A Letter To My Fear
I’ve been struggling to write. Even writing on my journal, which I did every day, has been hard to do. This gets me thinking — why do I resist doing things that bring me closer to myself, when the truth is that this is exactly what I need?
I’ve been conditioned to seek comfort in things that disconnect me from myself — alcohol, smoke, unhealthy food, and stupid TV shows that I passively watch for hours. They do the job temporarily, but after the effects have passed, I still feel restless, like something is still missing. Recently I learned that this is called disassociation. Disassociation is a way to cope because being present in my body and sitting with my feelings is work. And after working to fulfil all the external demands of the world, there’s very little energy left to work on what’s inside.
Society is shaped in a way that benefits from our disconnection. One of their favourite slogans is Happiness is within, but they ensure we’re too tired to go within. And so we keep on dwelling at the surface, where we are more susceptible to the capitalist messaging of scarcity: you don’t have enough, which, in our consumer-based world, is the same as you are not enough. And of course they have just the right product or service that will make all our issues go away.
I need to focus on the fact that writing gives me LIFE. Through writing I revisit my shadows, but I don’t look at my shadows just for the sake of it. I look at them so I can recognise what’s not shadow. Writing leads me to the light and lightness that exists within. To that part of myself that the system is so invested in keeping at bay, because in there I’m at peace. There’s no need to consume because there’s no need for anything external — it’s all there, in this little pocket of everything that is divine that exists in me.
The situation that I’ve been going through with my health has got me overidentified with my shadows. I’ve been so afraid that all I can see is misery. I see people being stupid and hateful, and it blinds me to the joy and generosity that is also there (or so I’ve been trying to convince myself).
This overidentification with what’s worst in the world holds me back. It prevents me from being brave, because being brave requires trusting that things will get better. While I’m in fear, I am cynical and there is no need to do anything differently, so I am protected. But this cynical place has become terribly uncomfortable — it is clear that I’ve outgrown it; the constant restlessness I feel inside is the tell-tale sign. I don’t want to be cynical. I want to live in hope, joy, and gratitude!
Now, I realise that hopelessness and cynicism have done an excellent job in convincing me I need to keep myself small in order to survive. But my soul tells me I can’t keep myself small anymore. I am at the point where I can hear the soul’s calling, begging me to surrender; and yet I struggle to really own that. And to let the rest burn.
I talk about authenticity while hiding behind a mask because I resist my truest self (what a hypocrite). I fear the cost of owning up to her will be unsustainable. And so, I have her trapped deep within me, in the basement of my own self, pretending she isn’t even there. But she is: she’s behind my pleasantries and obedience; behind the “good girl” façade I have perfected over the years. But lately she’s been banging on the basement’s door loudly, screaming that she wants out. Still, I smother her screams in smoke, in drinks, in cynicism, and in whatever stupid bullshit I can find to keep myself distracted. And I tell myself this is good. And I try to convince myself that this is enough. But she is not having it. She is begging to be set free, because she knows the cost of keeping her in is higher than letting her out.
Something needs to leave to make room for her.
Until now, my worldview and mindset have been rooted by Fear. This deep Fear has been within me since I first realised I was a person. It got there because I felt unsafe as a child, and as such, I learned that the world is dangerous and I can’t trust anyone or anything. So I’d better keep my guard up ALL THE TIME.
It is hard to let go of The Fear because it is so familiar to me that it almost feels like a friend. For a long time, all I had was myself and my Fear — it protected me, guided me, and permeated my decisions. How do I step away from something that’s probably been the only constant in my life?
At first, I thought it was about saying FUCK YOU to it — as if it was this awful toxic thing that did me no good, and I had to breakup with it like I did with my toxic ex-boyfriend. However, the truth is that this Fear kept me alive for all these years. Now I’m thinking it’s not about the aggressive energy of the big fat fuck it — it’s about gently putting the Fear down, like we do for a pet who is suffering — a death by euthanasia; a generous act of love. I’ll put it down because it’s served its purpose, and it doesn’t belong here anymore. It’s time to put it out of its misery.
Let’s do it.
To My Fear,
I need to let you know that I am grateful for you. You allowed my young, fragile psyche to survive when it didn’t have the internal resources to do anything else but be afraid. You allowed me to survive a place where whenever true emotions were expressed, or any sort of defiance came up, violence was the response. You protected me at all costs so I could continue to exist in that environment without losing my mind. I understand.
Now, I hope you understand that I am not in that place anymore. I now have the internal resources to cope with the consequences of being my most authentic self, of the power of my own defiance, of my truest thoughts and feelings. I know this is really hard for you — I can feel you shaking within me as I write these words — but I need you to understand that I can continue without you now. We’ve been partners for a long time, but it’s time to end this partnership so that the person I need to become has room to flourish.
I promise that what’s coming next will make you proud, and that your passing won’t be for nothing. Your leaving is a necessary step for me to become the person who you’ve always wanted me to be, but you were too protective to let it happen. You don’t need to protect me anymore. Can you please trust me on this one? I got this. I hope this can give you some peace as you walk away.
Now, you must go as Wild Woman has been banging on the basement door for far too long. She wants out and she wants the lead. She is the one who will keep me alive from now on, as keeping her in the basement is what’s killing me now. I know I’ll be in good hands under her guidance — I hope you can learn to trust this feeling too.
Before we part ways, I hope you feel embraced and at peace — your job here is done!
I’ll be ok. I promise.
Goodbye.
Paula
