I'm still scared

It turns out I am still a scaredy cat.

My recent visit to Estonia proved that.

Despite how often I repeat the words I’m scared & doing it anyway in speeches and writing, and how often people repeat them back to me, saying it and living it are very different.

This mantra came out of one of the most harrowing moments of my life: being diagnosed with a brain tumor at 28. Facing my own mortality changed the course of my work, my relationships, the city where I live, you name it.

For a while, it also put facing everyday fear into perspective.

There’s Big Fear like the tumor, things we have to face no matter what, and there is smaller fear we often make a lot bigger in our minds.

It’s still uncomfortable to face the unknowns of traveling alone, moving where you don’t know anyone, ending relationships, speaking in public, standing up to bullies, quitting your job to pursue your passion, raising your prices, putting yourself out there in a myriad of ways, but in most cases you’ll survive through the nerves, embarrassment and potential disappointment (along with potentially disappointing others).

In the wake of my Big Fear I ended up doing all of those smaller fears in succession in the years that followed. They were disorienting and upsetting at times, but ultimately manageable. Like my mantra, I learned I could be scared & do them anyway.

When has that happened in your life?

When have you made it through gigantic challenges that put the ones you used to fear into perspective? How have you surprised yourself as you moved through fears that would have held you back in the past?

Cut to Estonia.

Beautiful country! And incredible history of resilience after being occupied by both the Soviet Union and Germany throughout the 20th century and finally gaining its freedom in 1991.

I love travel, but I can forget how much of it freaks me out.

Like the succession of smaller fears from before, another series punctuated this trip:

  • The 20-minute ride in a prop plane from Helsinki to Tallinn, Estonia’s capital. Thank goodness for decent weather though I may have held my breath for most of it.

  • Climbing circular staircases to lookouts and church steeples, several of which involved rickety ladders, metal (read: see-through) steps, narrow stretches while passing other people and limp rope handrails that don’t really stabilize you like you (I) would like.

  • Standing while swinging. See video below. I’m embarrassed to admit how tightly I hung on.

  • Riding in the side car of a Russian motorcycle from the 1960’s. Ditto about hanging on.

  • “Naked sauna with the neighbors.”

That one deserves its own standup routine to adequately portray all the facial expressions, eye contact avoidance and awkward body language. There were so many smaller fears it’s hard to account for them all. In addition to how uncomfortable most Americans are about being naked, there’s doing it in front of several strangers, next to a driveway during the day, lying in the grass to rest in between (read: bugs in unmentionable places), and the Estonian tradition of light beating with leafy Birch branches — while also naked.

As is the case with most smaller fears, everyone survived.

Despite that, did I still repeat “I don’t want to do this” silently to myself? Yes.

In the course of my time in Estonia, as the number of times I didn't want to do something increased to at least once daily, I realized how safely limited my life had become.

I needed to reconnect with how to do-it-anyway.

Because there will always be something that feels uncomfortable or nearly debilitating, especially as we continue to step out of our comfort zones at work and in life. The most wonderful opportunities are there, so hopefully we do keep doing it.

How you treat yourself when those things happen is the key.

How to be scared & do it anyway

  1. Acknowledge the fear.

    It’s okay to feel scared. Naming the fear, no matter how small, makes it real and manageable whereas ignoring it makes it grow and can cause shame. You don’t deserve that.

  2. Be very kind.

    Treat yourself like you would a toddler who’s frightened of the dark. Console yourself. Sit with yourself. Hold yourself. Say “I’m right here with you.” There is no reason to rush this. I often excuse myself to the bathroom for some love & pep talks in the mirror.

  3. Determine how to do this your way.

    You don’t have to say yes and blindly go along with something just because everyone else seems okay with it. Ask for clarification. I asked A LOT about the sauna in order to find some comfort. A LOOOOOTTTTTT. Set some boundaries for how long you’ll stay, or how high you’ll climb on those rickety stairs. Most people will go along with your needs, and they don’t count anyway.

  4. Be proud of yourself.

    Even if you don’t stay very long, don’t participate as much as others, etc you showed up and that is more than enough. We had a rule in my house growing up, “You at least have to try.” That usually referred to asparagus, but it applies here because whatever you do is something more than you probably would have in the past. Be proud of your effort and be proud of being kind to yourself.

What are your tactics for being scared & doing it anyway? What are your stories of fear-facing and being proud of yourself? I would love to hear them.

And I’m happy to hear about your own naked sauna with the neighbors experience. It’s all welcome.


18 years

Who were you 18 years ago?

Not where or what but who — who did you believe you were back then and what happened to shape who you are now?

18 years ago today I was in surgery to remove a brain tumor, the first of three.

If you’ve been following my work and writing long enough, you’ve likely read a few of these anniversary posts. Reflecting on the passage of time helps me remember why I’m here and to make the most of it.

For past surgery anniversaries, I’ve celebrated people who were there when I needed them, raised money for brain tumor research and care for affected families, and held up brave spring blossoms as the annual remembrance of the spring I missed, in bed for most of it with unspoken worry that I might not see one again.

This year, I want to talk about trauma.

After these last two years, I’m not the only one who has experienced something that will forever shape who they are. One of the main aspects of my work is to help others see how much choice we still have, even in seemingly impossible and uncontrollable circumstances. How powerful we still are.

Today I’d like to give voice to the other side of that.

The fragile hopelessness and aching dread of things beyond our comprehension and which we have to endure, because those gigantic feelings can shape us as much, if not more, as how we rise out of them.

When I think about that day 18 years ago, I picture hospital gowns, gurneys, fluorescent lights, and holding my breath in the waiting room at 6:30am. I felt at the mercy of everything, completely and utterly powerless, from what I wore and where I was seated, to who I interacted with, when I could see loved ones, and what was done to me.

For 10 hours, strangers made major decisions about my body that I would be forced to live with.

Including that I would have to do this all over again 30 days later, and then again six days after that when something else they did beyond my control caused an infection — and with it hallucinations and writhing pain.

When you experience trauma, to your body and to your spirit from powerlessness, your chemistry changes. I grasped for control anywhere I could: smiling at nurses from the moment I woke up, even though my face was partially paralyzed, hoping they would take better care of me and see me as more than a patient. Buying special “convalescing pajamas” with tiny frogs on them for when I went home. Propelling myself into getting better, taking walks and naps with gusto and, when I felt well enough, taking on travel, career change and more.

But at the heart of these was the deepest desperate desire for “not that.” Anything and everything that wasn’t being at the mercy of others, because lack of control was too much to bear.

Or rather, the feeling of powerlessness was unbearable.

I am where I am now because I chose joy, love, living life fully, and because trauma and fear propelled me as far away as possible from what happened 18 years ago.

On this special day in this special blooming and budding season of renewal, please consider:

  • What happened to shape who you are today, and what role did trauma or fear or the threat of powerlessness play?

  • Where have you chosen out of curiosity and possibility, and where have you been propelled by “dear G-d anything but that, never again will I feel that way”?

It’s okay to feel this way and to make these choices. We all do. I’m proof, and so is the last two years.

These anniversaries allow me to acknowledge what I felt back then and take care of the part of myself that is still hurting.

Trauma, sadness, pain are part of me. It happened. It was terrible. I’m so sorry for the me who endured all of that with no choice, at the mercy of circumstances, clutching to her sense of self and control in the midst of things being done to her.

And I’m extra sorry that it means bad things can happen again no matter how hard I try to prevent or avoid them, and how hard you try too.

Acknowledging this gives myself more grace for the past decisions I made out of trauma, fear, seeming-powerlessness, and the times when they propel my choices now too.

I hope my anniversary allows you space for the tender parts of yourself that are still hurting, greater understanding of the past choices you made, and help choosing with self-kindness and grace now.

When you see the tiny, brave spring blooms outside, notice the ones inside of you too.

xoxo