Face Your Fears

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Frank doesn’t like strangers. When someone new comes into the house, he bolts straight to our bedroom and hides under the bed. It doesn’t matter if they’re loud or quiet, cat lovers or not—Frank’s first instinct is to disappear.

But every now and then, something changes. He peeks his head around the doorframe. He waits quietly at the threshold. Then, after a long pause, he takes a few steps out. You can see the tension in his body—his tail low, his eyes wide—but still, he moves forward. He faces it.

And even though he might run back at the slightest sound, the fact that he tried means something. He didn’t let the fear win.

I understand that kind of fear. I’ve been carrying this book idea for years. I started writing it in 2018, then stopped. Not because the stories weren’t important—but because I was afraid. Afraid that it wouldn’t be good enough. That no one would read it. That sharing these pieces of my heart—my cats, my memories—might open me up to judgment or rejection.

So I kept it quiet. I let the draft sit. I told myself it wasn’t the right time.

But deep down, I knew the only way to finish it was to face the fear. To take those steps forward, even if they felt shaky. To write. To revise. To let someone else read the words. And eventually—to share it.

Frank reminds me that facing your fear doesn’t mean being fearless. It means being willing. It means taking one small step, even if your heart is pounding. It means showing up.

So whether you’re hiding under the bed or holding back something you care about—know this: fear is natural, but it doesn’t have to be final.

Like Frank, you can come out of the room. And like me, you can tell your story anyway.