety, I talk a lot about recognizing the difference between wanting and willing.  It’s a critical distinction, and it can make or break someone’s progress in treatment.

Why would we want to put ourselves in a situation that causes our hearts to pound, our palms to sweat, and our heads to spin?  Because avoiding the things that scare us only makes our fears worse in the long run.  Even more important, it keeps us from doing what we truly value.

In case you’re thinking wild horses couldn’t drag you to a behavior therapist under those circumstances, let me clarify.  Exposure therapy requires you to confront your fears gradually.  It’s not like the classic Far Side cartoon, which depicts a person dealing with a fear of heights and snakes by suspending himself in a glass elevator over a pit of vipers.  That’s flooding, and I don’t do it.  The rule of thumb for exposure to anxiety-inducing triggers is to work at an anxiety level of around a 5.  Challenging, but manageable.

But sometimes life intervenes, and we have to deal with real situations that are higher than the ideal 5.  As when I took Freddie to the vet.  I dreaded it, but was definitely willing to go; Freddie, not so much.  Which is why I made sure to feed him yummy treats and put a muzzle on him for the examination.   He doesn’t mind the muzzle, having learned that it magically brings squirts of CheezWhiz.  And it helps give me some peace of mind, knowing he can’t bite anyone.

I wish Freddie could model himself after our Cockapoo Baxter, who has developed an excellent strategy for tolerating the dreaded vet visit.  Baxter is just as fearful as Freddie, and with good reason.  He underwent two surgeries last year to repair a torn ACL. Now every time we put him in the car, even if we’re just going for a hike in the woods, he shakes and pants so hard he fogs up the windows.  But when he’s on the vet’s exam table, he rolls onto his back, lifts his rear leg with a sigh of resignation, and endures.  He certainly doesn’t want to be there.  But he’s willing.  And because he isn’t fighting it, the ordeal goes much more smoothly for all concerned.

So the next time you’re tempted to avoid a situation that terrifies you, don’t fight it like Freddie does.  Take a page from Baxter’s book instead.  Better yet, don’t just submit to it.  Meet it head on.  If you’re willing, the way will be a lot less bumpy.