Dear Fear is a blog post I wrote in October 2017. It’s one of the rawest and most honest pieces of writing I had ever publicly released up until that point and it revealed some pretty dark personal moments I went through over the years. Although I originally intended on only writing it for myself, as a way to heal from the difficulties I was going through at the time, I eventually decided to share it on social media, with the hope that it may help others going through similar issues. The huge amount of positive responses I received from so many people, including some I barely knew, truly touched me and reminded me of why I feel extremely grateful for my story – the good, the bad, and everything in between. Since it’s a post that seemed to affect a lot of readers, I thought I’d share it here. Hope you enjoy.
Dear Fear,
It’s me, your old friend, your dependable confidant, your submissive and obedient good girl. We’ve had some truly bonding times together over the course of these three decades, haven’t we? You’ve guided me through many intense and life-altering experiences and I really can’t think of a time when you weren’t there, always at the forefront of my mind. I’ve honestly never been able to rely on anyone or anything quite like you before and you’ve become the closest and most frequent feeling to me. At first, in the early years, you were there, but only in sporadic alarming moments, acting like a full-on protective shield. You caused me to duck when a flying ball would come charging towards me and you caused me to be on high alert in a dark, unrecognizable room. But then you slowly but surely started to be there for me at almost all times, and you even brought along the devoted team you led of Anger, Sadness, Guilt, Shame, and Jealousy.
On my first day of school, you held me powerfully in your stubborn grasp and told me not to speak to any of the new people around me. “Don’t say a word,” you whispered in my head, setting a strong foundation by laying out the first set of heavy bricks to my future wall of silence. You let me know these fellow students were not like me at all and advised me that they would judge me because I didn’t have anything smart to say. I didn’t know as much as they did and if I acted loud and outgoing like the popular, cool girl sitting next to me, I would surely look like a fool. I wasn’t that cool and I never would be. You reminded me that trying wouldn’t change that.
When it was my turn to speak my name and favorite color in our classroom introduction circle, you blanketed my brain and caused me to freeze up, which in turn, made the teacher get angry. “You’re not special so stop acting like you are and just speak like the others!” she shouted. The students laughed. But, Fear, we knew better than to obey because she was right about me not being special. That was EXACTLY why I shouldn’t take part! At least we one-upped her on that one. After that incident, you proceeded to tell me that not speaking in class was the only safe way out and you were doing me, the other students, and even the teacher a favor by encouraging this, because remember, I had nothing of true substance to say and I never would. You pleasantly demanded I stay in this silent world whenever I was in school or encountered an unfamiliar outside situation and you kept me there for seven years.
You stayed by my side when my best friend from elementary school convinced me to join her in walking door to door selling products to generous and kind people from an outdated school fundraiser booklet. They willingly handed out their hard-earned money for a well-made blanket or delicious box of chocolates that they would unknowingly never receive. When I looked at my friend and almost expressed my displeasure, you spoke up. “You’re lucky she’s even hanging out with you,” you said. “Just do what she wants. What do you think? That you deserve free friends? No way. You have to earn friendships.” My friend and I continued with our selfish plan.
You followed me all through middle school and when the boy in my class pointed out my not so clear teenage complexion with a look of disgust, you were there too. You stopped me from telling him he wasn’t nice because you reminded me that what he was saying was true. It was only a matter of time before someone pointed it out. I wasn’t pretty like the other clear-skinned girls and I had no right to pretend like his words were anything but the facts. Hey, at least he was being honest.
You were even true to me when I started my working life. You made a strong presence when those co-workers at that one summer job I had decided to give me all the hard and messy work while they whispered and laughed at me together in the corner. And when I stepped into the back room at that other retail job I had years later and overheard that manager making fun of me with another employee, you showed up again. You also didn’t hesitate to push your way in when another manager scolded me and asked me if I was stupid after I made the mistake of selecting the wrong price for a product while ringing up a customer. Even though I tried to resist you by stating my case, you were stronger and won the tug of the mental war. “You are not good enough for this job, you are never going to be as good as the other employees and they are all doing you a favor by even putting up with you and your stupid mistakes. Don’t try to act otherwise. You may get fired and then you won’t even be able to pay for the roof above your head with the nice couple who so generously let YOU, of all people, rent a room in their home.” Point taken, Fear.
You’ve also been a contributing factor in the kind of jobs I applied to. You’ve kept me from those highly praised companies and made me feel safe with the smaller family-owned businesses that offered me nothing more than being another hand in an office. You stopped me from speaking out when I found out that one of my co-workers who worked in the same position I did for the same amount of time, was making more money than I was. “Erin, do you really think you deserve to be paid that much? She may be younger, but she’s better and don’t even try to say otherwise. You’re just going to make a fool out of yourself. Remember, you’re lucky to have this job. Don’t push it.” You told me I couldn’t possibly get a good writing job because good writing jobs were only for “real” writers who would put an amateur writer like me to shame. “Don’t apply, you’re obviously just going to get rejected,” you told me as I eyed the large salary and fancy pants title of “Staff Writer” on the many applications I barely skimmed. “Who cares if you have a degree in Writing, Literature and Publishing? Any idiot can take writing classes and pass them. It doesn’t mean you can write.” When I occasionally got tired of your nagging and did apply for a great writing opportunity, you pointed out that it wasn’t going to last. Once they found out my writing skills were not up to par, they would let me go. I was prepared.
As I got a little older, you saved me by stopping me from joining friends as they excitingly rode the roller coasters in the amusement parks. “Don’t do it, your friends are stronger than you. They can handle the thrill. You can’t and it could do damage. Steer clear.” I listened, stayed back alone and watched as my friends would check into the fun rides. I sat patiently and waited while they looked back at me with a lasting look of disappointment. “Maybe I should get some cotton candy until they’re done,” I thought.
Ah, and of course you were my best friend when it came to my relationships, weren’t you? Like that time we found out that the guy I was seeing had a girlfriend and new baby living across the country that he failed to mention. “Don’t confront him, Erin,” you scoldingly told me. “Don’t you realize he was giving you the attention you wanted for a sweet but short time? Do you really expect him to commit to you too? Who do you think you are? Don’t be ridiculous.” Or how about the time you told me not to ask for the phone number of that cute boy I had a long and interesting conversation with while waiting in line for a show? “If he really liked you, he would ask for your number,” you boldly stated. “Don’t ask him. You’re going to look stupid and get a big fat ‘NO.’ Or, if you’re lucky, a poor excuse.” I obeyed. And of course, we can’t forget the time that other sweet and caring boy sat me down, looked me in the eyes and said, “Erin, I really, really like you. Will you be my girlfriend?” You took a really strong hold of me then. “Nope, don’t do it,” you said. “You’ll eventually lose him when he gets wind of the real you if you let it out. And he may even find somebody better. You’re not cool, and you’re definitely not worthy of love from such a wonderful and put together man. Keep your distance, sweet girl. It’s fun now, but a serious long-term relationship? Not gonna happen. DON’T SAY YES. THERE’S EITHER SOMETHING SERIOUSLY WRONG WITH THIS DUDE BECAUSE HE SO EASILY LIKES YOU OR HE WILL EVENTUALLY LEAVE YOU. Freeze. Stop. Just say ‘NO.’ Or at least ‘not yet.’ The ‘needing time’ excuse is always good too. OK?” Cool. Whew. Dodged a bullet there.
And what about the time I almost called up the other boy to finally tell him I loved him after the thought wouldn’t escape my brain? You helped me there too. “You can’t love him, Erin. Resist it. Love is not for you. It has never gone right and never will. What do you think he’s going to say? ‘I love you too’? Hahahaha You’re just being needy. Stop trying to make these boys be with you by expressing feelings. Don’t bother them too much and only be what they want you to be so you don’t drive them away sooner rather than later. Remember to be grateful that they’re spending their precious time with you.” Thanks, Fear. I almost made a fool of myself again, didn’t I? Saying, “I love you?” I hadn’t said that to any boy since that one from many years ago, remember? And we all know what happened with him. We don’t want to go there again, do we? Definitely not. Whew.
Finally, Fear, you were the one that stuck by my side the most during my biggest life-changing moment: losing my Dad. Yes, you let me know that I was not a good girl and I was the one who caused him too much stress from my foolish 10-year old kid ways. I caused his heart to be too tired to beat anymore and I could easily do it again to my Mom or anyone else close to me. “Watch out, you’re not behaving in the way you should. You’re asking for too much. You’re having too much fun. You’re not listening to what others want. THIS COULD HAVE DIRE CONSEQUENCES. Stop being this type of person. Stop being YOU!” So, I did. And they were all saved…right?
WRONG.
Fear, I’ve recently taken it upon myself to learn more about you. I’ve gone to therapy, read books, listened to lectures and dear trustworthy friends, and most important of all, I listened to myself. I found out what you are and where you come from and when you should be with me and when you should not be with me. Your team possesses what some call “demons” and you are known to produce a lack of courage. You were brought to my brain to be there for me one small room at a time, but Fear, it appears you’ve worn out your welcome. Now, I realize, YOU were the real foolish one.
Not speaking in school was stupid. It turns out, I had a lot of great things to say, friends were to be made, and I was pretty intelligent too. Remember when I won the spelling bee and continued to get all top grades in class? (Minus the Unsatisfactory mark for “participation in class” courtesy of you.) Yeah, I could have made a really good impact in those days and everyone would have found out I was a pretty cool kid. Because I was. You were the uncool one. And no teacher would have ever dared to say such harsh words to me if I didn’t listen to you. Just because you were stronger than my voice at the time, didn’t make you better. But hey, thanks for getting me the Excellent mark in “refraining from unnecessary talk.” You did good there.
You shouldn’t have stopped me from speaking up to my friend when she had the not so bright idea to steal from innocent people. I felt terrible doing it and I knew it was wrong. I blame you. So what if she stopped being my friend? I could’ve just found another one. Someone who was more like me. If I had to earn a friendship by taking from other people, I shouldn’t have wanted it. By the way, I heard that friend’s in prison now. For what? Robbery, of course. It’s too bad because maybe if you didn’t stop me from telling her that I felt what we were doing was wrong, she could’ve learned a thing or two. Maybe she would have listened to me and maybe she would be in a cozy warm home with her family right now instead of an uncomfortable cold cell. On behalf of you, I apologize to those people we stole from and I apologize to that friend.
When that boy said those mean things about my looks, you shouldn’t have stopped me from telling him that what he was saying was probably not the nicest thing to say, and advising him that he should treat others the way he wants to be treated. I had my awkward teenage years like many other people. Some are luckier than others when it comes to the way puberty manifests itself, but it doesn’t make them better. If I mentioned these thoughts, maybe he would have thought twice before saying mean things to other people. It turns out he wasn’t too kind to me, but I was the one who was the meanest to myself, thanks to you. You had no right to judge me. I am beautiful just the way I am.
As far as the bullies at my places of employment go, -I call them bullies because that was exactly what they were- you were the reason it got as bad as it did. You weren’t protecting me like I thought at the time. You ridiculed me and you kept me from giving love instead of hate. But it wasn’t the bullies that I hated. No, you made me put them on a pedestal when I decided to hate myself. I should’ve loved myself in those moments and spoke up for who I was. I should have confronted that manager when he made fun of me and should have simply told him, “I forgive you for projecting your own insecurities onto me. I don’t feel comfortable working around someone like you and I think we should have a meeting with Human Resources about the next steps to take.” I should have known my worth and I shouldn’t have stayed in a devastating and difficult working environment in which I cried to myself in the bathroom every single day. I stepped into those doors one year too long and you were wrong for making me do this. Oh, and as far as the couple who rented the room in their home to me… Yeah, my rent money every month helped them pay for their expensive house. I was actually pretty important to their living situation.
The applications you made me put in were pretty ridiculous. I spent a lot of precious time and energy (my own and others’) working in places I felt I was settling for instead of places I believed in. I’m happy that I stuck (albeit tough at times) with that one good writing gig I had. After you told me they would eventually let me go, it ended up being a false alarm. It turns out after I shifted my brain away from you, the people at the company did think I was good enough to work for them long term and now I finally have the kind of job I deserve and all the trimmings that come along with it. Doesn’t that just make you sting, Fear? Sorry, but I’m not sorry.
Roller coasters aren’t that scary, Fear. Get over it.
Ah, and my favorite subject: boys. Lots and lots of boys who were never quite right for me. Yeah, next time I encounter a boy like the one with the secret girlfriend and kid, he’ll be gone before you can even try to make sense of that foolish situation. And now, I actually ask out all the cute boys I want because why not? The worst they can say is “No” and after pushing you away, I know that any answer they give me is not really about me at all. It’s all about them. I could have killed you for making me miss out on that one sweet boy who was so easy to be with. This feeling stuck with me for a long time but now I forgive you. I forgive you because he is the one who catapulted me into the fearless frame of mind I should have been in all along. It took the sacrifice of a great man, but I’m glad it’s helped me to keep you at a distance, never to make the mistake of turning anyone right for me away again. And unlike back then, now I push you aside and tell people I love them when I feel that I do. It doesn’t matter if they don’t say it back. I don’t give love to receive love. I give it because I feel it and if I get it back, that’s wonderful. If not, it’s not about me. It was never about me. You can’t hold me back from love any longer. Love is and always will be better and way more powerful than you.
And now, the most important lesson I’ve learned about you: you tried so hard to bring me down in my worst moments. I was not the reason my father died. He had a heart condition that had NOTHING to do with me and he loved me more than anyone on this planet. He called me his “little girl” and he protected me better than you EVER could. He showed me what real love meant. He never chose to leave me. I will not cause others to die or cause others to just simply leave by being me. That is one of the most absurd lies that you told me. If a person dies, it’s out of my control, and if they leave, it’s also out of my control. But there will be those who will live long and healthy lives and there will be those who decide to stay. I will hold the people I spend my days on Earth with close to my heart and when it’s time to say goodbye to them for whatever reason, I will do so with grace, understanding, and love. I will not hold grudges or belittle myself or reach out for you. I will let them be free because that’s what life is about. We can’t grasp too tightly to the ones we care about. A friend told me once, “How you’re supposed to approach people in life is the same way that I look at holding a bar of soap. You get your hands really wet and you’re holding a bar of soap. What happens when you squeeze that soap to get a better grip on it? It flies right out of your hands. The harder you hold on to people, the more they’re going to try to wiggle themselves loose. If you have a confident and firm but gentle grip on that bar of soap, that soap will stay in your hands all day long. It’s the same thing with people.” This is the reality and you, Fear, are the illusion. No, I wasn’t the reason my father died. I was the reason he lived. And I intend to go on the rest of my life knowing that.
Oh, and one more thing: Hi, my name is Erin and my favorite color is red.
It was lovely meeting you, Fear, but it’s even lovelier letting you go.
Sincerely not yours,
Erin