Letter 26: Fear as Teacher - From Fear to Transformation

“Courage is not the absence of fear, but action in spite of it.”

— Mark Twain

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Dear Future Human,

Now we must look deeper into the underlying cause of all resistance: fear itself.

Fear serves a crucial evolutionary purpose, keeping us alive by alerting us to danger and triggering protective responses that helped our ancestors survive. But our ancient alarm systems often misfire in modern contexts. A delayed text response from a new romantic interest can activate stress pathways similar to those triggered by immediate physical threats, leaving us flooded with fight-or-flight chemistry when no real danger exists.^¹ We may feel anxious and restless, swinging between “I don’t care” and obsessing over whether to text again.

I discovered how incapacitating fear can be. After a couple of incidents of freezing in front of a large group and enduring the shame that comes along with public failure, I began avoiding every opportunity to speak publicly. My mind went completely blank, no matter how much I rehearsed, as if the fear erased everything in that moment.

Neuroscientist Joseph LeDoux spent decades studying why this happens. He discovered that the brain processes fear through two pathways: a fast “low road” that bypasses conscious thought entirely, and a slower “high road” that involves thinking. When the amygdala detects a threat—real or perceived—it takes the low road, triggering a fear response in just 12 milliseconds, long before your conscious mind knows what’s happening. And here’s what matters for anyone who’s ever gone blank in a moment of fear: the amygdala literally shuts down the prefrontal cortex—your thinking brain—and blocks access to memory retrieval.² This is why no amount of rehearsal could save me in that moment. My brain had decided I was in danger and prioritized survival over performance.

For years, any time I was asked to speak, my body instantly went into panic—a pit in my stomach, tight chest, hands sweating.

The costs were great for me, both personally and professionally. I remained silent in meetings when I had meaningful and necessary contributions to make. I declined opportunities to present my work at important venues—ones that needed to hear my unique perspective. I watched as my feelings of shame and self-doubt allowed important opportunities to make a difference slip away.

The turning point, for me, came on a sunny Sunday afternoon when I decided to confront this fear in the most extreme way possible. I was attending a personal development seminar in Manhattan, and we were given an assignment—go outside right now and do something outrageous. I walked out of the building and stood on the sidewalk, scanning the busy street, unsure what to do. Then my eyes landed on the sign for Saks Fifth Avenue—an upscale department store. Instantly, the idea struck: what better place to confront my terror of public speaking than here, in front of the well-dressed strangers who, in my mind, were the toughest crowd. My plan was simple: if I could endure humiliation there, I could speak anywhere.

I can still remember the terror coursing through my body; every part of me screamed, “Turn around and run!” But my resolve was stronger than the fear I felt pulsing through my veins.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I please have your attention?” I raised my arms and cried out to the shoppers hovering over the jewelry counters, my heart pounding so hard I could barely breathe. I looked over the crowd of people who had now turned all their attention to me.

“I need your help; I am terrified of public speaking,” I bellowed.

Before I could even finish my sentence, most of them rolled their eyes in disdain and turned their backs, returning to what I had so rudely interrupted.

“Please don’t turn your backs on me,” I pleaded. “That is what I am so afraid of. I am terrified of being humiliated and rejected.”

“Don’t mind them!”

I heard a strong voice to my left. There stood a well-dressed older man, smiling broadly.

“Go on, we want to hear what you have to say.” He spread his arms, motioning toward the dozen or so individuals who remained looking at me.

My legs buckled. My hands were sweating and shaking. But I began to share my fear of public speaking—and my desperate need to overcome it. I don’t remember the exact words, only that I communicated how this fear had prevented me from fully expressing myself.

As I completed my speech, the older man said, “OK, you have shared with us. Now, how do you feel?”

I looked down at my body. For all my shaking, I was surprised that I was still able to stand.

“I feel great. I am alive!” I blurted out.

“You look great!” he roared, a big grin spreading across his face. “So where do you go from here?”

“To Carnegie Hall,” I joked.

Clapping erupted from the small group that had stayed with me. I stood there, fully absorbing the moment, drinking it in. I took a bow. The terror I had felt only seconds before transformed into elation—I was flying. I floated over to his wide-open arms and sank into his embrace.

I had entered the store terrified but emerged triumphantly into a new world. I allowed myself to feel foolish, to risk embarrassment, to confront fear head-on. Yes, I had an angel guiding me through the process, but I did it. I confronted my greatest fear, and nothing horrible happened. I did not die of embarrassment. It felt like I might; in fact, I had never felt more alive. With that, I discovered the other side of fear is freedom.

Whether we are avoiding fear or any other discomfort, the result is the same—we prevent ourselves from fully participating in life. The discomfort we feel is an invitation to pay attention to what is blocking us. It opens doorways to new discoveries, new skills, and new capabilities that we didn’t know we had.³

The more I examined my own fears, the more I realized how pervasive they were in my life. Fear had kept me from feeling at home in my own skin, from expressing my truth, and from being true to my Core Self. After that experience, I began to internalize that if I didn’t confront my fears, I would never fully experience and honor the gift of life.

Fear was not my enemy—it was my teacher. When fear arises, instead of automatically retreating, I learned to ask: “Is this fear warning me of genuine danger, or is it showing me where I need to go?” Most of the time, it was the latter. Fear became my compass, because it showed me exactly where I needed to go. Wherever fear exists, it points us to something important to face, learn, and become. On the other side of fear, we can often find growth, insight, and expansion. Courage became my greatest ally. Every time I pushed through fear, I uncovered a deeper, more real part of myself.

The goal isn’t to eliminate fear—that would be both impossible and unwise. Fear is an essential signal that alerts us when we face the unknown or enter situations of uncertainty. Fear also keeps us alert when we cross the street. The goal is to develop discernment: learning the difference between fear that protects us and fear that limits us.

Author Susan Jeffers spent years working with people paralyzed by fear, and she discovered something liberating: “The fear will never go away as long as I continue to grow.” Think about that. If fear always comes along with growth, then feeling afraid doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong; it means you’re doing something new. Jeffers points out that pushing through fear is actually less frightening than living with the underlying fear that comes from helplessness.⁴ The fear I felt avoiding opportunities to speak was worse than the fear I felt at Saks, because avoidance fear doesn’t disappear. It accumulates. Her work confirmed what I’d discovered: the only way to diminish the fear of doing something is to go out and do it.

Researcher Brené Brown discovered why this is true through decades of studying vulnerability and courage. She found that we don’t fear things that don’t matter to us—we fear things that matter most. If I was terrified of public speaking, it’s because my voice mattered deeply. If someone fears intimacy, it’s often because their capacity for deep connection is profound and therefore threatens the armor they’ve built. Brown’s research shows that vulnerability—showing up when you can’t control the outcome—isn’t weakness. It’s courage. The Latin root of “courage” is “cor,” meaning heart. To have courage is to speak from the heart even when you’re afraid. What I did at Saks wasn’t eliminating fear—it was choosing vulnerability despite fear. And that, Brown would say, is where our gifts become accessible.⁵

This personal breakthrough opened my eyes to a pattern I would see again and again in my clinical work. In four decades of practice, I have watched people who were terrified of intimacy discover their profound capacity for connection. And those who feared failure often revealed their own innovative vision.⁶

Fear is a signal pointing us toward our hidden potential. When we see it as information, and not merely as a threat, we can pause and ask, “What is this trying to protect?” Often, what looks like a limitation is actually guarding our greatest strengths.

Unnecessary fear does not keep us safe—it keeps us small. When we stop running from fear and instead turn to face it, we discover that the very thing we thought would hurt us is actually the doorway to our transformation.

With the courage to love,

Ronit

1. Jamie Aten PhD, “Ancient Brains and Modern Anxiety,” Psychology Today, March 2019.

2. Joseph E. LeDoux, “The Emotional Brain: The Mysterious Underpinnings of Emotional Life,” Simon & Schuster, Ch. 6, 1996.

3. Jeff D. King, “Post-Traumatic Growth: Finding Meaning and Creativity in Adversity,” Scientific American, May 2013.

4. Susan Jeffers, “Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway: Dynamic Techniques for Turning Fear, Indecision, and Anger into Power, Action, and Love,” Ballantine Books, Ch. 2, 1987.

5. Brené Brown, “Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead,” Gotham Books, Ch. 1-3, 2012.

6. Prof. Adam Grant, “How Larry Page, Elon Musk and Jack Dorsey overcame their fear of failure,” World Economic Forum, February 2016.

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