Fear.

You know the kind of fear you can feel in every cell of your body? The kind that makes you want to throw up. Act on impulse. And flee from every ounce of reality.

I’ve felt that.
And not just once.

• 2009: I was afraid amidst the Great Recession, locked into a shitty mortgage and desperately needing an escape from the life I had built myself.

• 2011: I was afraid that one time I wasn’t given a chance to say no.

• 2016: I was afraid when I woke up to realize that America was not the place I thought it was.

• 2018: I was afraid when my unborn baby’s brain scan revealed something that was “probably nothing” yet potentially everything.

• 2022: I was afraid as we found our way through my husband’s battle with alcoholism which had put my children in unsafe situations.

• 2023: I was afraid when I crashed to the floor, in public, with no understanding of why.

All of this to say. I know fear when I see it.
And there is a lot of fear swirling around us right now.

I hear fear surrounding the election.
I observe fear about the future of our nation.
I understand the fear for our bodies.
I see fear about our planet.
I can feel fear for our children.
I empathize with the fear of the unknown.
I notice fear surrounding war.
I read fear about grocery bills.
Fear.
Everyday.
All long.

I know fear so well. And now seems like a good time to dip back in, but I’m going to admit it.

I stopped feeling it a long time ago.

As a self-identifying feminist sometimes I feel out of place because of this.

Like I’m not doing my job.
Like I should be fearing on behalf of my tribe and of course, my children.

But the truth is I actually can’t.
I did it already, and for far too long.

It crippled me.
In more ways than one.

Now this doesn’t mean I’m not affected. Nor does it mean I’m leaning into apathy and ignorance as a coping mechanism.

Am still I sad, confused, angry, intentionally informed, and determined?
Yes.

Do I wish things were different for us as a human species?
Abso-fucking-lutely.

But fear feels so different.
It implies a lack of power.
A state of anticipation.
An idea that everything has and will go wrong.

I’ve been quiet as I’ve digested all of this but decided it’s time to be vocal.
Because …

I get the sense that I might not be alone in this.

Whether you’re saying it or not, it’s possible that you feel uncertain about what to do with “all of this”.

It’s possible you don’t feel the things you think you should.
It’s possible you’re having a hard time identifying with fear.
It’s possible you’re wondering if you’re broken.
It’s possible the only thing you can do is fear.
It’s possible that you’re not sure what you are.
It’s also possible that you’ve given up completely.

As you can see, feel, hear – “all of this” is very complex, and as such our reactions to it will be too.
But let’s remember.
It can be complex.
Without it resulting in paralysis.

The way I see it …
We can continue to immerse ourselves in fear, dive head first into echo chambers, and doomscroll until the wee hours of the night.
It’s a strategy.
And maybe it’s all you can do right now.
But I think we can agree that it’s not good for you. Or the collective we.

For sanity purposes and in hopes of fueling progress, I’m approaching it slightly differently.
Instead of fear, here’s what I’m trying on …

One: Focusing on my micro-environment

I’m a feminist, a tech marketer who chooses to be relatively visible on social media, and a bleeding heart who fantasizes about world peace. But I’m also a mom, a resident of a tiny ass town, and a creative who chooses to spend her free time cutting up paper and gluing them back together again.

There are a lot of people who count on the latter version of myself that I described. And through “all of this” I’m choosing to focus on them.

I’m choosing to help my son hold tight to his true self and taking note of how the world expects him to show up. I’m doing what I can to help my daughter appreciate her body in hopes that she’ll have better outcomes than most women. I’m leaning hard into my female circles and doing what I can to support them. Everyday. I’m going through it with my husband as a lens into how society shapes men, the trauma they endure, and how we can help them. Even if I feel so sick of helping them.

I’m remembering that I can do a lot, very close to me.

Two: Trying on different perspectives

The spiraling vortex of “what ifs” are HOT right now. No wonder we’re afraid. We’re filling our brains with a bunch of shit that has a very low probability of making its way to reality. Don’t believe me? Three characters: Y-2-K.

Instead, I’ve been playing “what if not”?
What if we don’t suffocate in a cloud of air pollution?
What if my daughter doesn’t have her voice stifled but rather it gets louder?
What if my son doesn’t look to his partner to overfunction on his behalf?
What if our bipartisan system doesn’t cave to the pressures of a radical, fragmented ideology?
What if I don’t have to spend the rest of my career deepening the pockets of those I don’t align with?

Try it. Even just for a day. Or an hour.
There’s power in pushing back.

Three: Better aligning my energy to probable outcomes

In my 20’s I had a relatively major identity crisis as I came of age and realized that I wouldn’t actually be able to save the world. Shocking, I know.

Progress doesn’t have to mean going all in. And, I thank my recent anti-excellence gathering for reminding me of this.

Progress can present itself through the smallest actions with really tiny, but highly probable outcomes. So far this month I’ve:

• Added over 200 women to my LinkedIn roster to draw more inspiration from

• Walked through Nomiki Petrolla’s virtual door to learn more about how she’s supporting women in tech

• Unsubscribed from media sources and unfollowed content creators that do bad things for my heart rate

• Jotted down some ideas around how I can better see and support men, prompted by an argument with my one and only

• Wrote this, which didn’t feel all that small

It’s not world peace. But they’re actions. Backed by good intent.
And they are bound to create ripples.

It’s a lot right now.
Feel the way you need to feel about it.

But let’s recognize something …
Fear sucks.
And if you’re there, I want to throw up for you.

If you’re somewhere else.
In an in-between world.
Not sure what to do with “all of this”.
Well.
Let’s take a few steps.
Together.
Away from that puke bucket.

Because it stinks.