fear!
Almost nine years ago, I was hellbent on a studio apartment. So much so, that when my dad’s side of the family planned a beach vacation in Florida less than one year after his death, I passed because I needed to save cash on moving and time and energy on finding the perfect place to live. Which I did.
While on this vacation, my mom went to see the movie Inside Out with some of my cousins. “Oh my god!” she raved. “Each emotion was one of the cousins: Michelle* is Joy, Alan* is Sadness, Halley* is Disgust and you’re Fear.”
You’re Fear. This stuck with me for a very long time. I am not Fear. I moved to a big city, didn’t I? I hunted for roommates and apartments all on my own, and when my dad was dying, I fought with my fathers’ doctors, didn’t I? That was bravery, wasn’t it? (Maybe it was actually Rage born from Fear of Death. But they don’t have that character in Inside Out—it’s a kids’ movie!)
Now I’m realizing that wow, gasp, hiss, she could be right. My dad used to always say this SUPER OBNOXIOUS thing to me all the time: “I knew you before you knew you.” And that also goes for my mom: She can see me better than I can see myself and that’s so fucking annoying! I don’t want to be Fear, but you can’t control who you are. Let me just take a look back at some of the things that have scared me in the last few years:
I wanted a wedding, but I was afraid I’d be ugly and things would go wrong.
I wanted to be married (and I got married, brave!) but I was afraid I’d suck at it.
And I also really didn’t believe I deserved either of these things: to be married, to have a wedding, to be happy. And like, not to point fingers, but this is could be because the few people I dated prior to my husband went out of their way to tell me I was unlovable because I couldn’t give them what they wanted—whether it was moving in together, agreeing not to leave Tennessee or joining a religious cult. However, putting myself before those idiots dudes and knowing what I wanted had to be brave, right?
I want to go to Edinburgh, but I’m afraid of missing work and getting fired. I want to go back to my strength training gym, but I’m afraid I’ll break my meniscus again. I want a tattoo, but I’m afraid I’ll hate it. I’m afraid that after I publish this, people will be like “Go find some real problems and get out of the way.” And why not? I should get out of the way for the people who are not afraid!
I don’t have a fun little moral or anecdote about how in the end, I am brave as fuck because I really don’t think I am. Well, actually, I do think I am, but when the opportunity to be courageous is there, I never take it. I don’t speak up, I don’t argue (unless it’s out of Rage born from Fear of Death), I don’t jump in front of danger, I don’t take chances. I’m not bold.
I am realizing though, that this fear is unlivable… unsustainable. It’s making me dull at work and short-tempered with the people I love. It haunts my dreams in the form of scenarios where I am constantly missing my plane.
I am not totally sure how to get out of it: Should I watch Inside Out over and over again until I turn into Joy, like Michelle*? Should I spend a thousand more dollars at a comedy training facility with posters that say “Follow the fear”? Should I listen to “Brave” by Sara Bareilles on repeat? Actually, maybe I should do that. Will report back.
*Names changed.