THE FEAR.
Personal growth is hard.
Not because we don’t want it.
Not because we aren’t capable.
But because growth requires leaving the things that once kept us safe.
So many times, we think we want something—but then we find every excuse possible not to move toward it. We tell ourselves we’ll do it later. When things settle down. When we feel more prepared. When the timing is better.
Personal growth doesn’t wait for certainty.
It asks us to move away from what’s familiar and step into a future we can’t predict. One where outcomes aren’t guaranteed. And even when the place we’re in no longer fits us—when it’s limiting or painful—we stay anyway.
Because fear convinces us that staying is safer than risking change.
When Fear Disguises Itself
Fear doesn’t usually announce itself as fear.
It shows up as logic.
As responsibility.
As restraint.
It tells you this isn’t the right time.
That you’re not ready yet.
That waiting is the smarter choice.
But what it’s really doing is keeping you tethered to a version of life you’ve already outgrown.
I didn’t realize how much fear was shaping my decisions until I began to understand ADHD-related demoralization. Naming that experience cracked something open. It made it harder to ignore how often fear had stood between me and real solutions.
Why I Listen Instead of Read
I love audiobooks.
Not just because they entertain me or teach me something new—but because they give me a break from my own voice.
Traditional reading has always been difficult for me. Part of it is impatience. I struggle with filler words and unnecessary dialogue that feels like it exists just to add bulk to a book. More often than not, I’m already several steps ahead, guessing what the next hundred pages will entail and wishing I could skip to the actual point.
I’ve often thought the creator of Cliff’s Notes might have had ADHD.
Another reason is distraction. If other people are around, I’ll read the same page five times without absorbing anything before eventually giving up.
Audiobooks solve most of that.
They have a fast-forward button.
I can move around while listening.
I can do other things.
But most importantly, I’m not reading to myself.
Because when I read to myself, I’m not just reading—I’m judging. I’m critiquing. I’m giving myself feedback in real time.
It’s exhausting.
Finding Insight Where I Didn’t Expect It
As I’ve been moving through this process—truth, grief, clarity—I’ve been taking a one-step-at-a-time approach. That’s new for me. I’m usually planning far into the future, whether it’s realistic or not.
One cold, gray day, I opened the Libby app and decided to do something different.
Instead of reaching for another self-help book—the you’re a hot mess and here’s how to fix yourself genre—I wanted something light. Something funny. Something short. Something immediately available.
That’s how I found How Y’all Doing? by Leslie Jordan.
I’ve always loved him. His humor filled me with genuine joy during some heavy days.
Near the end of the book, he tells a story about his recovery. His sponsor asked him to call every day, at the same time, and list his fears.
That was it.
Just name them.
There were eighty.
Leslie passed away a few years ago, and when I finished the book, I felt unexpectedly sad knowing there would be no more stories. But what stayed with me was this:
Even someone who radiated that much joy had lived with tremendous fear—and survived it.
Naming My Own Fear
That story made me start thinking about my own fears and the role I’ve let them play in my life.
So I started writing them down.
And one stood out immediately.
My biggest fear is rejection.
I don’t think anyone can honestly say they aren’t afraid of rejection. We’re wired for belonging. Being accepted by others is foundational.
So why did this fear feel so consuming for me?
When I followed it back, it led me to something I’ve carried since childhood.
The First Mask
One of the most enduring masks I’ve worn my entire life is the mask of not being stupid.
As a child, I played games with my older sibling. There was no effort to help me understand or improve—just constant competition and constant commentary.
I trusted that my own brother would love me for who I was.
Instead, I was told—over and over—that I was stupid.
I didn’t know my brain worked differently.
I didn’t know why I struggled.
So I absorbed it.
Until the only option left was protection.
If I could just make everyone else believe I wasn’t stupid, maybe I’d be okay.
That’s where my fear of rejection began.
Hiding What Hurt
Those memories are hard to revisit.
Not because they’re dramatic.
But because they’re old.
Because they shaped everything that came after.
I learned to hide the “stupid.”
I learned to mask early.
I learned to perform competence so convincingly that even I believed it.
Fear kept me safe.
But it also kept me small.
When Fear Begins to Loosen
Personal growth doesn’t happen on your timeline.
And it never follows the path you expect.
But by slowly moving through truth, grief, and clarity, I’m noticing something subtle.
The sharp edges of fear are beginning to dull.
They’re still there.
But they’re not commanding me to cower.
They’re not forcing me to stay in places I no longer want to be.
By allowing myself to see reality—not the version fear insists on—I’m loosening the masks I’ve worn for decades.
For the first time, I’m able to wonder what I’m actually capable of.
A Place to Pause
If you’re recognizing yourself in any of this, I want to invite you to notice where your fears come from.
What they’ve asked you to hide.
What they once protected you from.
Fear doesn’t appear out of nowhere. It forms around moments where being yourself didn’t feel safe.
And maybe by naming it—rather than obeying it—you can begin to loosen the masks you’ve worn too.
I’m still in this process myself.
Until then, give yourself grace.