F.E.A.R.


False

Evidence

Appearing

Real

The thing is, appearing real just feels so real.

It’s always about the unknown, the threat of what if.  What if they….What if it…What if I…

This morning, I have a couple of friends on my heart, and something of my own to deal with.  Fear is the common denominator. Their circumstances are entirely different, and mine isn’t even in the same hemisphere, but I encouraged both of them to just keep going.  I believe in one foot in front of the other, so of course that’s my advice.

But hearts still pound, palms still sweat, tears drip down, nights are still long. The evidence of fear ruling. The evidence of still living as a human being.

A few years ago, I was afraid of stairs.  Not nervous or uncertain, but utterly freaked out.  I have several sets of stairs in my house, so stairs in my everyday life were unavoidable.  I went up to get to my bedroom, down to get to my main level, down to my car, and at the end of my workday, back again.

My thought life was consumed by this fear.  Why?  Absolutely no idea.  Intellectually, I could tell myself that this was absurd, but the abject terror I felt when going up or down overwhelmed my ability to think rationally.

Resolution arrived, after I did everything I knew to do.

I went to God in prayer, constantly…constantly….constantly.  I cried. I went to the doctor. I cried some more.

And then, I shared it.  I admitted it out loud, and I asked for help.  My friends, several dear loving awesome friends, came to my side.

The resolution came in an unexpected way.  Fear didn’t leave completely.  It stayed, and the stairs were still scary.

I just started going up and down with the fear.

I did it afraid.

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