Conquering Fear: An Independent Woman’s Story

By Angie Oliveira

I’d like to think that I’m an independent person, somebody who will try to do things once before asking others for help. I guess this is the stubbornness in me, but I firmly believe that you have to learn to take care of yourself before you let others take care of you.

I’m always dispensing this advice to my friends,  my married sisters and especially my mom, who I think relies heavily on my dad.  My relationship with my boyfriend is no exception.  I bought a house before so I could live on my own,  and the boy moved to England to pursue his dream to teach aboard.

Since then I’ve learned to kill ugly bugs and sleep in an old creaky house.  I rarely play the damsel in distress act because I hate to appear weak, but there are certain things that I just can’t deal with, specifically mice.

Mice issues are inevitable especially when you live in an older neighbourhood in Toronto and are doing some kind of renovation. The problem first reared its ugly head when I started to gut the basement.

At that time the tenant upstairs had a huge amount of mice in her apartment and the current noise electronic rodent repellent devices weren’t just cutting it.  It really didn’t affect me since I was still living in my parent’s cushy suburban home.

A rodent expert was called and the mice issue appeared to have dissipated by the time I moved in. The boy was living with me for 3 months and not a mouse in sight; that was of course until he moved abroad.

Once I found 2 mice stuck on glue traps in the basement.  I called my dad in a panic who instructed that I had to cover them with a bucket just in case they broke free.  I had to give myself a pep talk just to muster enough courage  to do that.  After a couple of  “I can’t do this,”  in a tone that should only be reserved for six-year olds,  I finally screamed and quickly threw the bucket over the traps.

My parents cannot understand why I would be afraid of such a small thing as a mouse. My answer is exactly the same as to why my mother won’t drive on the highway, or why my father won’t stand in a body of water that is more than knee deep.  It’s our phobia.

My dad is quick to remind me that mice are tiny creatures who “will never run to you, they will always run away from you”.  Yes,  I understand they are harmless,  but they still creep the hell out of me.

I once again had to face my fear.  I woke up to the sound of a mouse that was caught in a black box trap sitting in the corner of my bedroom.

It was 1:30am, I panicked and I had a “why-the-hell-did-my-boyfriend-leave-me?” moment. Yes,  this so-called independent person is now wishing her boyfriend was around to help her. What else was a girl to do,  so I called my dad.  I had two options, cover the trap with a bucket to muffle the sound or move to the next room.