Fear is often seen as a red light. A “stop here” sign. A full-body warning that whatever lies ahead is dangerous, reckless, or a mistake. And sometimes, that’s exactly what it is. Sometimes fear is a legitimate signal to slow down and get out of the road—because there’s a truck coming.
But more often than not, fear shows up right before something meaningful happens. Something different. Something that nudges a person out of comfort and into growth.
People get stuck all the time. A job that no longer fits, but applying somewhere else feels terrifying. Loneliness that aches, but the thought of putting oneself out there is too much. Finances in disarray, but checking the bank account feels like staring down a monster. There’s a desire to move forward, yet paralysis takes over—and guilt soon follows.
But fear doesn’t always mean “stop.”
Sometimes, it means “look here.”
Fear is a flashlight.
It shines a beam on the parts of life that matter most. The things that actually mean something. It’s not the fear of asking for a raise because a boss might yell—it’s the fear rooted in the need to feel seen and valued. It’s not just the fear of going broke from starting a business—it’s the fear that this might really matter, and if it fails, it hurts.
Wanting something makes a person vulnerable.
Vulnerability breeds fear.
But avoiding fear doesn’t lead to safety—it leads to smallness. A narrow world. Predictable. Numb. And eventually, numbness starts to feel like normal.
Fear isn’t always a barrier.
It can be a compass.
When something is terrifying—not because it’s dangerous, but because it’s meaningful—that fear might be pointing in the exact direction that needs to be followed.
Writing a book, but feeling like an imposter?
Wanting to try therapy, but scared of what might come up?
Needing to say something hard in a relationship, but terrified of the consequences?
Lean in. Slowly. Intentionally. But lean in.
This isn’t about forcing bravery or pretending nothing is scary. It’s about being courageous. Being honest. It’s about recognizing that discomfort is the price of a life that actually matters.
Every person is worthy of being well.
Worthy of a full, big, honest life.
Worthy of walking toward fear—and finding pride on the other side.
Today, just take one step.
Call the therapist.
Sign up for the class.
Say “I love you.”
Say “I don’t love you anymore.”
Book the ticket.
Start the thing.
Let fear point the way.
And keep walking.
There is strength in this.
And it’s already there.