Are You Hiding Your Fears?

Teaching five-year-olds at church one morning necessitated bravery my daughter never expected to need in a church basement.

“Mom, I had to kill a spider today! Myself! Those little kids were watching me, and I knew I had to do it so they wouldn’t be scared. But–I. Killed. A. Spider!”

If you knew my third child, you would know this was a level of bravery necessary somewhere between getting in a shark tank and taking a bullet for her mother. It made me remember my own moment of bravery beyond expectation.

For twenty-some years, I was a baby about needles. Well, no–not a baby. Babies may scream, but they’re basically immobile creatures. I, on the other hand, was the only kid to kick the doctor giving me a measles shot so hard he had to try again. I whimpered, whined, crawled under examination tables, and clasped my arms together like an armadillo facing a jaguar rather than experience a single needle prick.

Until the day I went to get my blood drawn, toting along my little girl. Not quite two, my first child watched as I rolled up my sleeve and prepared to be the last gladiator standing. As I saw the nurse approach me with the needle of doom, I had one of those parent moments. I realized what would happen if I dissolved in terror.

My little girl would too.

She would never understand that it was a momentary terror for me—over quickly and out. She would only know this person was hurting her momma, and the world was ending as she knew it. If Momma panicked, she would panic more.

Right then, one thing mattered to me more than the approaching needle. That one thing was her watching me—intently.

I had to take one for the team. I had to be the big girl. I had to face that needle without flinching and not let her see my fear. (Incidentally, if this is where she got her strange fascination with phlebotomy, I claim no responsibility.)

Until that morning I had given no thought to the effect my fear might have on my children. Since then, I’ve given it a lot of thought; you have to when you’ve got three kids watching you. Facing the needle that day woke me to the realization that I feared a lot in life, and I did not want fear crippling my girls. I could decide, for the sake of those watching, what they saw me run away from and what they saw me stand up to.

I didn’t kick fear overnight. Hardly. I’ve been nowhere near a textbook example. Ask my children how I feel about making phone calls or talking to strangers. They know. Some fears you just can’t hide.

We don’t want to hide everything, though. I want to be real with the people watching me. I don’t want anyone to see a fake me; I don’t want to hide my real world with its real worries. Yet knowing others are watching makes me consider how much of the “real me” I want to keep and how much I would love for God to change into something that closer resembles him.

We all need to know other women are not perfect, but we also need to know they are inviting God to change them daily. We need to see that fear can be overcome, wounds can be healed, and failures can create strength.

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We need to be aware that others are watching, not so we can hide our blemishes, but so they will know they, too, can invite God to heal and hallow them.

Who’s watching you when you don’t know it? Who’s taking his or her cues by what you run from? Someone is. That realization made me sit up straight and smile through the fear, and you know what? My fear of needles dissipated. When you stop allowing yourself to anticipate something in terror, that terror almost always loses its power.

I suspect my daughter will kill a few more spiders in her lifetime, and now she knows she can. People were watching her, and she needed to put them first in that moment.

I hope the realization that someone is watching you deal with your fears helps you sit up a little straighter today and smile through whatever comes. It works—I promise.

Jill Richardson is a writer, speaker, pastor, mom of three, and author of five books. She likes to travel, grow flowers, read Tolkien, and research her next project. She believes in Jesus, grace, restoration, kindness, justice, and dark chocolate. Her passion is partnering with the next generation of faith. Jill blogs at jillmrichardson.com.

Photograph © Noah Silliman, used with permission