Cherophobia – a new word

I’m slowly learning to be happy, which is something I’ve always feared, as happiness is usually a precursor to a depressive episode. The happier I become, the deeper the low that follows. The most recent low was particularly bad, but as is always the case, my mood recovers as quickly as it falls. While self-destructive thoughts can fill my mind, I start to recover before I can act on them.

Today I’ve learned that there’s a word that describes this fear of happiness. Cherophobia is derived from the Greek word ‘chero’ which means to rejoice. Googling the word reveals something horribly familiar: When a person experiences cherophobia, they’re often afraid to participate in activities that many would characterize as fun, or of being happy.’ For as long as I can remember, I’ve avoided anything that could lead to happiness.

But I’m finding it increasingly difficult to stop myself feeling happy, and think that finally, the time has come to embrace it. Our new home is fast taking shape, and occupies a super spot on the edge of Leiston, overlooking fields. We’re a 10 minute drive from Snape Maltings, and so able to attend lots of concerts, and we already know more people here, than we did in 36 years of living in Norfolk.

Better still, is that as I slowly allow myself to be happy, I find that I can think more clearly about my next book, which I have started to research and which will explore our relationship with soil. Discovering the word cherophobia this morning has coincided with my growing ability to allow myself to be happy.