Fear is part of being human. Long before we put language to it, fear lives in the body. It shows up as tightened shoulders, shallow breath, a racing heart, or the sudden desire to disappear. We often imagine fear as something we should overcome or push away. But fear is actually one of the oldest ways our bodies communicate with us. It says, this matters… pay attention.

I know fear. I know what it can do inside a life.

After I was assaulted, I lived for a long time with PTSD. For years, I believed my fear meant something was wrong with me. I tried to hide it and, when I couldn’t, I felt ashamed. Eventually, I came to understand that what I was experiencing wasn’t failure at all. It was unprocessed fear, living in my body long after the danger had passed. My nervous system stayed on high alert even when my mind knew I was safe.

My body was trying to protect me. I can see that now and I can even feel gratitude for that instinct. And still, fear made my life smaller than it needed to be. It narrowed my joy. When it became unbearable, I sought help. Today, the fear no longer controls me, though I still recognize it when it rises.

In those moments, I return to these words from poet James Crews:

Never underestimate the power

of your own gentle hand

when placed over a racing heart…

which says: Yes, you will make it

through this.

Right now, we are living in a world saturated with fear, both individually and collectively. We fear political instability and what it is doing to families and communities. We fear climate change as fires, floods, storms, and heat tell us something is deeply out of balance. We fear for safety in schools, grocery stores, and places of gathering. We fear illness. We fear loneliness. Sometimes, we even fear one another, without fully understanding why.

Fear is everywhere. And the answer is not to deny it.

What matters is how we let fear shape us.

Fear can cause us to shrink, to turn inward, to protect only what is closest to us. Fear can also sharpen our awareness. It can point us toward where care is needed, where harm is happening, where something precious is at risk. Fear can awaken compassion. It can widen our sense of responsibility. When we name it and tend it, fear can become fuel.

Courage, after all, is not the absence of fear. Courage is taking a step while fear is present. It is telling the truth anyway. It is choosing to care when it would be easier not to. It is refusing to look away from suffering even when doing so makes our hearts ache.

I used to believe that fear meant I had failed. Now I understand it differently. Fear is information. Fear tells me that I am alive, that I care, that something important is asking for my attention.

So when fear rises, I invite you to pause. Place a gentle hand over your heart. Breathe. Let your body know you are here.

May fear never be the thing that shrinks your world.

May it become the spark that widens your love.

The small, ordinary ways you show up in the world matter more than you know.

If you’re carrying fear, grief, or a longing for deeper meaning, you don’t have to hold it alone. I offer one-on-one spaces for reflection and support, and I would be glad to connect with you.

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Kristabeth Atwood is a spiritual director, writer, and celebrant who creates spaces for reflection, connection, and meaning in life’s transitions. You can reach out to learn more or schedule a discernment session with Kristabeth.