By Charity Montieth/reporter

I let out a shrill scream of terror when a spider comes within five feet of me, and the sight of a nurse with a medicine-filled syringe leaves me quivering in panic. These are fears I have no problem displaying in public.

But I have kept one phobia a quiet secret until now: my fear of failure. I’d rather be vaccinated by a giant swarm of tarantulas than fail. That’s how deep my fear of failure is — or was.

But at some point, we all have to face our fears, and getting a college education has helped me do exactly that.

I started at TCC in 2005. After a series of crummy jobs in retail management, I was determined to find a career I could love. I had worked out this little degree plan in my head. I’d take on a full course load, all year, including summer and minimesters. In doing so, I figured I could obtain my four-year degree in three.

In class, I was a maniac. I was that one person you hate, you know, the one who answers every question and gets mad over a 98. I took on extra-curricular activities that required several hours a week. And I had a part-time job, a husband and a daughter. I was Superwoman, and I could do it all flawlessly — or so I thought.

I can’t say that no one warned me about taking on too much because nearly everyone did, my husband, counselors, advisers, professors. I just didn’t listen.

It started to unravel slowly. But it pretty much fell apart in one semester, which I equate to hell, with algebra, a Spanish 2 course, a literature class requiring a new novel every week and an online computer class that was entirely too technical for my liking.

One little thing I forgot to factor into the equation — sleep. I survived on two-three hours of sleep a night during the week. I tried to catch up on the weekends, often sleeping until 3 in the afternoon, and this cut into family time.

I barely survived the semester with C’s and D’s. My family felt neglected. I was completely burnt out. And even worse, in my mind I was a complete failure. I was ashamed. People would ask how school was going, and I would tell them I was taking a break.

The truth was that I thought about quitting. I had given up on my dreams of investigative journalism.

The prospect of going back to a retail store was unbearable. I wanted to hide from the world, so I slept an entire month away.

My saving grace came in the form of a commercial. I was getting dressed and I heard a man say, “Getting your Ph.D. is going to take some sacrifices.” Then a woman, “There were nights when I only got two hours of sleep.” The basic message: finish school.

It hit home. In those 60 seconds, I realized I’m not the only person going through this.

After some long, hard thinking, I recognized that the pressure to finish school in three years with a 4.0 GPA existed only because I created it for myself.

True failure would have been allowing myself to quit. But that kind of failure is not an option.

In facing this fear, I have learned to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and I will get there.

And yes, I’m keeping my eyes peeled for spiders along the way.