I have spent a lifetime trying not to feel fear. I never wanted the difficulties of my childhood to be an excuse for failure. I did not want to appear weak and needy; I wanted to be an invincible warrior. So, I did my best to go out there in the big bad world and carve out a place for myself. Be some image of what I thought strength was. And I tried, but always in the back of my mind was some hope that by gathering degrees and experiences and memorized mantras, I’d somehow be able to erase the shame of my secret fear.
Because, I thought, feeling fear meant succumbing to fear. Drowning in fear. Being powerless in the face of fear. And powerlessness I really what I feared.
And now I find myself in the middle of a warzone. Waiting, for who knows what. And I’m terrified.
But finally I’m not ashamed to say I’m scared. And just saying it, normalizing it, giving space for it, softens my insides. Maybe that little girl who pushed away her fear and saw fear as the opposite of strength, is still there. Still in need of a hug every now and then, and especially right now.
And maybe she needs reminding of all the mountains she has climbed and difficulties she has survived, and maybe she needs to know that real strength means loving all of ourselves, including our fears.
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