Fear: The Quiet Companion
What is the first fear you let go of?
Do you remember how it felt — shaky at first, then liberating?
Fear is one of our most basic emotions. But it’s rarely simple.
It hides under discomfort, under hesitation, under the many ways we talk ourselves out of something.
It wears different faces — guilt, worry, shame, social conditioning. Layered like an onion.
If you want to move through fear, you must first know how to feel it. Sit with it. Peel it back.
Because until you name it, it will name you.
The Everyday Fears That Shape Us
For a long time, I didn’t think I was afraid. I was just… careful.
But underneath that carefulness was a fear of dirty places — a city girl’s squeamishness, afraid to squat in dust, get her hands dirty, touch what’s untamed.
I feared discomfort. And I feared what it would make of me.
I avoided public restrooms, planned my days around toilet access, sometimes even held it till I got home — as if my body’s needs were something shameful.
And one day, I asked myself: Why?
Why, as women, are we taught to ignore our animal selves?
Why do we wait till the last possible moment, even if it hurts, even if it means suffering silently, just to avoid being seen answering nature’s call?
Until I remembered — I am an animal. A sacred, wise, intuitive animal.
I met women in Australia who had freed themselves from this fear at 16, 21.
Women who had learned to live in sync with the land, their needs, their bodies.
And I realised — in India, we delay our growth.
We confuse modesty with suppression. And I no longer wanted to carry that confusion.
The Fear of Men and Taking Up Space
Then there’s the fear that’s harder to name — the fear of male gaze, of presence, of walking into a place where you know the room will be full of men.
Like the local eatery in Kerala, where food is delicious, cheap, and the room is always packed wall-to-wall with men of every class.
Most women hesitate. They wait outside, or they send someone in.
But I didn’t want to wait. I walked in. I asked a man to move over, I sat beside him. I ate.
And just like that, the fear loosened its grip.
If ten women walked in, no one would flinch. But all it takes is One.
The Fear of Touch and Wildness
I used to fear animals. Stray dogs, especially. I was told they carry disease. That they were unsafe. But slowly, life softened me. On treks, in far-off places, stray dogs began to appear — not as threats, but as companions. Guides. Guardians. Walking with me. Sleeping by me. Protecting me.
Once, a wombat curled up under my legs to seek warmth while I chatted with a stranger.
In that moment, I saw: animals aren’t “out there.” They are one with us. We are not separate.
My fear dissolved into something sacred — Belonging.
The Unspoken Fear of Power Play
One of the deepest fears I faced was naming inappropriate attention from older men — especially those in power.
Men who give too much attention, cloak it in friendship, expect affection in return.
Most women don’t speak up — because these men are CEOs, clients, presidents.
Speaking up can cost you your job, your peace, your reputation.
But this time, I chose truth.
I didn’t hide behind a fake boyfriend or drop a hint of marriage. I didn’t play along to stay safe.
I stood in my knowing and spoke clearly — not as a victim, not as a scared girl, but as a woman.
I saw the little boy in this powerful man, throwing a tantrum when refused. And I named it.
Not to shame him — but to bring us both to the same ground. To truth.
And truth, spoken from inner power, changes everything.
The Real Work — Peeling Back the Layers
I began to name my fears. And with each name, I grew stronger. I began to see fear as a signal, not a sentence.
Something to walk through, not run from.
I stopped speaking from a place of defence — and started speaking from a place of knowing.
Because stillness taught me who I was.
Silence gave me my voice.
And Then Came The Ultimate Fear – The Road Trip
I drove solo across Australia in a little Mazda 3 doing the famous loop, camping in wild places, unknown lands, unfamiliar towns.
Every day, I met my fears. Of safety. Of isolation. Of being the only woman.
And every night, I pitched my tent — sometimes beside strangers, sometimes under starlit skies with no one around.
And every morning, I woke up more free.
Even young Aussie women hadn’t dared do what I did.
But I didn’t feel brave. I felt human. Alive. In rhythm with something ancient in me.
Your Turn
What fear did you outgrow?
What fear still lives in you?
And how long do you plan to carry it? A lifetime?