A long time ago, someone I deeply admired and respected told me that I was led by fear. At the time, I found it enormously insulting and dismissed it almost immediately. Granted, I’m not the sort of person who will be bungee jumping, skydiving or swimming in the ocean anytime soon, but I had made enormous changes, started a whole new career, put myself out there in situations that would normally have made me uncomfortable and my only thought was, “you don’t know anything about me.”

However, in more recent years I have been forced to admit to myself that in some areas of my life, they were right. Not in an over-the-top or all consuming way, but in the quieter decisions I make, the things I hesitate over and the situations I approach with caution instead of confidence.

Because fear is not always obvious or dramatic. 

It doesn’t always show up as panic or something you can clearly point to. Sometimes it appears in small, practical ways, influencing everyday decisions and behaviours without much warning. Fear can be physical, emotional or both, and it often sticks around longer than you expect.

After covid, I developed an anxiety that never quite went away. It isn’t overwhelming or constant, but it is present enough that I notice it in certain situations. Even now, getting on a train, a plane or the tube takes a real and conscious level of effort. Being surrounded by lots of people can trigger an irrational fear of becoming ill, and with that, the need to stay alert and the feeling that I have to manage myself carefully. Logically, I know that I am relatively safe, but anxiety doesn’t respond particularly well to logic.

More recently, after badly hurting my knee, I have noticed another small layer of fear creeping in. When stepping outside my house the other day to put the bins out there was a moment of hesitation, and I found myself feeling slightly anxious and checking that the ground wasn’t slippy before I fully walked outside, despite the fact that it wasn’t cold enough for the ground to be frozen. It was small, but it was enough for me to pay attention to it. 

In a recent post about the pros and cons of being self-employed, I talked about the constant, low level fear I have that everything could disappear overnight. It is not something I dwell on much every day as such, but it sits in the background and heavily influences how I plan, save, and make decisions. There is an awareness that my stability is self-created and therefore fragile, and that responsibility never really goes away.

There is also a version of fear that shows up in how I relate to people in general. After being hurt very badly on countless occasions in the past by family, friends and colleagues who I relied on and respected, trust now doesn’t come easily. I am cautious about who I let close and I’m far more aware of my boundaries than I used to be. The fear of being treated badly again often means that I automatically assume the worst of almost everyone, and I protect myself emotionally in the same way that I protect myself physically – I’m now extraordinarily quick to cut people and situations off should anything arise that oversteps or threatens my peace, wellbeing and how I live. Fool me once, shame on you and you’ll never get the opportunity to fool me twice.

Fear doesn’t always disappear just because time passes, no matter what you put in place to try and get over it. Waiting to feel completely fearless before doing anything would mean not doing very much at all. 

So for me, fear isn’t conquered as such… it just gets managed. Most days, that management looks very ordinary. It means doing the thing anyway, even if there is hesitation, discomfort or a bit of internal resistance. I get on the train because I wouldn’t be able to work with many of my clients, or enjoy weekends away with The Bloke if I didn’t. I get on the plane because I want to see other parts of the world in person. I’m diligent with my savings so that, if it does disappear overnight, I will be ok, at least for a while. I keep my very small friendship group to just those that genuinely bring joy. And when my knee starts to feel better, I will, albeit very slowly and carefully, go for walks outside to build up my confidence again.

I don’t know whether these fears will ever disappear completely, and I am not sure they need to. Carrying on isn’t about pushing myself or proving anything. It is about recognising the fear, making sensible allowances for it, and continuing at a pace that feels realistic. 

Not fearless as such, just functional.