An Open Letter to My Fear
You’re welcome to be here but please leave my joy alone
Dear Fear,
Well, the moon entered Aries, and all of her fire brought out my truth and forced self-reflection. No matter how much I resisted, she made me look deep into the shadow parts of myself, and the more I resisted, the more fiery she became. So, I stopped resisting.
I‘ve done pretty well looking myself in the eye, and saying out loud that I recognize these shadows are a part of me. I’ve done pretty well with my daily, “I embrace all parts of myself, even the ones I have hidden away,” affirmation. I‘ve done pretty well taking inventory of most inner parts, always asking how they are, and tucking them away in their little “rooms;” slumbering under warm blankets of acceptance until they know they are needed for action.
And then there is you, dear fear.
Yes, you’re a basic human emotion we all have. Yet, because of atrocities I’ve endured — either committed to me by others or to me by me — you’ve created your own little part, or shadow, in the energetic atmosphere that is Jen. So while I can sit in my self-energy and roll with the emotion of fear, I have you running around inside of me like a wild boar, screeching even when I have nothing to be afraid about; even when I should feel joy. Why are you doing this to me? I’ve worked so hard to grow.
I begrudgingly admit that, despite all of my parts work with my integrative therapist and my spiritual shadow work, I’ve ignored you as a part because I fancied myself stronger, and you’ve determined now is the time to burst into my conscious mind with your high-pitched squeal, grunting louder than any possible feeling of happiness.
I tried to fight you. I denied you, only to drive my anxiety so bananas that the deepest of meditations could not soothe me. I steered into your skid, brooding like a true goth, even making Instagram stories lip syncing songs about suffering when I wasn’t actually suffering. I had to stop you.
Which meant I had to love and accept you.
So, dear fear, welcome. We’re going to let the other parts keep resting while we have a little chat. You see, I appreciate you. You didn’t develop as a shadow, or an attached part, within me because I never needed you. I absolutely did. I needed to instinctively know when to hide in the closet to avoid a rage-fueled spatula to the head. I needed to instinctively know when and how to leave a bar because I was too drunk and danger was lurking. I needed to instinctively know when I was making decisions that would make my trauma someone else’s trauma and run away instead.
There are thousands of other examples, I am sure, that even if I could remember, would not fit into this letter.
But I do not need you right now.
I do not need you immediately careening your screaming, boar-like energy into my happiness. Just the other day, I could feel a glorious sun shining from both my heart and solar plexus chakras — and it was amazing for the solid five minutes you allowed it. In you came running, kicking up your back legs with such ferocity that you created a wall of mud that let small pokes of sun shine through, but otherwise my energy suddenly felt heavy and dark. I couldn’t stop crying and I didn’t even know why I was scared. I appreciate that you are trying to protect me from everything but I do not need protection from everything anymore, nor does my inner child, nor do my other parts. I only need protection when I am truly in danger. You, you fuzzy little boar, born out of the hypervigilence I needed to survive most of my life, I kindly ask you to work with me, instead of against me.
You’re likely thinking, “Well, you ignored me. You let me run wild for 40+ years and never seemed to care what I did or who I hurt if it meant I got you to safety.” I try to never presume another’s thoughts, but given you are a part of me, I am taking some liberties. You’re right. I absolutely did. We’re both paying the price of it taking me until the age of 48 to take control of my body, mind, emotions, soul, and how I treated other humans. I should’ve talked to you two years ago; perhaps I still needed you then. But, again, I do not need you right now.
I feel myself softening toward you as I write this. Perhaps that means you’re hearing me. Or, perhaps it means all you wanted all along was to be accepted and understood. Perhaps you were never wild; perhaps I was.
I need you to know that I now see you and I love you and I value you, and you’re welcome here — but I do need you to be less vigilent. If I am happy, let me be happy, unless there is real danger I cannot see from self-energy. You’re probably exhausted, anyway, after all these years of protecting me from myself because I didn’t know how to do that. I do now. You’re good, sweet, dear fear. In fact, let’s decorate a nice little “room” for you where my other parts live. You pick the colors, the furniture, the music, the lighting. The space is yours. I promise not to enter it without knocking and asking for help, if you can promise not to barrel out of it because you want to versus when you need to.
As I finish this letter to you, I find myself softly giggling, my image of you transmuting from a grubby wild boar to a fuzzy pink smiling pig. You’re cute. We’re very much the same, you and me, dear fear. We can appear quite daunting, but our true nature is to love and protect. We both simply sometimes do it wrong.
If you agree, and we can keep the above promises to each other, I know my whole self, including you, and the people around me, will be much happier; and we will both get to exhale, rest, and enjoy the quiet that we’ve both earned.
What say you, dear fear? I am pretty sure you’ll say yes.
All my love,
Jen
