Writers Jam

Courage is not the absence of fear
It is the feeling of this fear
Being afraid & showing up anyway

– Alexandra Blakely

A few days ago, I saw a post on social media which said that the fear of being too much & the fear of not being enough are the same fear. The fear to be seen, witnessed, perceived. Fabrications of a mind which would rather be asphyxiated by the soft, fluffy cushions of comfort than find itself plunged into uncharted territory.

Sometimes, this fear presents itself as the edge of a cliff. Standing at its precipice & looking down, I am met by the gaze of the Abyss. Each pointed tip & razor-sharp edge of the jagged terrain below is an unforgiving mirror held up to Truth. My truth. What is my truth? How much of it is truly mine & how much is inherited? Can I tell it apart from the crafty, shapeshifting silhouettes of fear?

Every time I pick up the pen, every time I let my tongue flirt with truth, every time I let my fingertips caress the flesh of forbidden fruits, the fear instinctively cloaks itself around my aching, yearning heart. But you see, the fear too, is a friend. I see this crystal clear now. A protector that derives its sole purpose from keeping me safe, & sheltered inside its masterful cocoon of illusions. Like a ribcage, the fear scrambles to hold the immensity of a human heart which only knows expansion. Yet another cosmic dance. Everything is a dance, a movement, if allowed to be.

Do I live inside this fear or does this fear live inside of me? Are we two voyagers on a pilgrimage? Or is the fear a sickly voyeur that likes to get off on smallness & unrealized potential?

"But you're not even naming what I truly am," the fear utters under its hot breath, palpable on my face in the shape of microscopic beads of sweat. "I still have you by the throat."

No, you fucking don't. Let me… let me try. You asked for this.

When I was a child, I was up to no good. When I was a child, I was told to be strong when I was soft. When I was a child, I was taught to be small when I was fierce. When I was a child, I was expected to obey when rage filled my lungs & truth exploded inside my belly. When I was a child, I got slapped & kicked & battered when I said no. When I was a child, I choked on enforced silences & words left unsaid. When I was a child, I got really good at dressing my own wounds until they camouflaged perfectly into my skin. When I was a child, I learned that rebellion is a blasphemous pariah so I painted its face black to help it blend into the contours of my shadow. When I was a child, I was expected to act like an adult. When I was a child, I was also, in many ways, an adult.

And now I'm an adult. Yet the child lives on inside me. The fear often looks like survivor's guilt now. Existential dread, too. Or the imminent threat of an infernal meteorite blowing us all to bits. At an early age, we learn to fear change, death, the dead. But the dead don't terrify me - it's the living that make me tremble of fear.

Dying into living is the only way I know how. Every day, I let my fears die a visceral death so I can live. I let my gaze incinerate the many faces of my not-enoughness & let my courage torch the very fabric of my too-muchness. Softly, I put fear to rest inside the folds of my being with a lullaby that's etched into my heart.

Courage is not the absence of fear
It is the feeling of this fear
Being afraid & showing up anyway