Do It Scared

I was nine years old when a toned-down version of HBO’s Tales from the Crypt began airing on network television, and I was absolutely terrified of the opening sequence.

The old black-and-white TV in my childhood bedroom had two knobs on it but, alas, no remote control. If and when said super creepy TV show came on, I had to walk right up to the screen and turn one of the knobs next to it in order to change the channel.

Instead of confronting and correcting the problem myself, I was always paralyzed with fear and fled from my room, begging my parents to change the channel for me.

This was the pattern of my childhood. Fear. Flight. Repeat.

I was painfully scared of many things as a kid: Fourth of July bottle rockets catching our roof on fire, getting on and off escalators at the mall, the Gremlins movies, and the Jabberwocky in the 1985 Alice in Wonderland miniseries, just to name a few.

I was even terrified to trick-or-treat on Halloween. I do not like to be scared, even if I know it’s all pretend, and I worried I would end up receiving the poisoned candy I saw on the news. My mother must have shared my fears, because we typically ended up trick-or-treating at retail stores in the mall instead of in our neighborhood.

One summer, I found myself in a hospital emergency room with my mom after a week of heart palpitations and extreme insomnia made her think I was sick. When the EKG and blood test results came back completely normal, the ER doctor asked me a few questions and determined that I was suffering from a panic attack triggered by my fear of flying by myself the next week.

The doctor explained the human fight-or-flight response to fear, also known as the acute stress response, to me. That ER visit was the beginning of my understanding of the profound effects of elevated levels of the hormone cortisol on my mind and body. That was the beginning of my realization that fear was holding me back, even from things I actually wanted to do, like go visit my aunt in west Texas.

In my early twenties, I learned to engage my fight response instead of my flight response. I learned to stop running away. I learned to do it scared.

Now, in my thirties, I still have to choose to do things scared instead of running away.

I now also know that I have generalized anxiety disorder, as did my mother and my grandfather.

Almost every minute of every day, I imagine the worst possible outcome for every scenario. It’s simply how my brain works. This makes me generally well prepared when bad things do happen. However, if I let fear and worry overtake me, I wouldn’t do anything I need to do—drive, go to the grocery store, answer the phone, go out with friends, make dinner. I would hide in my bed from the dangers of the world (or perhaps become a doomsday prepper in a basement) instead.

I have to do it scared.

Some days, my fear is worse than others, but I always have to fight. (I’m also an Enneagram type 6, meaning that my biggest fear is actually lack of support.) I continually ask the Holy Spirit to remind me that I’m never alone because God is on my side. I continually remember and meditate on God’s promise that he has my back, even when it feels like no one else does.

As God told the Israelites, “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine” (Isaiah 43:1 ESV). Or, as the apostle Paul reassured the early Christians in Rome: “If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Romans 8:31 ESV).

In every battle and every worst case scenario that might possibly happen, God is on our side. Always and forever. His love is bigger than our fear. He will fight for us. We are never, ever alone, even when it feels that way.

We must constantly choose fight over flight, or faith over fear, no matter how difficult it is. We must choose to trust God with our future and keep stepping forward in faith. We must believe he has our backs every step of the way, even though we can’t see how he’s working in our current situation just yet. (This doesn’t mean, by the way, that we shouldn’t leave an abusive or toxic relationship. Setting healthy boundaries is one of the very bravest ways to fight.)

Having courage doesn’t mean we aren’t afraid. It means we do it scared.

Lauren Flake writes about her journey as a wife, mom to two little girls and Alzheimer’s daughter in her native Austin, Texas, at For the Love of Dixie. Her first book, Where Did My Sweet Grandma Go? was published in 2016. She thrives on green tea, Tex-Mex, and all things turquoise.