Why Some Problems Want to Stay

"Is there anything that would speak against your fear of heights being gone?" I stared at my trainer. I was sitting in the middle of an NLP training and had been working on my fear of heights for a while. Yet while the exercise worked remarkably well for the other participants, nothing happened for me. The fear remained unchanged. Something was getting in the way.
Of course, I wanted to get rid of my fear of heights. That was exactly why I was there. I didn't understand the question. Why would anything speak against it?

At least, that's what I thought. But before I could consciously think about it, the answer was already there. A clear yes. Something spoke against it. I still remember how confusing that moment was. On one hand, I wanted to get rid of the fear. On the other hand, I didn’t. It felt as if a door had suddenly opened. A door that had been invisible until then.
My trainer continued: "What would you no longer have if your fear of heights disappeared?" Again, the answer came instantly. No more attention. No more consideration. No longer being seen.

As I said those words, a vivid memory appeared in my mind. I saw myself as a child hiking with my parents and my brother. I was the youngest. The pace was too fast for me. I was tired. It was exhausting. I didn't want to continue. But somehow, I couldn't say that. Maybe I didn't have the words. Maybe I didn't want to admit it.
So my younger self found another solution: My fear of heights. It achieved what I couldn't achieve myself. I was allowed to slow down. I was allowed to make less effort. The others adjusted to me. And I received what I had really been longing for: Attention.

Because of that seemingly harmless question, I suddenly understood: My fear of heights was not the problem. It was the solution. A solution to something I had not been able to express as a child. The pace was too fast. It was too exhausting. I wanted attention and consideration. And the fear of heights made sure I got exactly that.
Of course, this unconscious strategy came with a price. The fear limited me. It took away my freedom. It kept me from experiences I actually wanted to have. And yet, it gave me something that at the time felt even more important than freedom: Attention. It made sure I was seen.
For the first time, I understood why the fear had been there in the first place. And for the first time, I stopped fighting it. I no longer had to get rid of it. I could finally accept it as a part of me that had been trying to help.

My trainer then invited me to imagine that a miracle had happened overnight. My fear of heights had simply disappeared. No fear. No inner brakes. No uncertainty.
As I listened, something strange happened. In order to understand her words, I had to imagine, just for a brief moment, that the fear of heights was actually gone. Just for a tiny fraction of a second. Just as a thought experiment. Yet in that tiny moment, a small crack appeared in my existing reality. For the first time, it seemed possible that the fear of heights might not belong to me after all. And in that very moment, something changed. The fear of heights that had accompanied me for so long was suddenly gone.
Without the fear, the world was not emptier. It was fuller. More colorful. More beautiful. I could enjoy the view. I could enjoy the mountains. I could enjoy hiking. And I felt free. In that freedom, I no longer needed the attention I had once been looking for. I could give it to myself. And in return, I gained something far more valuable: Joy. Ease. Connection.

A few weeks later, I wanted to know whether this change would hold up outside the training room. So I went on a ridge hike at Lake Achensee. There were steep drops on both sides. Below me lay the turquoise lake, surrounded by mountains. In the past, even the thought of such a hike would have been difficult. I would never have done it. But on that day, everything was different. I could enjoy the view. I could appreciate the beauty of the landscape. I could simply be there. Without fear. Without inner struggle. With every step, it became clearer that something fundamental had changed. The fear of heights was gone. Not only in theory, but in practice. And it never came back. Because what I had once needed the fear for, I could now provide for myself in other ways.

When I look back on this experience today, I don't think first about the fear, nor about the hike. I think about one question: "Is there anything that would speak against your problem being gone?"
Because most inner conflicts are not signs of weakness. Not blockages. Not mistakes. More often, they are strategies that once made perfect sense. And that is why the most important question is often not: "How do I get rid of this?" But: "What purpose does it serve?"