From Fear to Flight: How to Move Forward When Facing the Unknown

Whenever I’m on the edge of something new, I notice the same inner dialogue start to play. Vulnerability and fear sit across from me like old, unwelcome friends, whispering their familiar doubts. I try to hype myself up, to remind myself of my wins, my preparation, my worth. But the truth is—my body doesn’t always believe my words. My chest tightens, my thoughts race, and the trauma I’ve carried rises like an echo from the past.

This is the hard part no one really talks about: how to do the damn thing when your nervous system is in overdrive. When courage doesn’t feel like a bold shout but more like a shaky whisper. When you’re both terrified and determined at the same time.

In those moments, I remind myself to remember that fear and excitement live in the same neighborhood. That my body’s alarm bells don’t mean I’m not ready—they just mean I’m human. And being human means I can learn to support myself through the storm.

Here are a few practices that help me move from fear toward freedom:

1. Breathe into your body.

When my chest tightens, I place a hand over my heart or belly. I breathe in for a count of four, hold for a count of four, and exhale for a count of six. That slow exhale tells my body: you are safe, you can soften. Sometimes this single practice is enough to loosen fear’s grip.

2. Reframe the sensation.

Fear and excitement feel almost identical in the body—racing heart, sweaty palms, butterflies in the stomach. When I tell myself, this is energy, I shift from bracing for the worst to leaning into what’s possible. Instead of asking, “What if I fail?” I try, “What if this is my chance to grow?”

3. Anchor in possibility.

Words have a way of grounding me, and I return often to Erin Hanson’s poem:

"There is freedom waiting for you,

On the breezes of the sky.

And you ask, ‘What if I fall?’

Oh but my darling,

What if you fly?"

That line—what if you fly?—isn’t just poetic. It’s a reminder that my fears are not the whole story. There’s another ending available if I’m willing to step into it.

4. Give yourself permission to be both.

I don’t wait until I feel fearless to act. I’ve learned that it’s possible to be scared and courageous at the same time. To tremble and still move forward. That permission—to hold fear in one hand and possibility in the other—creates space for authenticity instead of perfection.

The truth is, fear will always travel with us when we try something new. But fear doesn’t have to drive. What matters is whether we allow possibility, hope, and courage to ride shotgun, too.

So I keep choosing to try—even when my body trembles, even when my past is loud. Because every single time I risk falling, I give myself another chance to fly. And sometimes, the very act of leaping becomes its own kind of freedom.

be well, sis