Do It Scared
Choosing courage when fear tells you to hide — and pressing “Publish” anyway.
My fingers shivered over the mouse pad, eyes twitching at the bright glare of the screen. The blue “PUBLISH” button stared back at me, gleaming. I had read, edited, and re-read. A friend had said it was good. Yet my index finger refused to press down.
The blinking cursor taunted me. I imagined it laughing at me like a classmate would — tiny and cruel. Pointing fingers like I asked for a Red Rider BB Gun for Christmas.
I watched myself from a distance — an adult baby in a playpen, struggling to stand — the world looked on, shaking their heads at my trivial fears while they dealt with real problems.
My worth hung in the air like an empty thermometer — nothing measuring up.
My other work stood bare, naked in the cold. One lone “like” stuck to each one like an icicle — thanks, Dad. (Truly.)
It all felt like some sort of satire on a stage — some absurd theatrical performance where my life was the joke — something to gawk at and mock. The crowd in uproar over how ridiculous it all seemed.
I felt myself sliding into a familiar pit — so well-worn it almost felt soft. A blanket of isolation and dimness. A strange kind of comfort.
So I catapulted myself outside.
I yanked my mind from the darkness and let my body walk through a yellow field.
One step after the other over thick, wet dirt — the kind you can breathe in and taste. The dank soil filled my nose and calmed my nerves, grounding me.
I am strong.
Rolling hills rose like slow ocean waves, mountains etched against the horizon. The sun warmed my cheek, and the wind brushed through my hair like fingertips.
I am loved.
I needed to remember.
Or forget.
Forget the whispers that lie softly — because not every corrupt voice is loud.
Remember the truth of who I am.
I needed to slow down.
The world moves too fast — a freight train barreling over the rails. I’m strapped to the front of it, trying to catch a distant breath. It almost flies off the track, keeping my focus on the destination and how quickly I can get there. Piercing raindrops slice open my skin — every should of the world. Lights and sounds rapidly fly in and out of focus like a blur — every fleeting moment.
But it also cradles me, singing pretty lullabies about belonging — if I just stay quiet. If I just don’t try too much. The façade of comfort in conformity.
My doubts spun in circles. I swallowed. My mouth suddenly went dry.
I took a breath.
Stared into the yellow ocean I placed myself in.
And tried to drown the fear.
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To slow time, I had to notice everything.
I closed my eyes, squeezed my fists, and first took notice of my heart pulsing a hurried, staccato rhythm.
Breathe.
I noticed the sound of tall, dry grass wrestling with itself. Ducks splash in the nearby pond.
Sunlight poured from a cloudless sky, illuminating the strong, unwavering mountains.
I kept walking, noticing.
My breath slowed. My heart softened into a languid melody.
I took notes — the dirt hugging my sock, the squish of my shoe on wet earth, goosebumps rising and dissolving beneath warm sunlight.
Still, the quiet wasn’t enough.
So I put on a podcast. My soul hungry for a different sound.
The host spoke of “file cabinets” in our minds: the one you open is the one you feed.
File Cabinet #1: Fear.
“Nobody cares. You are alone. You are not good enough. Don’t even try.”
File Cabinet #2: Love.
“You matter. You are not alone. Writing teaches reflection, growth, and courage. Publish it — and let the world decide for themselves.”
I realized which cabinet I had opened the most. Fear — replete with evidence, it grew stronger every time I listened. It had become instinct.
But it was still a choice.
I named my emotions to understand them: Lester — the scared inner child, craving comfort and shielding me from hard work. And now, Ruth — the older, cruel, and cautious voice, trying to protect me from rejection. I acknowledged them both.
Ruth screamed from her file cabinet, but I shut it and locked her out. I am capable. I will not let fear control me. I can handle judgment.
It’s always easier to doubt than believe. I’ve simply practiced that longer.
But the world suffers when we snuff out our own light.
So I chose.
I chose love.
I chose courage.
I chose to press the button.
Not because it would be perfect. Not because it would be read by millions. But because it was mine.
I pressed PUBLISH.
I flinched at the “click”. The fear didn’t vanish.
I winced and squeezed my arms, realizing that neither did I.
