To befriend fear

Let’s not make it a monster

I used to be terribly afraid of a lot of things. My fear of heights meant skipping the best roller coasters, and the slightest airplane turbulence would send me into a panic. Scary movies would give me nightmares, so I avoided them. And don’t even get me started on spiders, with their spindly legs and all those godforsaken eyes.

I was afraid of failure, so much so that I never played a sport—or did anything I wasn’t naturally good at. I was afraid of rejection, so I was always the one to end a relationship—assuming I let myself get into one in the first place. And while I’ve never feared change, I always needed it to be on my terms, such was my fear of not being in control at all times.

Looking back now, I’m struck by how far I’ve come—more on that below—but also by the realization that the objects of my fear (spiders, scary movies and all) were mostly incidental. The core issue was my relationship to fear.

Or rather, our relationship to fear.

The only thing to fear is fear itself.

Fear is a liar.

F*** fear.

These pithy maxims are often invoked to help us face imposter syndrome, risk aversion, performance anxiety, etc., but I suspect they may be part of the issue:

We’ve made fear itself a monster. A monster that is evil and dangerous. A monster that we must defeat in order to survive, or succeed.

But fear is an emotion like any other. And like all of our emotions, fear serves an important purpose. Fear exists to keep us safe, to keep us alive. What higher purpose is there?

Of course, fear doesn’t always get it right. It is produced unconsciously, or rather, pre-consciously, before the executive functions of the brain (long-term thinking, strategic planning, goal orientation, risk-reward analysis) can kick in. It can take us down into a rabbit hole of reactivity, and when we over-index on fear our decision making is critically impaired.

But is F*** fear the answer? Because it seems to me that even when I reject fear, it is still there. Even after I’ve talked my mind out of it, my body stays vigilant. Life is scary, y’all, and fear is here to stay.

What if we stopped being afraid of fear? What if we could learn to befriend it?

In the comments: What is your relationship to fear? Does it figure prominently in your choices? Does it overwhelm you? Do you try to push it away? What strategies have you developed to work with the fear you feel?

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This week

Let’s consider that fear is not just an inevitable part of life, but a promising sign of life. Fear reveals our deep commitment to existence—we fear because we care so very much about being alive and staying safe.

What’s wrong with that? Not a damn thing.

So this week’s practice is not about getting rid of fear. (You might check out exposure therapy, hypnosis or other methods if that’s what you’re looking for.) It’s about welcoming and working with the fear itself. As with any difficult emotion, we can do this by practicing the acronym RAIN:

1. Recognize fear is here. It can help to label it silently in your mind: “Ah, this is fear.”

2. Allow fear to be here for a moment. You don’t need to make it go away. The fear itself is not the problem. If you can sit with the fear and accept its right to exist, you can…

3. Investigate the fear. Start in your body—is there tightness in your fists? Tension in the jaw? A fluttering in the chest? Getting to know the somatic experience of your fear can help you recognize it more rapidly and respond intentionally in real-time, rather than being caught up in reactive fight/flight/freeze mode.

   Once you have investigated the physical sensations of fear, you can look into what need(s) the fear is pointing to. Remember, our emotional always serve a purpose, and fear is not exception. Fear may be pointing to a need for security, or acceptance, or love. These needs are valid, as is the fear itself. Once you can see what the fear is trying to achieve, you can better determine how much of a say it gets to have in what happens next.

4. Nurture yourself. This final step is all about choosing kindness and self-compassion over self-judgment and blame. It’s where we can befriend the fear instead of making it a monster. “I see you, fear. I know why you’re here. Thank you for trying to protect me. I’m ok. Let’s keep going.”

I had been practicing RAIN for 10 years when I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer in 2020. As anyone who has received a diagnosis will tell you, those first few weeks—when the cancer has been detected but its spread is unknown—are terrifying. That’s the only word I know for it: terror. And the practice above, which after a decade had become part of my operating system, was how I made it through those early days. It was what I’d been training for.

“Hello terror, there you are again. I understand. We want to live, of course we do. So let’s go outside. Let’s have some tea. Let’s take a breath. Right now, we’re alive. Right now, we’re ok. Let’s keep going.”