The Velvet Type

This year has gone absolutely nothing like what I imagined. Sitting in bed on December 31st, writing down goals and accomplishments, dreams yet to be curated in reality. 

I do it every year, but this year something felt different. It felt real and possible, something I could truly be capable of. I was filled with this determination to try and keep trying, because all my life, I’ve been afraid.

It’s a hard truth to admit to oneself. 

Fear.

It’s a poisonous tree that grows thick roots, invading every aspect of your life.

At first, it’s a form of protection; it helps you survive the unstable environments, the eternal chaos you once found yourself in. 

You get so lost in it, you don’t even realize what it is. 

Fear of the unknown, loss of control, uncertainty, capability.

The physical attributes of fear make it even more excruciating. It’s a racing heart, a tightness in your chest you can’t seem to quell, your mind picking up speed, searching for danger your body is anticipating. 

I talk about fear a lot because it’s the anchor that stalls our movement. It holds us captive in a place we yearn to outgrow. 

My life experiences led me to be afraid of everything. 

When you’re constantly reacting to life happening to you, the roots of fear sink into your core. They burrow so deeply, the thing you become the most afraid of is yourself.

It’s extremely uncomfortable to face your own reality, look at yourself, and realize you are what scares you the most. It destabilizes your reality.

Most of my life has been a reaction. 

So when I sat down to write out what my year would look like, I was so sick and tired of being afraid. It stemmed from a debilitating exhaustion, a desire to be and do more than I ever have before. 

Fear is controlling, problematic, suffocating. 

It’s a noose around your neck, constantly constricting what you think you can or can’t do. 

What you think you’re capable of, how you’ll survive or handle situations. How you think you should’ve handled a situation. Things you did or didn’t say. 

It’s a loop.

A torturous, unsettling loop that runs every scenario repeatedly, thinking and preparing for every interaction, every encounter, present or future. 

You spend so long trapped in the confines of your mind, you end up not doing anything at all. The worry becomes its own mental prison, preventing you from ever finding the keys.

Maybe you know all this. Maybe you’re aware of the psychological and physical components of fear and what it does. But do you know what it’s like to shift that state? 

To wake up in the morning feeling well rested? Calm? To not have that constant tightness in your chest, to take a deep breath, and it feels expansive instead of restricted?

This year hasn’t gone anything like I expected. 

It has challenged me relentlessly, cracked me wide open, and exposed all the good and ugly parts within me. I’ve been forced to face my biggest fear of all. 

Myself.

Because of my past, living in a state of survival on and off for countless years. I’ve learned endlessly about my nervous system. How sensitive it is, how reactive and violent it feels.

Feelings.

Constant chaos, constant pain, and enduring the same events repeatedly, your body adjusts to that environment. 

In my case, I learned to tune it out. 

I forced a gap between my mind and my body. A massive canyon from what I think and what I feel. 

At first, it feels like a switch you can control, something to easily turn on and off. Numb out the parts you need to and revisit at a later time. But with constant use of this secret little trick, the switch misfires, and it breaks. 

You don’t realize what’s happened until only the loudest emotions paddle across the gap.

Instead of feeling the sweet simplicity of joy when you bite into your favorite food, you feel indifferent to it. It becomes just an act of supplying your body with nutrients.

You forget what makes you happy in minuscule ways. 

Like how much you love music and finding niche artists, how the sounds and vocals vibrate through your system. To hear each specific layer as it builds on the others to make something that elicits a reaction. 

You don’t dance in outrageous ways when no one’s watching.

Somehow, you forgot your love for the sound of the sea. How you enjoy getting ready for the day, how you love making corny jokes, and seeing other people smile.

In this state, pieces of you chip away slowly until you’re a shell of who you once were. Instead of running out into a rainstorm to feel the drops fall onto your skin, you sat in the dark and watched them trickle down the window.

Lights aren’t as bright anymore.

Public places are too overwhelming.

People are too exhausting. 

Instead of feeling your way through life, you think your way through.

Smiles are forced, laughs are strategically inserted, departures are preemptively planned.

You learn the only way to feel is through chaos. You just can’t seem to flip the switch back on.

Whether you’re the one who creates it or not, it’s the highs and lows of the fallout that finally bring something to the surface. 

But it never lasts.

I never realized how truly disconnected I was from myself. 

The canyon only grew with time, convincing me that this was all I was capable of. The thing is, what resided in the deep waters below was fear. 

If I felt it, if I built that bridge, and reconnected with my true emotional state, it would mean pain.

Pain that was buried and cemented over. Old pain that lingered and stained.

Fear of how I would react to that pain. In the past, it was consuming, crippling. It took over my mind and body until I couldn’t see, hear, or feel anything else. 

But what if we did it differently?

I didn’t know what I was doing when I would journal, reliving every mark left on my heart. With each entry, I was rewriting my story, I was rewiring the patterns in my mind, how I saw and thought of the experiences. 

I was unconsciously building my own bridge.

What happens when it’s tested? 

When I made the choice to step back into the physical world, when I chose to experience life from another perspective, the stability of my bridge was tested. 

I started the year by not getting on an airplane. I have to make a decision that is in the best interest of my well-being.

I was so afraid of the reaction I’d receive from that. I’m not responsible for others’ feelings or reactions. 

I had a difficult conversation with my mother. Even if she doesn’t understand my perspective, it doesn’t invalidate my experience. 

I learned what it means to set boundaries. I’m overwhelmed right now. I need some space to sort things out. We can talk about this later.

I reconnected with old friends. This connection is special to me; it can’t be what it used to be, but maybe we can build something different.

I took baby steps. Testing the stability I spent the past year dedicated to. Until I stumbled upon the ultimate challenge. Something utterly unexpected that really shook my foundation. 

I put myself in a position where my most vicious fears surfaced and clawed their way to the surface. 

Regardless of how loud everything screamed at me to run away, I dove in. There was this something that needed to be sought through. 

I was so afraid. I reacted; my mind raced to fill in the blanks of uncertainty; I struggled to discern what I felt; I fought those feelings; I retreated, hid away. 

But I came back to myself. 

It was like the final steel beam welded in place, solidifying the bridge I built between my mind and body. My sense of self, my center, my confidence, it all felt so sure. 

It wasn’t some crazy ah-ha moment. I was lying outside, soaking in the sun, when a thought ran through my mind: you’ll be okay no matter what, you always are.

Something so simple, yet it carried a trust, a certainty with it.

This weight I’ve carried around my entire life lifted. This deep root that poisoned my core, this fear of what I’m emotionally capable of handling, was excavated.

Disintegrated.

I proved to myself that I’m capable of feeling everything and handling everything. 

Even if I’m afraid, even if I make a mistake, even if I’m hurt, and it feels like someone nicked my heart with a new wound, I can find my way back to myself.

Instead of chasing external validation, instead of waiting for someone to choose me, to finally prove my worth. I chose myself. 

Every day since has been an adventure. Each morning is a new day of discovery. 

I lose hours listening to music, seeing what sings to my soul.

I dance in the kitchen making dinner, sliding around the floor as if I’m preparing for some inevitable dance battle. 

I sing in the car as if I have the vocals of an angel.

I sit outside just to feel the breeze tickle my arms and hear the birds sing. 

My entire life, I’ve felt weighed down by this immovable force. It always pressed on my chest, constricted my heart. Until that very moment, I never knew true peace. 

It was a flood of calm, my mind and body finally meeting and embracing. Agreeing to never let the other drift too far away again.

Warmth and joy, hope and tranquility. A laugh bubbled out of me. 

I realize now what it means to fully trust yourself. To have this new awareness, to be afraid, and do it anyway. It’s not just some concept to aim for; it’s a vibration, a shift in your core belief. 

Fear has held the reins on my life; now I get to live intentionally, consciously, peacefully.

It’s not to say I’ll never be afraid again. 

But now I can look at the fear and choose differently. I control it; it does not control me. 

So what happens when you rip out the roots of fear that burrowed into you?

I don’t know. 

But I’m learning.

Signing Off,