How you can conquer your fear of dogs: I was terrified of them for 37 years but now I'm a committed dog lover hopelessly devoted to my rescue Lucy. This is exactly how I transformed myself... and how you can too

I am now a dog person – and no one is more surprised than me. A hopelessly devoted dog mum to a mixed breed rescue called Lucy: my first and only child.It’s quite the about-turn considering I used to have a crippling phobia of dogs.A panicky fear would build in my chest if I spotted one coming towards me. I’d immediately cross the road and avoid parks; off-lead canines were the stuff of nightmares.I certainly couldn’t be in the same room as a dog. My childhood friend Danielle had a German shepherd named Moss, a huge beast which gravitated towards me, as if he could smell my fear. ‘Get him away!’ I’d scream, frozen in horror.People would ask if I’d ever been bitten. But no: the terror was always there, part of me.My younger sister longed for a family dog. She’d plead with our parents to get one while I’d warn, ‘I’ll run away if you do.’By the time I was in my 20s and living in London, my fear was an ingrained part of my personality. On our very first date 15 years ago, my now husband told me that he wanted a dog. ‘I’ll never get one,’ I told him. If this man wants a dog, I thought, then I’m not the woman for him.But that conversation was, in fact, a trigger for change. Over the years, dogs crept into chats about our future and what we wanted it to look like. I didn’t want to be a rigid woman incapable of growth. Back home, I learned to fight the impulse to cross the road when a dog approached, writes Alice. (She's pictured with her dog Lucy, a mixed-breed rescue)That’s how I found myself sitting opposite a ‘breakthrough hypnotherapist’ on London’s Harley Street. He shone a light back and forth which I followed with my eyes until I fell into a hazy, dream-like state in which I revisited multiple moments from my past where fear had taken over my rational mind.Under hypnosis, I told my childhood self that there was nothing to be afraid of. Moss wasn’t a blood-thirsty monster but a gentle giant who wanted to say hello. My fear was based on a feeling – flight, fight, freeze – that I could now control.I left that clinic reborn. But the work didn’t end there. If my husband and I were going to get a dog one day, I needed to actively like them rather than just feel unafraid. I needed to be exposed to dogs.Shortly after the session, I visited my friend who had a French bulldog, Alvin. I’d been petrified of him as a boisterous pup but, over a weekend, I learnt to adore him. I fed him cheese and stroked his belly.When I sent him a photo of me cradling Alvin like a baby, my husband called to ask if I was OK, as if it was a sick joke.Back home, I learned to fight the impulse to cross the road when a dog approached. Most ignored me but if a dog wanted to say hello, I’d give them a stroke. I also changed my jogging route to spot dogs in the park and found myself becoming jealous of their owners.So we started getting dogs from BorrowMyDoggy – an online platform which connects owners with ‘borrowers’ who want to hang out with dogs. We met Simba, a labrador who would plonk herself on the floor and refuse to budge, Ray, a labradoodle, who was so cute and lovable, and Juno, a gentle black lab.Slowly but surely, I began to realise that dogs weren’t out to get me – they were unique beings, full of love.Gradually, I found myself falling in love with dogs who were up for adoption on rescue organisations' websites. That’s how I came across Lucy, during the locked-down days of 2020 A shaggy blonde stray with mistrust in her eyes. I told my husband we had to meet her. Then we brought her to live with us in our garden flat in south LondonThere were highs and lows. Once Simba brought a dead bird in from the garden but I shocked myself by dealing with the situation.But as well as making my husband happy, everyday life got easier, too. I was less jumpy – no longer filled with trepidation about potential ‘danger’ lurking around every corner. A deep empathy had been unlocked for all animals – even pigeons.Gradually, I found myself falling in love with dogs who were up for adoption on rescue organisations' websites. That’s how I came across Lucy, during the locked-down days of 2020.A shaggy blonde stray with mistrust in her eyes. I told my husband we had to meet her. So we did, three times in her foster home, before we brought her to live with us in our garden flat in south London.‘Be careful when you get her out of the car,’ the non-profit Give A Dog A Home warned, ‘that’s when she’s likely to bolt.’ And just like I used to be, she was full of fear.Even though I’d worked hard on my phobia, it flickered back in those early days. I felt weirdly awkward when I was alone in a room with her – on high alert when she moved.Many times in those first years, I screamed, internally, ‘What have we done?’ Lucy snapped and cowered until gradually she realised that we weren’t going to hurt her.But six years in and the connection is beyond anything I’ve ever known. Lucy doesn’t ask for anything from me and yet I’d give her everything.When I bury my face in her fur and breathe in her musty scent as though it’s the head of my newborn baby, I’m so glad I made it here: high on our love.When Lucy leans her body against my legs or looks into my eyes without fear, our bond is right there – indefinable, untouchable but tangible – so strong that others can now see it, too.My husband always knew it would happen: that there was a dog lover inside me. He thinks he’s Lucy’s favourite, and she and I let him believe it. But we know the truth – she’s my soul dog.