I recently wrote a newsletter about fear—about how it whispers lies in our ears, convincing us we aren’t worthy, that we’ll fail, that we don’t belong. Fear is a master storyteller, crafting intricate narratives meant to keep us small.
But here’s the truth: Fear is just another character in the story. And we— you—are the author. As a fiction writer, I know the power of a well-told lie.
A villain can manipulate, deceive, and twist reality to fit their agenda. Fear does the same. It spins tales of self-doubt, of failure, of rejection. It tells us that our dreams are too big, our voices too small, our talents not enough.
But just like any villain, fear can be rewritten.
Rewriting Fear’s Narrative
Think about the protagonist in any great story. They face obstacles. They doubt themselves. But what makes them heroic is their choice to keep going despite the fear. They don’t wait for fear to disappear—they act anyway.
Maybe you’re staring at a blank page, afraid your words won’t be good enough. Maybe you’re considering a new job, a new relationship, a new adventure, but fear tells you it will end in disaster.
But what if, instead of letting fear write the next chapter, you took the pen back?
What if, instead of a story where you fail, you write one where you rise?
Taking the Pen Back (And Making Fear Look Ridiculous)
Taking the pen back doesn’t have to be some grand, dramatic act. Sometimes, it looks like this:
Fear’s version of the story: “You can’t go to the gym. You’ll look ridiculous. Everyone will stare.”
Your rewrite: You march into that gym in your slightly mismatched workout gear, drop your water bottle twice, and almost fall off the treadmill—but you do it anyway. Plot twist: No one cares. Except for the guy who tripped over his own shoelace while watching you almost fall.
Fear’s version of the story: “Don’t submit that writing piece. It’s trash. People will laugh.”
Your rewrite: You submit it. Someone actually does laugh—but at the joke you intentionally put in the second paragraph. Then they tell you they loved it and share it with their friends.
Fear’s version of the story: “You can’t start that new hobby. You’ll be terrible at it.”
Your rewrite: You pick up a paintbrush, a guitar, a crochet hook—whatever. Your first attempt is so bad even your pet looks concerned. But by week two, you’re slightly less bad, and by week five, you realize you’re actually having fun.
Fear’s version of the story: “If you dance at this wedding, people will judge you.”
Your rewrite: You dance anyway. You look kind of ridiculous, but then Grandma gets up and starts busting out moves from the ’70s, and suddenly, you’re the life of the party.
You Are the Author of Your Own Story
Fear is a liar. It doesn’t predict the future; it only pretends to. The real story—the truth—is that you are capable, worthy, and strong enough to write the life you want.
So when fear starts whispering, recognize it for what it is: a poorly written antagonist in the grand epic of your life. Then pick up the pen, turn the page, and write yourself as the hero. Because that’s exactly who you are.
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