Fear Makes Us Do Some Absurd Things

“Fear makes us do some absurd things.”

–Cockroach (from the novel This Animal Body)

Cockroach’s line in my new novel comes from personal experience. Fear has definitely made me do some ridiculous things, like hoard large quantities of dried figs and popcorn in case worldwide supplies ever run dangerously low.

Or obsessively check the door to the chicken coop every night to make sure a raccoon or coyote or hawk can’t jiggle it open while I’m asleep.

Or, you know, not do the thing I loved and longed to do for twenty-five years.

The good news is, I’m finally—finally!—doing that thing. Over the last eight years, I wrote a novel and am now sharing it—my heart and soul—as widely as I can.

I assume I’m not the only one frightened by the idea of putting my creative work out in the world, so I’m going to take a moment to share here what’s helping me do it.

Five things make it possible:

1. Finding a purpose bigger than me

I think on some level we all create because we want to change the world.

Maybe the world feels too small, too limited, too painful, or too unjust, so we write, compose, draw, paint, or dance the changes we want to see.

Maybe we create to show others a glimpse of what’s possible. Or to highlight something that’s been invisible so it can no longer be ignored.

Maybe we just want people to find some ease, fun, or enjoyment so they can better endure the inevitable pain.

I find that when I clarify what my creative work can contribute to others and then focus on that, I automatically shift from fear about how it will be received to compassion and a sincere desire to help. In the face of so much pain in the world, me not sharing my work isn’t humility—it’s refusing to lend a hand.

2. Defining success beyond results

Let me be clear. Of course I want to win awards, break bestseller records, and get chosen for Oprah’s book-of-the-month club.

But fortunately, I’ve failed enough times to know that those things don’t actually matter.

Though part of me still wants them, most of me now understands that they really aren’t important—they don’t actually lead to long-term fulfillment, and what’s more, they’re largely out of my control. I can write a great book, but that doesn’t guarantee anybody will read it, let alone pick it for their club.

For these reasons, I took the time to create indicators of success for the publication of my book that (1) don’t depend on results outside of my control and (2) focus on the things that really matter to me.

So instead of trying to sell a certain number of books or win a whole bunch of awards, here’s what I’m hoping to do:

• Collaborate on my book launch with people in ways that strengthen our connection
• Discover creative ways to help my book find the people who will benefit from it
• Learn about the book publishing process
• Get more comfortable taking risks that are not too big and not too small
• Widen my circles of support (giving and receiving)
• Have fun!

These things do fulfill me, and they don’t put my sense of self-worth at the mercy of luck or other people’s opinions, so…true success.

3. Finding community

People at your side = courage.

I’ve gathered others around me in a few ways. As I mentioned in my last post, the publisher I chose is known for nurturing a community of writers who have helped me with empathy, advice, and many reminders that everything is going to be okay.

I’ve invited a group of friends and colleagues to form a “Dream Team.” I gave them early access to the book, teas from our yard, wooden bookmarks, and thank you notes, and they’ve helped me spread the word. They also give me confidence because I know there’s a team of people who have my back.

Finally, I’ve asked for help from just about everyone and anyone—you, my spouse, family, friends, colleagues, people I’ve never technically met, trees, creeks, deer, and other wildlife.

It’s incredibly reassuring to know that though not everyone can help all the time, support is always available from somewhere.

4. Taking small steps

I tend to think I have to do everything everywhere all at once. Time and falling on my face have taught me that (1) I don’t, and (2) I can’t.

These days, when it all seems like too much, instead of getting overwhelmed and giving up, I’ve learned to take a break. Later, with a fresh(er) perspective, I do my best to let go of what I think I should be doing and ask:

What’s most essential, and what’s the smallest next step I can take towards that?

Over time, confidence and momentum build from successfully taking such small steps. Sometimes they build enough that I can tackle larger tasks. Sometimes I can’t, which just means it’s time for another break.

5. Feeling all the feels (especially the “worst” ones)

This is probably the hardest one on my list. I tend to push through things and force myself into action. The problem is, when fear and past wounds lie under the surface, pushing just makes them louder and more likely to overwhelm me.

Over time, I’ve learned how to notice when a wound is triggered, fear is present, or a sense of unworthiness has leaked back into my psyche. It’s different for everyone, but for me, the red flags include:

• Feeling anxious
• A sense of overwhelm
• Being disconnected from my body (unaware of how it feels)
• Shallow breathing
• Avoiding things
• Exhaustion and fatigue
• Poor sleep, including waking up panicky in the middle of the night
• Perfectionism
• Self-criticism

For years when I came across fear, hurt, or unworthiness, I tried to push them away, talk myself out of them, or convince myself they shouldn’t be there. Nothing worked, and the red flags all remained.

I finally realized that if I can welcome the pain—the queasy groundlessness, the terror, the hollow feeling that nothing I do is good enough—if I can let them be there and soften around them, I get some space. I begin to feel compassion for the parts of myself that feel so unsafe and unlovable. I recognize that they come from a young place in me, that they’re a small part in relationship to the larger vastness of who I am, and that all they’ve ever needed is some love and kindness.

In fact, I believe that’s why they keep interrupting my efforts. They just need a little loving attention. When I give it to them, they calm down, firm up, and are happy to help me to take the next step toward a more generous sharing of my work with the world.

What about you?

What helps you deal with overwhelm, unworthiness, or the fear of sharing your creative self with others? Let us know in the comments below so we can all learn from you.

Photo by Erik Karits on Unsplash