A Walk with Fear

I haven’t been around much lately. I’ve received messages asking if I’m okay and expressing that you miss my updates, and I can’t tell you how much that means to me.

The strange thing is, even though this page has been quiet, I have been writing like crazy. Which y’all wouldn’t know, because every time I finished an article and went to go hit publish… I just couldn’t make myself do it.

Something didn’t feel right.

At first, I told myself it was just some run-of-the-mill ADHD, maybe a little task paralysis. But ten days later, I had a growing backlog of drafts, and it was clear there was something else behind this.

Something heavier that I was trying to avoid.

Then I went hiking with my boyfriend Matt. Our first date was in the woods, and ever since then, the forest has become our place. The spot we return to time and again when we need to unpack our worlds. It was there, on the trails, that we began to unravel what had really been holding me back.

And let me tell you—once that thread was pulled, my insides came pouring out.

That’s how conversations go with Matt. He has this unassuming quality of a good old Southern boy, and aw shucks, you can’t help but open up to it. But his curiosity is paired with a deep intuition that tends to sneak up on people. Before you know it, the man will lead you straight into the heart of a serious matter. All with a couple of well-placed questions and his hands casually tucked in his pockets.

“You haven’t been writing as much lately, babe,” he said, not so much as a question, but a statement.

I opened my mouth to respond, didn’t have much of an answer. He had gotten straight to the crux of whatever I was running away from.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “It’s just… I’m not sure that what I have to say really matters right now.”

Matt didn’t say much to that, probably giving me space to process. So, I tried a few more theories on for size. Just to see if they made any sense.

“And work hasn’t been as successful lately. So, I could be afraid of failure. Or maybe I assume people don’t want to hear about all I’ve got going on. I write a lot about happiness now, and that gets annoying—ya know?”

I laughed, trying to inject a little humor, but I was acutely aware that every one of my theoretical explanations had fallen short of the job they were given. I felt nervous, like something was creeping toward me. Maybe it was the truth.

“You’re afraid, Mary Katherine,” Matt stated plainly.

His words hit me square in my chest, and in that moment, I knew he was right. In every one of those unpublished articles, I had poured out my love into words. But sharing them felt too precious, too scary.

It felt like a high-risk game.

“I think you’re right,” I said, my voice faltering. “I’m scared, and I don’t know why.”

Matt didn’t hesitate. “Do you remember what fear really is?”

We had talked about this idea before, the essence of fear. I paused for a moment, recalling another conversation we had in the woods.

“It means I’m scared of not getting what I want, or I’m scared of losing what I have.”

Suddenly, I was coming to better understand the hesitation inside my heart. For the last couple of years, my most vulnerable writing has come from a place of suffering. I have fearlessly shared about cancer and divorce. I can bleed for my audience, no problem. But that’s when the risk was laid on the table. The thing had already been lost.

But sharing this love of mine, this joy, it felt different.

It felt like something I could lose.

“I’m afraid to hit publish because I think you might leave me,” I said.

Then I wanted to vomit.

Saying it out loud felt both ridiculous and raw. I wasn’t even sure exactly what I meant. Was I afraid he’d leave because of what I wrote? Or that he’d leave for other reasons, making everything I’d shared feel embarrassing after the fact?

Either way, the fear was there—staring me down, an awkward third guest on our hike.

My insides were braced for a moment of impact, but Matt didn’t so much as flinch. He just smiled and wrapped me up in a hug. I could feel all my muscles relaxing.

“Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way… you should probably go ahead and hit publish. For one thing, you do have a mortgage to pay,” Matt joked, then his eyes grew soft. “But also because you don’t have to be afraid. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s hard to fully capture the feeling you get when a trust fall lands so safely. It’s a profoundly beautiful human experience, one that’s equal parts joy and fear.

Your heart soars with elation. Your soul exhales with relief. They call it the paradox of joy.

Because you can’t get to joy without vulnerability, and vulnerability can’t exist without fear.

It’s funny, because I’m a reeeally big fan of joy. But I’ve never been cozy with fear. In fact, I have a dear friend named Tyler Merritt who says to me, “You should write what scares you.”

And for the longest time, I thought he was crazy. Who gets in their scaries on purpose!?

But now? I honestly get it.

Because when you are moving toward something that matters—the presence of fear is inevitable. And you better believe it will show up with bells on, demanding its voice be heard. At which point you will be given a choice: what will you do with these warnings?

You have a few options. You could:

Run toward the fear with your fingers in your ears, LA-LA-LA-ing like it doesn’t exist, until you crash into whatever lottery outcome. Good, bad, come what may.

Make big assumptions and spiral into anxiety, becoming paralyzed to pursue your own joy? (Don’t recommend, tried this one. Zero stars.)

Orrrrr you can try something different.

You could put your hands in your pockets, slow down for a while. Take Fear for a stroll in the woods. No, not to kill it, you Crime Junkie weirdos. To ask questions, and make them a friend.

When I was finally forced to confront my Fear, I dIscovered something pretty amazing—despite their annoying constant background chatter, Fear really cares about me. Those warning bells were never intended to stop me, hold me back, or make my life small. They were asking me to pause, to be present with the risk.

To understand it before moving forward.

I know that there won’t always be love and safety at the end of a trust fall. Sometimes there’s nothing but lessons down there. Believe me, I've had it both ways. I understand the deal.

Joy is always a high-stakes game, but we do get to choose how to play it. We can make ourselves small, avoid all risk, and never feel how a soul can go soaring.

Or, we can get a little curious, lean into our fear, and courageously move toward joy.

It can be scary, but that's what I choose.

Fear is a part of the magic.

---

---

Dear friends,

It means the world to me that you’re here. Fear often tells me to hold back, but sharing these pieces of my heart is my way of pushing past it, step by step.

I’ll always keep my words open and accessible because encouragement shouldn’t come with a pay wall.

For those of who volunteer your financial support, thank you for helping me continue this journey. Thank you for keeping the lights on, and most especially for showing up alongside me in this process of growth.

With love and gratitude,

Mary Katherine