Dear Fear,
For the longest time, I mistook you for wisdom.
You whispered reason when I wanted to leave my job for passion. You painted safety when I stayed in relationships that dimmed my light. You promised security while stealing every risk that might have led to joy.
I thought you were protecting me.
Instead, you were imprisoning me.
You convinced me that dreams were for children, that settling was mature, that the cage I built was actually shelter. You made me small when I was meant to expand. You silenced the voice that knew better.
But I see you now for what you are—not a counselor, but a thief.
You’ve stolen enough years.
You’ve whispered your last warning.
Go find someone else to diminish.
It’s time for me to remember what it feels like to be alive.
