Last week, in a letter, I told Fear that she was no longer in command. She did not take it lightly. She shut herself in the basement and had a terrible fit. When I don’t obey Fear, I get ‘punished’. Or better, my body will create such a state of havoc that continuing seems like a really bad idea. For as long as I can remember whenever Fear gets activated, my intestines stop doing their job, resulting in a severe condition of what is commonly called IBS. Very painful and completely draining. Not funny. At all. As a result I was not feeling too peachy this past week. To be honest, I would have loved to stay in bed and throw the cover over my head, but I didn’t. I have decided that I will go forward. Not ‘no matter what’, because that would not work; I have tried that before and it got very nasty. No, this time, I decided to listen to Fear, really listen; Why are you (Fear) so determined to stop me in my tracks? What I learned is too beautiful not to share.
Far from being the bully I imagined her to be making my life miserable, Fear has been a loving mother figure who has tried to keep me as safe as possible from the moment I got separated from my mom right after birth to this day. I am afraid that when I stop interfering and allow your power to flow freely, you won’t need me any longer, I will be redundant and you will forget about me. – I soothed her worries, reassuring her that she would be teaming up with the Universe to keep me save, that this Force will guide us both every step of the way, helping us to maximize our potential. I told her that in order for that to happen she would need to let me go. I could feel her anxiety, I could feel that she was not as ready as I was. And then I remembered what it felt like to let my daughter step into that beautiful world on her own. She was only two-and-a-half when she declared that she was ready to go to the playground alone. I was not! Yet I could not deny her unmistaken readiness, her need for personal freedom and exploration. So we set up rules and boundaries, we practiced and practiced and practiced until I knew we both were as ready as we were ever going to be. I can still see her walking to the playground, an extra bounce to her step, proudness radiating from every pore, as I was peeking past the hedge at the end of our garden path. The same spot I would be dashing to every five minutes to see if she was allright while she was playing carefree, empowered by her mother’s trust in her ability to choose what is right for her. So I chose to write another letter:
Dearest Momma Fear,
Do not worry that I will go off the highest slide the moment you let go of me, for I will not. I understand that we will both need to adjust to this new situation. Allow me to go just a few feet ahead of you and trust that you have done an excellent job at instilling carefulness. Please trust me to pick the slide that I know is best suited for me, and allow me to go down alone. I would love for you to watch me do it, again, and again, and again, until it has lost its thrill and I want to try a higher slide. I know that letting go of my hand is one of the scariest things you will ever do, but it will also be the most rewarding. From it will grow a trusting relationship in which you will know without a doubt that I will always be careful with this one wild and precious life and in which I will know that you will always have my back, enabling me to conquer the Universe safely, no matter what.
All my love,
photo by Janis Gonser
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