As a young child, I was terrified of the bathroom. Not because it was dirty or stinky, or even that it was dark. I feared it because it harbored a monster. Sitting down on the toilet, I faced our bright red shower curtain. It was a secret portal to the Red Devil’s house. I could hear him, waiting with bated breath, preparing to attack as soon as my pants were around my ankles.
Hyperventilating on the potty was a regular occurrence. I would scream out for one of my parents to save me, only to be told, “You’re acting ridiculous.” A rustle of the curtain, no doubt the fan blowing across it, was irrefutable evidence that he was about to attack.
To this day, I’m a fast pee-er. I don’t know what that Red Devil had against me in my youth. I was just an unsuspecting little girl trying to use the bathroom. But you can be darn sure that I’ve never donned a red shower curtain in any of my bathrooms as an adult.
* * * * *
Fear and I? We go way back.
But over time, we’ve both changed. I’ve gotten older (and wider), and Fear has gotten wiser and more cunning. Instead of fabricating fears out of my immediate surroundings, Fear has learned to evoke panic through anticipation. Fear has become adept at tossing out “what ifs” like innocent hand grenades, delighting in my panic as the smoke contorts into vivid images of worst-case scenarios.
As time has progressed, we’ve come to agree to disagree most of the time. We maintain a cool wariness of one another. For my part, I understand that Fear has access to my most intimate worries and can and will use them against me. Fear recognizes that I have logic on my side, which can trump any worst-case scenario, permitting I’m in the right mindset… or far away from any red shower curtains. In this way, Fear and I have danced together for as long as I can remember.
* * * * *
In the summer of 2012, a grapefruit-sized cyst on my right ovary appeared during a routine checkup. Without operating on it, the doctor couldn’t be sure if it was cancerous or not. His earliest surgery opening was three weeks into the future. Three weeks suddenly felt like a lifetime.
A relatively new parent, my three-year-old in tow, the prospect of not seeing his life unfold was more than I could bear. Over and over in my head, I played out scenarios in which he would grow up without a mother, or worse, a mother who wasn’t me.
More than devils behind red shower curtains or the scary movie covers that plague the Netflix home page in October, the fear of death had captured my attention. It didn’t help that only a few short years before, my mother had died of cancer. It was already something very present on my mind.
* * * * *
As I’ve gone on to live life (the cyst was cancer-free by the way) my relationship with Fear has once again morphed. We still dance, and this global pandemic made us slip into some old habits, but more often than not, I lead. I may still flinch at most little things – like when my phone vibrates or the doorbell rings. But I fear the big things less.
Fear, it turns out, cannot lurk behind resolve.
Fear has a weakness and it’s not fearlessness. Honestly, it was never realistic for me to become fearless or even “brave.” Instead, I decided to befriend Fear by becoming more aware of myself. After all, Fear is a part of me. Now when I allow myself to sit with Fear, I hold firm to my foundation. Fear strikes up a tornado around me. Fire and brimstone crash about me, and I simply sit, unabated. I might sweat through my deodorant, and maybe even cry a little, but I am unmoved.
Little by little, in this way, I’m becoming more intimate with fear. We are developing a more compassionate understanding of one another. Instead of feeling resentful for being tethered together, we are learning to grow by coming together. Fear isn’t here to make life difficult. Fear is here to reveal to us the many layers of our being.
As Pema Chodron wrote in her book, When Things Fall Apart, (1997), “Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth.” It’s not in anticipating, planning, or running from our fears that we become more resilient. It’s in standing and facing them in peace. It turns out that when we run from our fears, they grow in power. Taking the time to know what we fear, and why, is the only way we can ever fully know ourselves.
* * * * *
Fear is a universal feeling for all living creatures. It’s an opportunity presented to each of us to grow in awareness. And when we’re able to stand our ground and look Fear in the eye, we may pee ourselves a little, sure. But we’ll also soften our hearts and find a deep connection with all living things. It’s not a journey for the faint of heart. It’s a journey for the warrior sleeping inside each of us.
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Before you go, I just wanted to say thanks for reading. If you’re passionate about living a meaningful life that you can appreciate right now, you might like some of the other things I’ve written about.
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Thanks so much for your support! ~ Anon
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