In the distance, a small, dark shape lay by the side of the road. My chest tightened. I moved to another lane. My breathing grew shallow. As I passed it, I looked away, focusing on anything else. I sped up. Still, the image lingered in my mind. Was it just bits of shredded tyre, or something worse?

A quiet but powerful fear

Thanatophobia (an extreme fear of death) often begins in childhood, especially after losing a loved one. In my case, it was not about human death. My terror centred on dying animals. Though it lacks a formal clinical label, it took over my life in subtle but overwhelming ways.

It began with roadkill. Then it crept into books, films, even TV adverts. Seeing animals in distress was unbearable. I would turn away, close books, mute commercials. The thought that they had suffered before dying would spiral in my head.

A memory of chickens and blood

One of my earliest memories is from when I was eight. It was nearly Thanksgiving. My grandfather emerged from the chicken coop, holding two white chickens upside down. My father joined him. They each laid a bird on a wooden block. Two thuds followed. The chickens stopped squawking.

Then my father handed them to me. I took their legs, one in each hand. Suddenly, they flailed; wild, frantic movements as their nervous systems shut down. Blood spattered my clothes. I screamed. My mother came rushing out and scolded them both, but the fear had already lodged itself in my bones.

A betrayal I never forgot

Then came Buster, our family dog. He was gentle, mostly black, with little white patches. One day, he vanished. My mother told us she had given him away to a farmer. The next afternoon, I saw him: lifeless, discarded near a rubbish container behind the borough building. Someone had shot him.

Did he suffer? Did he know what was coming?

From that day, I never fully trusted my mother again. The loss, the betrayal, and the cruelty of it marked me.

The fear kept growing

Roadkill became harder to ignore. Then movies became minefields. If a horse fell in a scene, I couldn’t bear it. I refused to believe those scenes were faked. When someone gave us a copy of Dances with Wolves, I saw a trailer showing skinned bison. I never watched the film.

Even everyday TV brought danger. The ASPCA adverts with starving dogs haunted me. I questioned how they were filmed. Were those dogs sedated, or truly suffering?

It got worse. My brother told me a story once: my sister’s dog had killed her cat. I stopped him before he could finish. I knew the images would haunt me.

Then I became a therapist

One of my clients seemed fine at first. He was calm. Ordinary. Then one day, he casually admitted that he had once shot his own dog. He then beat a pregnant donkey with a plank. It died two days later. He felt nothing.

I was frozen in horror. After the session, I broke down in front of my supervisor. She told me to stop seeing him. I did. But the memory stayed with me.

Beginning the path to healing

I sought therapy myself. My psychologist, Dr Lewis, suggested EMDR (eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing). I agreed, uncertain but willing. During our sessions, she guided me through painful images while moving her fingers in front of my eyes. The idea was to let the memories surface and release some of their hold.

It took time, but slowly, the panic started to loosen.

One morning, I was driving to work. A crowd gathered near the motorway exit. A deer had been hit. It was still alive, struggling. Its hip was shattered. I felt the panic coming back. I took the exit by mistake. Then I remembered my therapist’s mantra: “It happens. It’s too bad.”

I repeated it. I kept driving.

Where I am now

I still avoid distressing imagery. But the irrational panic is gone. I can function. I can drive. I can live. EMDR gave me something I didn’t have for years: a way to manage the fear. A way to be free.

And for that, I am grateful.

***

Adapted from “Realizing a Dream: Finding Passion in a Career“

Joyce D. Nash, PhD, is a retired clinical psychologist and award-winning author of ten books, including Maximize Your Body Potential. She holds doctorates in communication and clinical psychology from Stanford University and now lives in Eagle, Idaho.