Scared is what you’re feeling. Brave is what you’re doing.

Emma Donoghue

Fear, Then and Now

It was almost seven years ago to the day that I published my first blog article: “Reclaiming a Life from Fear.” While my writing hasn’t stayed regular, the quiet growth behind the scenes has.

I’ll be honest: Most of the last seven years hasn’t felt like triumph. My fears seemed as strong as ever. But what I couldn’t feel in the moment, I can now see in retrospect. I was taking steps, small and important ones, to break the power of fear in my life.

At last, after 6 years of painful and quiet growth, the last 12 months have seen many of my old fears start to crumble. I’ve begun to face them more directly.

Speaking Through the Fear

Public Speaking has been one of my top fears for the majority of my life. Theatre and music performance in college and my twenties were my first steps into facing this fear. They allowed me to compartmentalize my fears and face them with a script and a supporting ensemble.

In spite of that, my shyness and fear still felt overwhelming in other contexts. In fact, until just a few years ago, I was painfully shy and fearful in most social arenas. Eight years ago, my phone ringing would make my heart pound. I’d speak to people in public as little as possible. The idea of me speaking confidently before groups would have seemed preposterous.

Still, I found ways (willingly or not) to begin to face those fears and dismantle them. My job required me to answer the phone, to work with the public. I started realizing that a simple “Hi” at the checkout could make my shopping experience more meaningful. I took more demanding theatre roles and was intentional about connecting with the cast, instead of withdrawing while not on stage.

My coworkers and mentors gently but firmly pushed me outside of my comfort zone. I started to learn that fear wasn’t a wall: it was permeable, and there was more on the other side. I started small, with things that felt just a bit further than I would normally go, and I got comfortable with… well, being uncomfortable.

Two years ago I took a big step and co-presented at a national conference with about 100 people in attendance. I didn’t do a good job, was nervous and stumbled… but I realized that this was the WORST I would ever be, and I’d just improve from there. Only one year later, I presented for 50 minutes alone, at the next year’s conference, and did an excellent job. But that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been okay with being “terrible” the first time.

Out of the Frying Pan…

That conference presentation helped me get a new job, which I started 11 months ago. I’m an “Educator,” aka software trainer and quasi-project manager. If I had known at the time how intensely I would have to face my fears as an Educator, I wouldn’t have accepted it. But now, I’m so glad I did. Training a group of people is more than just public speaking: it’s public speaking over an extended period of time, for days in a row, with a nice extra helping of unpredictable questions!

My inner critic constantly told me “There is NO WAY you can do this.” I remember shadowing a training with two experienced educators. They were training a room of 50 staff, stressed and anxious about the upcoming software change. They were bombarded with curveball questions, and I watched while thinking, “I’m in the wrong place. I could never do that without crumbling or freezing.”

Over the next few months, I was introduced to more responsibility for training, planning and leading meetings, and project planning. It was overwhelming. Scary. Messy. Chaotic. I made many mistakes; was exhausted and burnt out. Yet things started to change. I was getting more comfortable with tasks that had frozen me in fear only a few months prior. In May, I led my first three whole days of training (in spite of my constant sweat and dry mouth). I realized, “I can actually do this. I can fight through my fear and emerge stronger on the other side.”

My next training, in June, went well until the final day… when things almost fell apart. My confidence was shattered, and I was devastated. I felt like a failure, and even considered quitting. The critic was back: “See, I told you this was too hard.” But I fought back against that voice. One bad training was a setback, not a failure. Just like my first presentation opportunity, I was bound to be bad at something before I could become good at it. I had several months to regroup before my next trip in August, which helped restore my confidence.

…Through the Fire

Then in October I trained a library in New Jersey, and something amazing happened. On both my first and second day, I faced down a crowd of 60 anxious people for 3 hours straight, training and answering questions. I was alone, without backup, and encountered multiple tech issues that forced me to improvise. In spite of those challenges, it went extremely well. Then it hit me: only 6 months earlier I had seen two experienced coworkers face a similar situation and thought “I could never do that.” Yet only a short time later, I did, even without a partner.

As I kept facing and fighting through my fears in my work life, it affected me in other ways too. I noticed that even in my personal life, I had a lot more calmness and confidence in all situations, stressful or not. I was moved to act on my feelings in ways I had been too afraid to do before. Others started noticing. Rather than bravado, it was a kind of gravity: “This is going to be okay. We’ve got this.”

Realization hit me. When you face your greatest fears head-on and prove you ARE capable of doing what you dread most: it transforms you. My old fears were being overwritten with a new story.

Facing Down Terror

This past week, I chose to face fear in an even more direct and visceral way. I’ve had a fear of heights for as long as I can remember. Not extreme, to the point of phobia, but still significant.

Several cousins work occasionally in “entertainment rigging”: climbing to the top of a concert hall or stadium to lift equipment for a show. They’ve encouraged me to join them before, but I brushed it off, thinking, “Are you kidding? No way!”

During my recent trip to North Dakota, the question came up again. My gut instinct was “No” once again, but then I thought: “If this last year has taught me anything, it’s that facing my deepest fears is the path to growth. Could this be another chance to prove that?” So… I thought about it. Eventually, I said, “Yes.”

Days later as I rode to the event center, I started regretting my decision. Even before arrival, I was nervous. As we walked through the seats toward the small metal ladder at the back, I may have looked calm but inside felt my guts twisted, like a man walking toward his execution! Once on the catwalk, I could see straight down between the grate to the stage 50 feet below. Even on the platform, my palms were sweating and my mouth went dry and stiff.

After showing me how to tie a bridle in place, my cousin encouraged me to follow his lead. I climbed over the catwalk railing onto a 6-inch wide beam. Held in place by my balance and whatever security was nearby, whether a safety cable or support beam. In spite of my safety harness, my brain was screaming mortal danger. Nearly petrified, I moved like a sloth. But I kept going, in spite of the dizziness. I did the job, carefully and hesitantly. The fear didn’t go away, but I kept pushing through it. Two hours later, we were finished with the morning shift. As I walked down, I was dazed from hours of adrenaline and fear. I was drenched with sweat, parched, and exhausted. My brain, anticipating the evening tear-down, screamed at me: “Don’t make me do that again!”

And yet I did. I hoped the fear would be less raw that evening, but it wasn’t. And my muscles were tired, my legs shaking with adrenaline and fatigue. But elation simmered underneath: “I’m facing one of my deepest fears right now.” It sucks, and feels horrible, and I just want it to end… but I’m getting through it, not running from it. I chose this. That’s important. Afterwards my cousin asked, “Want to help out again tomorrow?” To my own shock, I waited approximately 1.8 seconds before blurting out, “Yeah!”

The next day was even harder. A bigger show. Four hours of setup. Heavier equipment that I didn’t have strength to lift alone. I was embarrassed and spent, and considered bailing on the evening tear-down. I decided to go anyway, though my arms and legs felt like rubber. Thankfully, my cousin found ways for me to help without compromising safety with my exhaustion, but I still had to face the fear.

Now that it’s over, I’m not sure if I will do it again or not. I might have pushed a bit too far against the fear, making it more intense… Or it may fade with time as I process everything. Either way, I still know that I faced one of my most primal fears, directly, and didn’t run away. Four times. By choice.

Courage Doesn’t Feel Like Courage

Many people think courage is an emotion where you feel bold and fearless. I disagree. Courage is not an absence of fear; it’s a choice in the midst of it.

Because here’s the truth: Normally, you won’t feel brave when you’re being brave. Real courage – feeling fear and doing it anyway – is going to feel… well, pretty awful. Bravery often feels like “I hate this. I’m not cut out for this. This is too hard. This is going to fail.” But you show up anyway, and do the hard thing. Sometimes the “feeling” of courage comes later. Sometimes it’s a realization that comes hours, days, or even months later.

Courage Is Transformative

We all fear. I don’t know those you’re facing in your life. You may be painfully aware of them. Or they may be hiding quietly, buried beneath layers of excuses, self-doubt, avoidance, or routine. But know this: fear does NOT make you weak. Fear makes you HUMAN. Fear affects our behavior in so many ways. It might cause us to tremble, or sweat, or stammer. It might make us quietly withdraw, or stay silent. It might even make us lash out or push others away. But when you realize that you’re responding out of fear, realize that you’re standing on the edge of something important.

Courage Requires Grace

I’ve learned something else, too: If you’re like me, facing the fear is only step one. If you climb the ladder, give the speech, open your heart – and then let your inner critic tear you down, fear still wins. Step two: Courage must be followed by compassion. You must give yourself grace, permission to not be perfect (or even competent). There’s plenty to unpack there, so it may be the topic of a future post: but it’s a crucial part of the journey.

On the Other Side of Fear

The path through fear is not easy, and not all fear needs to be confronted. But if you choose to face it, remember, it won’t “feel” brave. That path feels like sweaty palms, a tight chest, shallow breaths, overthinking, anxiety, withdrawal, fear of rejection, anger. Doubting yourself at every turn.

But if you choose to endure through it, there is something on the other side. Confidence. Clarity. Strength. Joy and freedom. You often won’t recognize your courage until you’ve fought through. The fear may not even go away, but you’ll begin to build a new relationship with it. Instead of being controlled by it, you can choose to say to fear, “Thank you for warning me. I know you’re trying to protect me. I’m doing this anyway, because it’s important.”

I’m still learning. I’m still afraid much of the time. I give in to my fear and withdraw, shrink back, stay silent. But now I know what it feels like to face that fear and keep showing up anyway: And that has changed me profoundly. It can change you too. It doesn’t have to be as dramatic as climbing out onto a thin beam 50 feet in the air. First steps might not even be noticeable to anyone other than you. That’s great. That’s how you start. If you push yourself just a bit out of your comfort zone, you’ll be amazed how you’ve grown when you look back.

It doesn’t have to be dramatic. The first step might be invisible to anyone but you. And that’s perfect. That’s where change begins. Push just a little beyond your comfort zone—and one day you’ll look back and realize how far you’ve come.

So here’s to the shaky steps on narrow beams. The dry-mouthed presentations. The voice that cracks when you speak honestly. The opening of your heart as you risk love, rejection, being seen.

Here’s to choosing hope.

Here’s to reclaiming life from fear.