About fear

I worry a lot.  It started with the first day I walked by myself three blocks from my house to my elementary school.  Maybe I’d get lost, or get hit by a car, or wouldn’t actually make it inside the building. I was 8 years old.

This tendency continued throughout my schooling. I worried about exams, whether people liked me, what I wore…you know, the obsessive teenage stuff like everyone else. Sometimes my fears would make me go mute in class, almost like an anxiety attack, but not. Often, I wanted to just disappear. When I started working, I acquired confidence, which helped hide my fear. During my first job out of college, I started public speaking, which terrified me. I didn’t like it, but it earned my living, so I had to suck it up and I learned I could fake having courage pretty well. This led me to PR.

Fear made me a good publicist.  It was easy for me to imagine the worst case scenario and try to figure out what I’d do if it happened.  I got paid to worry (and to babysit).  I had entire checklists of things to worry about; scenarios that could happen and how I would deal with them. There was always some crisis or another. I operated in fear.

Obviously, this wasn’t a good, healthy thing. Especially when it came to my love life.

Fear also made me skeptical. I would approach each date not only with a sense of excitement, but a weariness surrounding what kind of person he’d be, what his intentions were, and how the date would go. I wasn’t trusting or vulnerable, both of which are required to a certain extent to form a relationship. I kept some distance, which helped attract all the unavailable guys to me.

I knew that fear was getting in the way of my relationships and happiness, both personally and professionally. But I didn’t know how to stop. It was familiar; it helped me do my job. It kept me out of harm’s way. How could I let it go?

The thing about fear is that it masquerades as a safety net. I was convinced that my fear was helping me, rather than harming me. Even when I got hit on by married men or guys with the emotional availability of Charlie Sheen. But I’d grown tired of the sameness of my life. Fear was keeping me on a plateau, and that was safe. I wasn’t growing. I needed change.

I had to look my fear in the eye and tell it to go away.

Admitting I had fear was enough of a challenge. But telling fear that it just wasn’t working for me anymore…that was another story. It meant radical change in my life. It meant that I had to come up with a new plan. I had to face it in my job, my love life. The way I did this was by taking risks.

Of course, you may think, everyone has to take risks. That’s what life and love are all about. But not when you’re fearful. Sure, I went on a lot of dates and put myself “out there”. Too many to admit. But my fear was still there, protecting me from harm, shielding me from life. So, I had to tell it to f*** off.

I quit PR, started writing, and started dating men I wouldn’t normally consider. I made the first move. I flirted. I no longer worried about what would happen. For once, I lived my life in the moment. Sure, my fear would crop up to tell me I was making a big mistake in both career and love, that I needed security, a real job, a real boyfriend. I couldn’t mess around and act like I was still 20 and figuring things out. But weren’t we constantly figuring things out in life? Wasn’t the point to explore and learn?

One of my friends told me something several years ago that has stuck with me ever since: “boats are safe in the harbor, but that’s not what boats are built for.”

So as I ride my boat out of the harbor I can say with a mischievous grin: f*** off fear.

About Kelly Seal

Kelly is a freelance writer based in Los Angeles, CA. She blogs about dating, relationships, personal growth and what "healthy living" means to her. You can follow her on Google+, Twitter @kellyseal or through her website www.kellyseal.com.

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