Embracing Fear: The Leap of Faith

Fear is a very strong emotion. It can keep us from going after what we want, it can keep us from really living, and it can even shut us down. But that fear is there for a reason — it’s an opportunity to develop, to learn, and in the long run, to fly. When you have fear, taking that leap of faith could be one of the most significant things you do in your life.

Silhouetted person jumping between cliffs at sunset against a mountain backdrop.

When it comes to making a decision, you have probably been in a situation where things seemed uncertain. It could have been beginning a new job, transferring to another city or sharing your work with others. The fear of the unknown is quite potent, and most of the time, the fears you have are worse than the actual situation. It is the voice in your head, sending you doubts: “What if I fail?” “What if nobody cares?” These thoughts can be quite daunting, but they should not set you back on your quest.

I always thought about starting a blog but doubted if I would be good at it or if it was a worthwhile use of my free time. I often thought that I would not have anything to offer or interesting for anyone to read. What would make my blog stand out from the millions of others? Vulnerability is powerful. Being open about struggles and triumphs makes my blog more relatable and impactful. I decided to take a leap of faith and just start this thing. What do I have to lose? NOTHING! I decided that if I combine two interests like parenting and wellness, self-care with storytelling, or life experiences with motivational insights, it could possibly draw in an audience.

But embracing my fears has not always come easy - they still don't!

Having Fear as a child

Embracing fear as a child was about learning how to confront, understand, and navigate scary or challenging situations in ways that foster resilience, emotional intelligence, and growth. As a kid, I did not take leaps of faith; I feared EVERYTHING. I was, and in a way still am, the quiet person in the room. Barely being seen. I wanted to be the outspoken person, the person who could make friends easily and comfortably. But I was not. I often ate lunch alone in middle school. The library was my safe space or with a teacher - NERD!

Girl in white shirt pondering, hand on chin, with a thoughtful expression against a light blue background.

When I was a kid, I often felt alone, so my grandmother took me to therapy. She said she wanted me to talk to someone else because she thought it wasn't healthy for me to spend so much time by myself or just with her.

She noticed that whenever I had to speak in front of people at church, I'd start shaking and sweating so much that I'd always need a change of clothes. In therapy, the therapist would have me express myself through play. We'd do pretend scenarios where I'd face and overcome small fears in a fun and safe way. I'd create stories where characters would face their fears and come out stronger.

With the therapist, I'd role-play or tell stories. She had these dolls in a basket in the corner. I'd set them up like a school and pretend I was giving a speech. Sometimes, I'd imagine the dolls were my friends who accepted me for who I was. With the dolls, I was the confident person I wished I could be in real life.

As a child, I carried a deep fear of people leaving me. I think this fear made it hard for me to connect with others or make friends at school. My biological mother made the brave and responsible decision to relinquish her parental rights to my grandmother—her own mother—before I was born. While I can recognize the courage in her choice, it doesn’t erase the ache of knowing that my own mother gave me up.

I didn’t know this truth growing up. It wasn’t until I was about five or six years old that I learned who she really was. Up until then, I believed she was my sister—after all, she called my grandmother “mom” just as I did. But when the truth came out, it shifted everything for me. I began to see her differently. Even when she was around, it felt like she wasn’t really there—as though she was caught in her own life, one that I didn’t seem to be part of.

The most painful part was watching her care for my younger brother, the child she had after me. I couldn’t help but wonder: What was it about me that made her decide, “I can’t be her mother”?

Although my grandparents were the most loving and incredible parents God could have blessed me with, the feeling of abandonment lingered. It was hard to shake the belief that somehow, I wasn’t enough for her to stay.

There’s so much more to this story, and I’ll explore it in greater depth in a later blog. But moments like these left me with a deep-seated fear—that everyone I cared about would eventually leave me. I carried this gnawing sense of unworthiness, a belief that I wasn’t someone worth staying for.

I think my grandparents could sense these fears, so they would overcompensate by giving me the world. Now, don't get me wrong, I know many of these activities and gifts were purely out of love and nothing more. We would go on cruises in the summer and visit amusement parks. They would buy me the newest toys or clothing that I wanted. The word "no" never came across their lips.

They were incredibly patient with me, always giving me the space to experience my emotions and guiding me to process and understand them. My grandmother was a constant presence at every school event, volunteering in the office or activities. She made it abundantly clear that I am never alone, and I never will be!

Embrace the fear as an Adult

You might assume that having therapy and incredibly supportive grandparents would have put me in a better place as an adult. However, I'm not completely healed yet—I'm working on it. Many old feelings are resurfacing: fear of abandonment, constant worry about my actions, and overthinking everything and everyone. As a mother, I naturally worry about whether I'm parenting correctly or making the right decisions for my children. I worry at work if I'm making the write career choices. Making friends is still challenging for me. I do have friends, but I still fear that one day, they might leave.

When I made friends, I found myself becoming protective, even territorial. I’d laugh and tease them with remarks like, “Hey, no new friends,” when I saw them talking to others. But beneath the humor, there was an uneasy truth. In my heart, it felt like they were slipping away from me, even though I knew it wasn’t really the case.

When new people entered my life, my mind would start its unrelenting interrogation: “Do they truly want to be here? How long until they leave? Am I just a temporary placeholder until someone better comes along?” I would do things to make sure they stayed my friend. I would buy expensive gifts and always volunteer to help, but it wasn't entirely out of love and kindness—60% was, but the other 40% was to prevent them from abandoning me. I wanted them to think of me as reliable, the only person they could truly count on. And many times, after doing those 'acts of kindness' I felt sick to my stomach and still worried that none of that mattered to them, that I didn't matter to them.

I hated feeling that way—questioning the intentions of those who reached out and second-guessing my worthiness of their time and care. It was exhausting, lonely, and something I wished I could escape, but it clung to me all the same.

The truth is, everyone feels fear at some point. It's a natural part of being human. However, those who succeed are often the ones who choose to face their fears head-on. They understand that growth happens outside of their comfort zones. At the age of 41, I'm still working on this. In October 2020, I took a leap of faith and accepted a job offer from a company I had never heard of, doing something I've never done. I had been doing the same thing for almost 15 years; it was the only thing I knew. It has been 4 years at the new company, and I am so very happy I took that leap of faith. I plan on continuing to take leaps because I recognize that the potential for joy, fulfillment, and success outweighs the risks involved.

As a mother, I want my children to know that they are braver than they think. And my children don't show fear. I do not like to be in the spotlight, never have and never will; my 10-year-old daughter, soon to be 11, dances on an amazing competitive dance team. When she steps out on that stage, her facial expressions, body language, and confidence flow through her so effortlessly. I have asked her if she is nervous, and she says, "Never, Mommy." My grandmother put me in tap and jazz classes when I was younger, and I loved it. But when it came time to perform, I was nowhere to be found. That stage was a scary place. I am so very proud of my little girl. Her twin brother is the same through soccer. Once those cleats are on his feet and he steps onto that field, it's like David Beckham, Cristiano Ronaldo, Pelé, or Lionel Messi comes out.

Taking that leap of faith requires courage. It may start with small steps—sharing your work with a trusted friend, joining a community of like-minded individuals, or simply committing to trying something new. Such as, I joined a barre class, I have started saying no to things. It's hard and still, at times, leaves me wondering if I made the wrong mistake at times. However, each step you take builds your confidence and helps you realize that you are capable of more than you ever imagined.

When you finally decide to act despite your fear, something magical happens. You discover strengths you didn’t know you had. You learn that failure isn’t the end; it’s merely a stepping stone to success. You begin to embrace the idea that every experience, whether good or bad, contributes to your personal growth.

So, if you find yourself standing at the edge of a leap, I encourage you to take that step. Embrace the fear, acknowledge it, and let it propel you forward. Remember, it’s okay to be scared—it means you’re pushing your boundaries. Believe in yourself, trust the process, and know that the journey is just as important as the destination.

In the end, the greatest regret often comes from the things we didn’t try. So go ahead, leap into the unknown. You might just find that it’s where you truly belong.

Have you ever faced a fear that seemed insurmountable? How did you overcome it?

"We Are All Strong Girls" Overcoming my fear of being on the edge of a building - The Edge NYC