Fear comes in many disguises.
It can hide and mask itself as any emotion. It can take a disaster, seemingly unite a nation and then turn humanity against itself. It convinces us to stay in dark places, abusive relationships, horrible jobs and general unhappy lives because for some reason that feels safer than the fear of the unknown, the fear of the what could be…what if it could get better? But then again, what if I leave because I think it could get better and it turns out it’s not? “What if” is the co-pilot of fear.
Not sure if any of you are keeping up with the math, but it is now February. In confronting myself over why I haven’t gotten around to writing the article I referred back to a blog I posted back in September—It’s not that I haven’t had the time, or the ideas—my mind is pretty much a running narrative at all times. No, when I really peel away the layers of excuses, at the center of the beast beats the heart of pure fear.
I have started to make myself aware of how many times in a day I use words such as “fear” or “i’m afraid”. Along with the dastardly “I should”, it is the other one I’m channeling awareness to these days.
My fear of what may happen stops me from allowing things to happen. My fear that the guy I like may turn out to be someone who will hurt me as much as the last guy did, stopped me from moving on; it sent me back to that last guy who hurt me. At least I knew what to expect from him. My fear of being stuck in a job I hate stopped me from getting a job. My fear of being stuck anywhere has kept me living out of a suitcase for the last two years. My fear of having to show up in this world to do and be everything I know I am destined to be, and what that means, and how much it scares me.