I used to think of phobias as dramatic, life-stopping fears, the kind that keep a germaphobe wrapped in layers of protection or make someone avoid flying entirely, even if it means missing a family wedding. I knew agoraphobes who simply refused to leave home. To me, phobias were intense and all-consuming, powerful enough to make people give up life’s pleasures rather than face their fears.

At least, that’s what I believed—until I discovered I had one myself, though a small one.

Many of us might carry a “little phobia” or two—so small they’re easy to hide, even from ourselves. They may seem harmless, but I suspect they often have deeper roots than we realize.

Mine revealed itself back in college. I noticed I could never leave my bed unmade, unlike my roommate who thought nothing of it. I wasn’t a neat freak in every way—clothes could pile up, papers could scatter, but the bed had to be made. I didn’t know why, and it didn’t seem important enough to question.

Years later, I realized it wasn’t just a preference. If I even thought of leaving the bed unmade, a wave of dread would hit me, a sick, uneasy feeling I couldn’t tolerate. So I always made the bed, no matter where I lived or with whom. Even after marrying, I kept that task for myself.

It seemed like a harmless quirk, possibly even a positive one. Who doesn’t enjoy a tidy room? I never connected it to anything deeper, not until a major life change approaching retirement prompted me to begin psychoanalysis.

Therapy uncovered long-buried experiences: my father’s death when I was just two years old, his slow decline in the bed that eventually remained unmade, and the silence that followed in my home. As a child, I couldn’t name my fear or grief, but it lodged itself deep in me and as I came to see, in the image of an unmade bed.

Through therapy, I revisited those emotions and processed them fully. The fear faded, leaving only the habit. Now, I can leave the bed unmade without that sickening feeling, though I still usually make it, simply out of routine.

My small phobia never seriously interfered with my life, but it taught me something: even the most “trivial” fears can carry echoes of profound early experiences. They may point to unresolved emotions waiting to be acknowledged. Following that thread, however small, can lead to a surprising sense of freedom.

The night I finished writing this, I didn’t make the bed and at bedtime, I simply pulled up the covers and went to sleep.