On Balance In shadow, a giant spider appears to attack a small person

Published on October 15th, 2024 | by Lise K. Ragbir

0

We Need to Talk About Fear

Like many of us becoming increasingly mindful of the information we consume—avoiding stressful content to protect our mental health—my family spends an inordinate amount of time deciding what we watch. On a recent Friday, we could’ve watched an entire movie by the time we landed on a popular nature series. We were all set—until my child saw the parental guideline. TV-PG: fear.

“Can we watch something else? It says it’s scary. I don’t like being scared,” my child said. (Insert hand-to-face emoji.)

Before going too far, I should mention I am not a chill person. I should also mention that I’m part of the 5% of people in the U.S. who, in any given year, have had PTSD, and part of the 50% of women who have experienced at least one trauma in their lives. That said, I have learned to pay keen attention to the way fear impacts my life. There are many of us, according to the National Center for PTSD. In 2020, about 13 million Americans managed PTSD, which includes dealing with hypervigilance or increased fear.

I’m also a parent. I took a deep breath—

“What if being scared isn’t a bad thing?” I asked my child. “What if scared is the feeling we get when we have to draw on the inner strengths that we don’t use every day? Like calling on hidden superpowers.”

This isn’t just something I said to quell Friday-night TV anxiety, but something I truly believe—trusting that this deeply uncomfortable feeling is my body’s way of saying: You’re about to do something you didn’t know you can do. Because the truth is, like my child, I don’t like to be scared. I understand that fear is one of the mechanisms we rely on to keep us safe— our brain sending signals to increase our blood pressure and heart rate (so we can run), while telling the systems that manage reason and logic to shut down (perhaps so we don’t take time deciding whether or not to run). However, when sustained, these conditions can lead to long-term damaging conditions, including high blood pressure, anxiety, and depression. One way of  lessening our brain’s trigger response is by giving words to our emotions:  A practice psychologists call “affect labeling.” In other words, we need to talk about fear.

My child considered my superhero theory. “But if you’re scared all the time, and use your secret powers every day, you shouldn’t be afraid of anything.” #kidlogic.

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re no longer afraid of the thing you were once afraid of, and use other inner strengths to overcome other fears. But what do I know?”        

Actually, having sustained a state of fight-or-flight, I do know some things about fear.

A spread-winged snowy owl looks up from the carcass of another, dark-feathered, bird
Photo by Jongsun Lee on Unsplash

*

Countless hours in therapy have taught me that our sympathetic nervous system carries signals that put our body’s systems on alert, and our parasympathetic system carries signals that relax those systems. I’ve also learned that these two systems work together to keep our body and minds in balance. But high-alert-states, like fear, constrict our parasympathetic and sympathetic systems and can make them brittle. Here’s the thing though: emotions need space to ripple out—so that we can identify what we’re feeling, determine what we need, and figure out how to get it. As such, it is from an expansive state that our nervous systems stand to best provide us with what we need. When we don’t feel hemmed-in, even when fear arises, it is given room to breathe which allows us to better manage it. Here’s another way to look at it: The more space we give our fear, the more it ripples out, the less it stands to control us.

In real life this looks like this: When my child asks me to take her to a water park, if my nervous system isn’t constricted, from an expansive state I can trust that just because I don’t feel safe in crowds, doesn’t mean my child needs to as well. I can research the park’s safety guidelines and look at my resources—which include friends and family—and know that there are ways for my child to enjoy the thrill of splashing into a pool with thousands of others (bleh) even if I’m not there to physically hold her hand. (Not that she’d want me to.) 

It is perhaps worth sharing that the violent deaths of loved ones inform my PTSD. I know that truly terrible things can happen to truly good people, at any time. Yet by giving space to my fear— acknowledging it, examining it—I can draw on resources (e.g. physical and breathing exercises, research) that help me clearly understand a situation if I’m unsure of the risk of visiting a new place, or meeting new people. Honestly, most times I don’t even do the exercises or the research. But just giving myself the space to know that I can, helps; so that I can go to the beach knowing that while it is possible to get attacked by a shark, it’s not probable given the rate of shark attacks.

A large gray shark flanked by two small fish
Photo by Gerald Schömbs on Unsplash

Here’s another example: A colleague with medical PTSD describes how giving into her fears would mean never visiting a doctor (flight) or making appointments for every little thing (fight). Yet understanding her fear lets her consult people she trusts if she’s unsure of whether to get something checked out. She also engages in behaviors that help calm her body so that her mind can think clearly. She knows these practices won’t eliminate her fear, or make terrible diseases go away. But she says, “It helps me live my life and have perspective.”

*

I’m of a race, gender, and generation that has required me (for my entire life) to be strong. Resilient. Brave. Tough. Fearless. Society demanded that I contend with fear and pain and grief as if they were no big deal.

I also know the fatigue that comes with performing strength. Not that I’m not strong—but I’m tired.

We’ve been inspired by plenty of calls to be brave. But what if, instead of relying only on strength, we examined the other side of the bravery coin? The side that lets us understand fear, so that we can navigate it, instead of having it control us. For centuries, acts of terrorism have shown us in horrific ways that fear is a mighty weapon—dividing us, as it conquers. Yet as with xenophobia, all phobias are defined by an irrational, unrealistic, persistent and excessive fear. I believe that if we understand why we’re afraid, we stand to chip away at the power fear has over us. Because I’m ready to feel less brave. 

Getting our Friday TV night back on track was an exercise in considering the benefit of paying attention to fear. How might watching cheetahs stalk mice stand to gently build a fear-muscle? Could a great white shark’s hunt for dinner trigger a gentle fear response from the comfort of the sofa?

“You know—” I tried. “Being afraid can provide us with valuable information.”

“How?”

“Well, if you pay attention to what you’re afraid of and try to understand it, maybe you’ll figure out how to defeat it. Or maybe when you understand it, becomes less scary.” 

“Like if you’re afraid of the dark and you turn the lights on and then you see there’s nothing scary.”

“Or, with the lights, you see very clearly what you should be running from.”

A leopard with a focused/stalking look in their eyes
Photo by Jevgeni Fil on Unsplash

*

To be clear, fear is not easy to understand. It is complicated and painful and confusing, and it takes a toll on the quality of our lives. For me, the fear of gender and racial violence, the fear of using my voice, and the fear of talking about my fears have impacted how I build relationships, how I perceive ideas of protection, and how I show up in a space. But letting fear control me undermines the power I do hold.

As Americans inch closer to a presidential election, many are scared. But fear of a political unknown isn’t new. In fact, President Roosevelt addressed this head-on in his inaugural speech in 1933 when he said, “The only thing to fear is fear itself”—suggesting that the condition has little benefit. It’s worth noting, however, that he made this proclamation from a position of power and safety—a privilege we don’t all have. Most of us can’t avoid fear. As such, I think Roosevelt was only half-way correct: Since we can’t avoid it,the only thing to fear is not understanding fear.

*

“Are we going to watch this or not?” my partner asked, ready to get on with our feel-good family night. But his question hung in the air. Because regardless of how we would spend the evening, I couldn’t say to my child, there is nothing to worry about. Because that’s not true. And it wouldn’t be helpful. Because whether or not she gets frightened at home on a Friday night, climate disasters are real, and wars are real, and she knows that pandemic shut-downs are real. So instead of saying there’s nothing to fear, I want her to understand fear—regardless of our decision to watch a show about what crawled from the ocean. 

Tags: , , , , , ,


About the Author

Lise K. Ragbir’s essays about immigration, family relationships, identity, race, art and culture, and parenting have been featured in ElleSalonYES! MagazineTime MagazineHyperallergicUSA TodayPsychology Todayand The Guardian, among other outlets.



Leave a Reply

Any comments left on this article will be sent directly to its author. We do not at this time publicly display comments. (If you want to write a public post about this article, we encourage you to do so on social media). We love comments, feedback and critique but mean or snarky comments will not be shared and will be deleted.  
 

Your email address will not be published.

Back to Top ↑
  • Subscribe to Mutha

    Enter your email address to subscribe to MUTHA and receive notifications of new articles by email.

    Email Frequency