What You Need To Know About Fear
It’s a good thing. Being absolutely terrified. It means some of the best parts of your life are right there on the other side, a moment away. Without exception it is the pit in my stomach, trust-your-gut sensation that tells me everything I need to know. It tells me Yes - do that thing. That impossible thing you should not/cannot do for a million different reasons. Yes. That one.
If I’m indecisive about whether I should write about something I ask myself one question (and I already know the answer): does it feel like I shouldn’t? Does it feel too personal/exposing/scary? If the answer is yes (always is), then I know I need to write about it. When we’re indecisive its because we’re afraid. Afraid of failure and judgement. It means I’m about to make myself really uncomfortable. And squirmy. And scared. Like I want to crawl out of my own skin and hide. Sometimes a little of these things. Sometimes a lot. And when it is a lot, then I know that things are happening. That I’m growing. That I’m learning. For me, discomfort means progress. The more resistance I have towards something, the more I know it is what I must do. Direct correlation. Like how it makes me short of breathe and antsy to think about putting my life out there in words. I second guess myself every second. I’ve delayed, procrastinated, overanalyzed and made excuses. I’ve given up, then started again, then decided I should just stop trying because it was never going to be perfect and I would never be really happy with it so why do it at all.
This is ridiculous, Sara. Why do you need to write about private and personal things and then actually share it? It’s TMI, anyway. You will be judged and laughed at and criticized. And a blog, seriously? Aren’t you like 10 years late to that game?
That f*ing voice. It just keeps pecking away. Sometimes it paralyzes me. I’m just stuck. But it also points me in the direction I am meant to go. My compass.
If I am avoiding/resisting/distancing myself from something it is the exact thing that I should do. It is the siren call to move towards that thing, not away. For me, that’s writing. Specifically, writing about my life. My experiences. Stuff that culturally we are not really supposed to talk about. Who made these rules, I have no idea. More importantly, why do I think they apply to me? They’ve never served me. Talking. Sharing. Writing. Transparency. Those are the tools, the portals that have made my life, LIFE. And I think they serve us all if we can get past the fear. Past the were not supposed to talk about hard or scary or big things. Past the fear of being judged, shamed, left out, marked in some way. And with this short life I have, if I’m not pushing myself to the point of discomfort and failure then I’m living passively. With a sense of unfulfillment. Superficially. On the surface. Dying on the vine.
This is not easy for me. Sharing my truth. But I know it is the way. And once you know things in that deep place where Knowing lives, you can’t unknow it. You either live knowing you are not doing the thing you must do or you do the thing you know you must do. Even though. Even though it is scary and intimidating and you will probably fail and it would be so much easier not to do it and people will judge you and criticize you. Especially then. Do the thing.
These are some of my favorite words. They help guide me when I get scared. When I keep pushing the thing down, ignoring it, pretending like I don’t know it’s there (it’s always there).
And for this year, my wish for each of us is small and very simple.
And it’s this.
I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.
Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You’re doing things you’ve never done before, and more importantly, you’re Doing Something.
So that’s my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make new mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody’s ever made before. Don’t freeze, don’t stop, don’t worry that it isn’t good enough, or it isn’t perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.”
—Neil Gaiman
Permission to royally fuck things up is liberating. For a time in my life I was an inner person and an outer person. The person I am and the person I showed the world. It’s exhausting and fake and soul crushing. Being all of me, the shiny stuff and the dark stuff and all the gray in between, its home. It’s my soft place to land.
Truth. Wholeness.
Maybe I’ll feel strange the next time I see someone who has read my words and now knows things about me. Like the real and hard and unfiltered things I talk about. Like, that I’m human (gasp). That I have great days and shitty days. That I have a body. And babies came out of my body. And now I have a different body. That I cry. That I need help. That I am apart from all the other things I am: mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend. That all these things are amazing and hard. That some days I feel I’ve lost my identity. It’s been swallowed up by motherhood. By the boxes I’ve tried to put myself in.
All of these things bring me to paper and pencil. Computer and keys.
It’s where I pour it out. It’s where I declutter and cleanse.
Decluttering raises your self-esteem, shifts your energy, opens you up to change and to reaching your full potential. Just like sorting, organizing and tossing things in your house, outer order = inner peace.
It’s not a one and done, this inner cleansing. It’s a rinse and repeat.
This place, this container of my words and thoughts and life.
This is me, holding myself accountable to the repeat. And I think it’s better with you. So I share. Unfiltered. And hope that it creates a web of connection and togetherness no matter where you are right now, reading these words. Know that I am here, too. And that simple knowing just makes things better. I know it does for me. I hope for you, too.