Fear has always existed. It’s there, in our genes, from before words, before sophisticated thoughts, before psychological explanations. It’s one of the oldest emotions in the world. (That’s why it’s also so skillful.)

A deer startles at the slightest sound. A rabbit runs before it fully understands what threatens it. Their fear, in general, isn’t complicated. They don’t feel ashamed of it, they don’t carry it with them all the time. They run. Or they fight for their lives. Or they slow their breathing and remain still so they won’t be detected (playing dead). And when the danger passes, they return to their lives, to grass, to sun, to life.

I cannot do that. Fear is always with me, like an invisible coat. It doesn’t leave me when the danger is gone.

Our nervous system doesn’t learn only from what we think, but especially from what we’ve lived. Even if the mind understands that “now the danger is over,” the body can remain on alert. It remembers. It remembers shame, betrayal, rejection, helplessness, pain. And then, when something new appears, something that resembles what once was, we react as if the old danger might return.

Fear has a memory it writes into our body.

It adapts. I am no longer afraid only of what hurt me, but also of everything that could reopen that wound. Not only of that person, but of closeness. Not only of that failure, but of exposure. Not only of that loss, but of anything that might make me vulnerable.

And then fear no longer only helps me survive. It also stops me from living.

That’s how I end up turning it on all sides, transforming it into scenarios, into sleepless nights, into thoughts that spin in circles. I try to prove to it that it’s wrong. And it is always faster, more cunning, more subtle than my logic. It’s as if I were fighting the devil himself. A battle I cannot win. And maybe I don’t have to.

When I avoid doing things I’m afraid of, for a moment, I calm down. And that very calm gives fear even more power. It confirms that it was right. That it was good to retreat. That the unknown really was dangerous.

I’ve often heard, “There is no courage in the absence of fear.” Courage is the ability to move forward with fear. When you are very afraid!

And yet, I’ve begun to look at it differently. I’ve begun to listen to it. To feel its pulse, the tightness in my stomach. To recognize its signals in my body. I realized that I don’t have to do something about it or get rid of it. Sometimes, all I can do is feel it. To sit next to it, to breathe through it, to give it space to manifest, but without giving it absolute control. (Sometimes I put a pen in its hand and ask it to write me a letter.)

In this way, fear can become a map.

Fear can also be a resource. Not only a signal of danger, but also an indicator of the place where life is calling me to grow. Sometimes, exactly where I feel fear, there is something important for me: a truth I haven’t spoken, a boundary I haven’t set, a desire I’ve postponed, a life closer to who I truly am.

Fear shows me that I’ve reached the border with the unknown.

It doesn’t automatically mean “stop.” It can also mean “this is the threshold.” This is where something new begins. This is the place where you don’t yet have safety, but you have meaning. That’s why not every fear should be avoided. Some fears protect me. Others show me the direction.

The fine line between the comfort zone and growth is this: in the growth zone there is fear, but there is also life, curiosity, a sense that I am walking my path, even if I tremble.

In the dangerous or traumatic zone, there is fear, but together with shrinking, confusion, dissociation, self-violation, the feeling that I am losing myself.

Growth comes with expansion. It takes me out of the old, but it does not force me to abandon myself. That’s the difference: if, in order to move forward, I have to trample my truth, ignore my body, force my limits, it is no longer growth. It is self-abandonment. If I am afraid, but I remain whole, present, and increasingly alive, it is very possible that I am exactly where I need to go.

If I wait for it to disappear so I can do something new, unknown, I might wait forever and never do anything at all!

With time, fear is no longer just a paralyzing wall.

It is an indicator.

Not everything it shows me must be followed.

But neither ignored.

I am learning to read it.

And, from time to time, to step beyond it,

not because I am not afraid,

but because that is where my growth begins.

I choose to leap into the unknown, holding fear’s hand!