When I was in my twenties, I spent a few years studying with a spiritual teacher whose teachings centered on working with fear. Big fears, little fears. Advanced students even faced the ultimate challenge: being buried alive to meet the fear of death head-on.

At 28, I made a pilgrimage to Bodhgaya, where I took the Bodhisattva vow and embarked on a two-week retreat delving into teachings on fear. It was there I discovered No Death, No Fear by Thich Nhat Hanh. The premise hit me like a lightning bolt: death is our greatest fear, but when we face it, we can truly live.

Earlier in my twenties, I found myself in Thailand, spending a few weeks alone in a hut, becoming intimately acquainted with my deepest fears. Individual fears: paralysis, never having children, and yes—being eaten by a crocodile (I really hate crocs). And collective fears: catastrophic war, planetary destruction, the unraveling of humanity.

I didn’t just think about these fears—I felt them in my body. I let them wash over me, one by one, until I realized something profound: the opposite of fear isn’t courage, it’s confidence. Not the confidence that everything would turn out okay, but the confidence that no matter what happened, I had the inner resources and resolve to face it.

Now, 20 years later, I find myself revisiting fear—not in a hut in Thailand, but in the tender moments of motherhood, the heartbreak of the election, and the heaviness of leading in this world. Since the election, I’ve cried tears of exhaustion, heartbreak, and rage. I’ve felt moments of emptiness and profound ache. But I’ve also been pausing, resourcing myself, and realizing it’s time to meet my fears again.

 Let me be clear: investigating my fears doesn't mean accepting the status quo or giving up on the world I dream of. Nor does it diminish the very real fear and danger many are facing right now, whose lives and safety are directly under threat. For me, understanding my fear is essential to showing up fully—with courage and conviction—even when the outcome is uncertain and the road ahead may get worse before it gets better.

Fear drives so much of our behavior—our actions, decisions, and even our hate. It often disguises itself as something else, but at its core, fear arises when a deep need goes unmet. To grow in wisdom and compassion, and to be the leader, mother, and human I aspire to be, I must reengage with fear, becoming intimate with it once more.

This month, I invite you to join me in gently exploring your fears, both big and small. My beloved teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh, taught me to hold fear with tenderness:

"Hello, my fear. What are you trying to tell me?"

Fear isn’t our enemy; it’s a messenger. It asks us to look deeply, to listen, and ultimately, to transform. Start small. Hold your fear like a child, with curiosity and compassion. Ask it questions. Notice where it shows up in your body. Look deeply.

This practice isn’t about erasing fear—it’s about understanding it. Only through that understanding can we begin to transform it into something else: courage, confidence, connection.

This month's practice:

May we meet our fears with tenderness, courage, and a quiet confidence that no matter what comes, we can cultivate the inner resources to face it.

With Love,

P.S. for educators: If fear feels present in your work and life my SEL Every Day Courses offers practical strategies to help you work with strong emotions. 💞