That Little Thing Called Fear

Fear. That little four letter word has so much power behind it, doesn't it? It's like an umbrella term. There's so many kinds of fears. There's actual physical fears and emotionally based fears. Most of us are pretty aware of physical fears -- spiders, heights, clowns, the dark, dogs, water, sea creatures, etc. The emotional fears are a little harder to be aware of because us humans like to avoid emotions or simply don't view these emotional fears as fears. We automatically hear fear and think of those I mentioned above. But, what about fear of commitment, rejection, abandonment, vulnerability, love, intimacy, sex, failure, risk taking, change, the unknown, disappointing others, of what people think of you, of ridicule, of being different/weird/an outcast,

etc. Are you aware of your own fears? Have you done introspection? This was part of my spiritual journey that was sorta mind blowing to me. It opened my mind up to the darker side of me. The side I never truly thought about and faced. But, man, did it help me become more self aware and helped me make the changes I needed and wanted in order to become the person I wanted to be. No more hiding. No more holding myself back.

I learned that a lot of my fears -- and I'm sure you will find that yours did/do, too -- stemmed from childhood. You know those life experiences started happening the moment we were born. Babies feel. Even as infants we use our intuitive senses. As we learn and grow, we start developing those layers of protection of our sensitive souls, the ego. Some aren't even aware develop from some of the most basic, mundane experiences parents do (or don't do) and say (or not say). I've learned that it doesn't make our parents bad people necessarily because most parents learn from their own experiences with their parents or lack thereof. They do the best they can with the knowledge they have and they believe it's better than what they had perhaps. That's where forgiveness is needed if you still harbor some resentment toward your parents. It's no use holding onto that anger and pain and sorrow. It's only hurting yourself and not the other party. I had to learn this. It was hard to grasp. It made me angrier. Haha I'm pretty stubborn. I have to learn things the hard way. I'm an Aries what can I say!? *shrugs shoulders and raises arms palms up* So, as I dove into my healing and what not. I discovered I have a lot of fears. lol But, the big ones were fears of disappointing my family, failure, commitment, abandonment, rejection, and love.

I grew up very close to my family—extended family included, especially on my maternal side. We have a huge family. Both of my parents are one of eight and nine siblings, respectively, and their parents had many siblings as well. It’s a classic example of Mexican Catholics, haha! I have about 20 first cousins on my mom’s side alone. I love my big family. It has its ups and downs like anything else, but there are plenty of positives to cherish.

My parents have always wanted the best for us. They worked hard to provide my siblings and me with things they lacked in their own childhoods. They took the good lessons from their upbringing and worked to improve on the bad ones. They encouraged us to excel in school so we could have secure futures. But in doing so, they also unintentionally instilled fear in us.

As kids, we often take a statement like, “I want you to get A’s and B’s in school,” and twist it into, “If I don’t, I’m a failure and a disappointment.” When we fall short of our parents’ expectations, we internalize a fear of disappointing them or of failing in life. Over time, this fear can create perfectionism—a need to always excel and be “perfect.”

I struggled with perfectionism—majorly. Even now, I catch myself falling into that mindset, especially with my art, writing, or when doing tarot and mediumship readings. It no longer controls me like it once did, but I remember how much it used to hurt. I would cry and beat myself up when I didn’t meet my own impossibly high standards, convinced I’d failed in my parents’ eyes. And yet, they were always proud of me! It’s funny how our minds can create such false truths.

Having Catholic beliefs only amplified my fear of failure and disappointment, fueling my perfectionism. There’s this ingrained idea that you’re not “good” if you don’t attend church every Sunday or fulfill all the sacraments to be a “proper” Catholic. The expectations were clear: no sex before marriage, no children out of wedlock—so much pressure to live up to an ideal. And let’s not even get started on witches, mediums, and psychics—definitely taboo in those days. Although, I will say that in recent years, Catholics seem to be a bit more open to “witchy” things. But back when I was growing up? No way. It was completely off-limits.

This led to even more fears for me. From a young age, I knew I was different. I saw shadows, ghosts, and spirits. I would often talk to myself—or at least I thought I was talking to myself—but I now realize I was communicating with my spirit guides and possibly other entities. I remember asking people around me if they saw or experienced the same things I did, but no one ever did.

Worse, I would confront people about things they said or did—things I somehow just knew through dreams or intuition—but they would deny it. That upset me even more because I knew the truth, yet they’d lie to my face. Looking back, I see how much manipulation and gaslighting I endured because of my gifts. People would twist their words or actions to make me doubt myself, my abilities, or even my sanity. I’d find myself questioning my own reality, wondering if I was wrong, when deep down I knew I wasn’t. That kind of gaslighting only deepened my fear of speaking out and made me feel even more isolated.

I didn’t understand my abilities at the time or even have a name for them. All I knew was that I wasn’t “normal,” and that scared me. I kept quiet because I didn’t want people to think I was crazy.

To cope, I distracted myself. I turned to drawing, listening to music, or anything else that could help drown out what I was experiencing. Over time, I learned to block it out altogether. But the fear was still there—fear of being vulnerable, fear of rejection, fear of abandonment by my family, friends, and society.

I didn’t know what else to do, so I started eating my emotions. No one in my family (at least none of the living) had the abilities I did, and I didn’t know anyone else who did either. I was too scared to tell my parents. Talking about feelings wasn’t really encouraged, and even if it was, I dreaded the repercussions of saying something like that. The fear of being ostracized—or worse, going to hell! Sign of the cross, haha. I can only imagine how many Hail Marys and Our Fathers I’d have had to say to “make it right”! (I’m joking—people don’t always get my humor in writing.)

Looking back, I realize so many of my fears were interconnected. One experience would unravel a whole web of them. It’s almost laughable now. Almost!

When I was a teenager, my mom broke the news to me that my dad was having an affair. I was in shock—angry, hurt, and betrayed. I had always been a daddy’s girl, and hearing this shattered my entire world. I was only thirteen at the time, and by the time I turned fifteen, my parents divorced. To no surprise, this experience planted deep fears within me: fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, fear of love, intimacy, and vulnerability. My pessimism about love began there.

I developed trust issues—shocker, right? Freud may have had some things right after all. I can’t help but hear Demi Lovato’s “Daddy Issues” in my head, because yeah, I had those! For a long time, I was angry at my dad, but I’ve worked through that. My spiritual journey taught me how to forgive, let go, and move forward. It wasn’t easy, but it felt so freeing once I did it—like a weight had been lifted off my chest. I spent so many years angry at him, but our relationship is better now. Doing my spiritual work has allowed me to see my life experiences differently. They’ve shaped me and served a purpose, even if the lessons were painful. I see now that these challenges were part of the life path I agreed to fulfill in this lifetime.

But back then, I didn’t have this understanding. As a child and teen, I grew deeply insecure. I was uncomfortable expressing myself and held a lot of things in. I avoided conflict and often prioritized others’ needs over my own.

I didn’t grow up in a household where emotions were openly discussed. My family valued strength, especially among the women. Vulnerability wasn’t something you showed—crying was something you did in private. Anger, though? That was expressed freely! While I can laugh about it now, the truth is that these dynamics created insecurities and fears. Even though I was rebellious and mouthy at times, I was still afraid to express my true feelings or be the person I wanted to be. I was scared of being judged, disappointing my parents, or being labeled a failure.

My weight became a constant point of criticism, adding fuel to my insecurities. I was teased at school, at home, and even at family gatherings. People would pinch my cheeks, comment on my weight, suggest diets, and point out what I should or shouldn’t eat. In many Latin homes, nicknames like gorda (fatty) are common, often used as terms of endearment to “soften the blow.” But no matter how “cute” it sounded, it hurt. I laughed along with it, but I suffered in silence. By my teen years, I was no stranger to depression. Food became my comfort, and by seventeen, I turned to alcohol.

Alcohol became my escape, and eventually, so did weed. At first, I prided myself on staying away from drugs, but at a house party one day, someone passed around a joint, and I thought, “What the hell, let’s do it.” That opened the door to more weed and more drinking. I kept up appearances at school, but by my junior year, I started ditching classes occasionally. I’d been a good student for so long, always striving to please my parents and avoid their anger. I’m just grateful I never hurt myself or anyone else when I was drunk or high.

Looking back, I realize I was trying to escape my emotions. My addictions—whether to food, alcohol, drugs, or even shopping—were all ways to numb deeper pain. I’ve since gained control over those behaviors, though some remain a work in progress. I’ve also learned to set boundaries, especially when it comes to giving too much of myself to others.

Therapy could have been a healthier outlet, but I wasn’t open to it back then. After the divorce, my mom tried to get me into therapy, but I refused. I was terrified of what people in our small town would think. Therapy carried such a stigma for me at the time, and I was afraid of being gossiped about. Now, I couldn’t care less what anyone thinks, but back then, fear ruled my life.

That fear extended to love and relationships. I didn’t like myself and didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin, so I believed others wouldn’t love me either. I avoided intimacy and kept people at arm’s length. Vulnerability felt too risky. I turned to long-distance relationships with people I met online because they felt safer. These “relationships” gave me the illusion of freedom and independence. I didn’t have to deal with the pressure of someone seeing me in person or judging me for being myself.

Unfortunately, many of these connections were unrequited. I had my heart broken by people who didn’t feel the same way or who used me. These experiences only deepened my insecurities and built my walls even higher.

Then, as an adult, I fell in love. It happened unexpectedly and over time. For the first time in years, I started to believe in the possibility of love, marriage, and family. But a year later, he passed away. It was like the rug had been pulled out from under me. I was utterly shattered. The walls I had started to take down shot back up higher than ever. The fear of being alone forever consumed me. I couldn’t imagine surviving another heartbreak.

That loss nearly destroyed me, but it also deepened my spiritual connection. My gifts grew stronger, and I gained a new understanding of life and the afterlife. For that, I am grateful.

One of my outlets during my healing is art. This is one I made.

Still, love remains one of my biggest struggles. I want a deep, forever kind of love. I want to feel at home with someone who loves me for who I am—someone who is patient and vulnerable with me as I work through my fears. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t sabotage myself sometimes. The fear of losing someone again or being hurt all over again can be overwhelming. It’s scary. Not gonna lie.

A big part of this struggle comes from my difficulty with emotional regulation. Growing up, I wasn’t taught how to navigate my emotions, and I never felt safe expressing them. As a result, I often bottled things up or reacted impulsively. When I was sad, angry, or overwhelmed, I didn’t know how to process those feelings in a healthy way. Instead, I turned to avoidance—through food, substances, or shutting people out. Even now, when emotions run high, I sometimes feel like that scared child or teenager who doesn’t know what to do with the heaviness inside.

I’ve worked hard to gain control over my emotions and respond more thoughtfully, but it’s an ongoing journey. Learning to sit with my feelings rather than running from them has been one of the hardest and most rewarding parts of my healing process. I’m not perfect, but I’m more self-aware now. I can acknowledge when I’m slipping into old patterns and remind myself that I have the tools to handle my emotions without fear or shame.

Will I ever be loved again? Will someone choose me? These fears linger, but I hold on to hope. I’ve come so far in my healing, and I believe that when the time is right, the love I seek will find me. Until then, I keep working on myself, learning, and growing.

When I was younger, I didn’t know how to cope with my emotions, so I turned to various forms of escapism to numb the pain. One of the most overlooked but impactful was my shopping addiction. For me, spending money wasn’t just about buying things—it was about buying acceptance, fitting in, and avoiding rejection. I used it as a way to people-please, to make others like me or feel obligated to stay in my life.

I often spent beyond my means, gifting people things they didn’t even ask for or need, just to feel included and valued. It was as though I thought my generosity would earn me love and friendship. At the time, I didn’t realize how harmful this behavior was to me, both financially and emotionally. I was essentially trying to buy the sense of belonging I so desperately craved.

It wasn’t just about others, though. Shopping became a coping mechanism for my own feelings of inadequacy. When I felt insecure, lonely, or rejected, buying something new—whether for myself or someone else—gave me a fleeting sense of control and happiness. But the high never lasted. It always left me feeling emptier and more disconnected than before.

Looking back, I realize this behavior stemmed from my fear of being judged, abandoned, or seen as unworthy. By showering others with gifts or spending money recklessly, I thought I could prevent them from leaving or disapproving of me. It was a desperate attempt to maintain connections and avoid the pain of rejection.

Now, as part of my healing journey, I’ve worked hard to recognize and break these patterns. I’ve learned to set boundaries—not just with others but with myself. I’m learning that my worth isn’t tied to what I can give or buy for someone. True friends and loved ones don’t need gifts to stay; they value me for who I am, not what I can offer.

That doesn’t mean the struggle is over. People-pleasing is deeply ingrained in me, and the urge to spend as a way to cope still rears its head from time to time. But I’m much more mindful of it now. I remind myself that I deserve love and connection simply by being me—not by what I can provide. It’s a process, but I’m making progress, one step at a time.

As I’ve shared before, this relationship didn’t just change me—it became a catalyst for my spiritual awakening and the profound expansion of my psychic abilities. It was as if a door, long hidden within me, suddenly swung open. This awakening was transformative and empowering, but it also brought an undercurrent of fear. It wasn’t just the fear of being misunderstood, ostracized, or shunned by my family and community, though that was certainly part of it. It was a deeper, more primal fear—fear of the unknown, fear of stepping fully into this new version of myself, and fear of committing to a path I could barely comprehend.

The unknown can be terrifying, especially when it challenges everything you’ve been taught to believe about yourself and the world. Embracing my psychic gifts required me to confront deeply ingrained fears: What if I wasn’t strong enough to handle the responsibilities that came with these abilities? What if I couldn’t trust what I was receiving from Spirit? What if stepping into this role would lead to rejection or failure? These questions carried the heavy weight of imposter syndrome, whispering that I wasn’t “gifted enough” or “worthy enough” to fully embody this path.

I began to second-guess my intuitive hits, dismiss my spiritual insights, and question whether I truly had what it took to help others with my abilities. The pressure of wanting to be “perfect” in this role loomed large, and I often feared I would let people down if I didn’t have all the answers. This self-doubt made me want to retreat, to shrink back into a safer, smaller version of myself. But the thing about spiritual awakening is that it doesn’t let you retreat. Once the door to the spiritual realm opens, it doesn’t close. You can’t unsee what’s been revealed, and you can’t silence the call of Spirit.

The spiritual realm doesn’t just awaken you—it transforms you. It challenges you. It shakes your foundation, demanding that you rise to meet its lessons. For me, this meant stepping into my truth and accepting the power I always knew was within me, even when it terrified me. It also meant understanding that growth, integrity, and service are just as important as the gifts themselves.

Life has a way of pulling you back into alignment when you resist your purpose. The more I tried to ignore the call of Spirit, the louder it became. Challenges and obstacles weren’t punishments—they were invitations to deepen my connection and refine my path. Eventually, I had to make a choice: live in fear and uncertainty or trust the process and let Spirit guide me. I chose to embrace my gift, understanding that this journey isn’t just about me—it’s about the lives I’m meant to touch, the healing I’m meant to facilitate, and the lessons I’m meant to learn along the way.

Over time, I’ve learned to quiet the voice of imposter syndrome by focusing on my connection to Spirit and the ways I’ve already helped others. I don’t need to be perfect; I just need to show up authentically and do the best I can. My gifts aren’t about me—they’re about serving as a vessel for healing, guidance, and love.

As I write this and reflect on my journey, I’m overwhelmed by how far I’ve come. I’ve healed wounds I once thought would remain open forever. I’ve grown into a person I barely recognize from my past—a person who has gained profound self-awareness and reshaped how she navigates life.

Where I once reacted with defensiveness and anger, I now pause, breathe, and respond with objectivity, compassion, and empathy. I’ve learned to step back, consider all perspectives, and choose understanding over judgment. It’s no longer about being right or wrong—it’s about connection, growth, and harmony.

One of the most transformative lessons I’ve learned is this: when people react strongly to something I say or do, it often has more to do with their unhealed wounds than with me. Realizing this has been liberating. It’s helped me stay grounded and avoid taking things personally. This perspective isn’t always easy to maintain, but it brings a sense of peace and clarity.

This journey hasn’t been easy. Growth is messy, painful, and uncomfortable. It requires courage to face your shadows, honesty to confront your flaws, and resilience to move through discomfort. But the rewards are worth it. I stand here today, not as a “perfect” person but as someone who has transformed and continues to evolve—someone unafraid to dive into her own darkness, unearth her deeper truths, and rebuild herself in alignment with her highest purpose.

True transformation begins with self-awareness. You must be willing to face your darker sides—those unhealed wounds, suppressed truths, and fears—and be honest with yourself. Only then can you fully accept and love yourself. This self-acceptance is where empowerment and self-mastery begin. It’s alchemy: transforming the raw, messy parts of yourself into something beautiful and strong.

If you’re on this path—whether you’re just starting or are years into the work—know that you’re not alone. This process is deeply personal, unique, and powerful in its own way. Embrace it. Give yourself grace during the tough moments and celebrate every step forward. Healing and growth take time, but they are possible for anyone who dares to take the journey.

Most importantly, don’t let fear rule you or hold you back from becoming the person you were meant to be. Fear often convinces us to stay small, to avoid the discomfort of change, or to shy away from our dreams. But a life ruled by fear is one where we fail to meet the fullest version of ourselves. Oftentimes, we’re not truly living as the person we claim or hope to be. The key is to align your actions, beliefs, and heart with that vision.

So take the leap. Be brave enough to heal, to grow, and to create the life you deserve. You have everything within you to become the best version of yourself. Find a mentor. Find your tribe—those who understand and support you. You are not alone in this, and the path forward, while challenging, is worth every step.

As I reflect on my journey, I realize that sharing my experiences, lessons, and path isn’t just an act of self-expression—it’s a calling. I know, deep down, that I am meant to share what I’ve learned, not just for my own healing, but to help others who are walking a similar path. The struggles, fears, and doubts I’ve faced are not unique to me—they are part of the human experience. By sharing my story, I am not only processing my own growth, but I’m also offering a light to others who may be struggling in the dark.

I truly believe that our personal journeys are meant to be shared, because they have the power to guide others toward their own truth. The lessons I’ve learned along the way—about embracing fear, navigating doubt, trusting Spirit, and stepping into my purpose—are not just for me to hold onto. They are meant to be shared so that others can feel less alone and more empowered in their own growth.

My purpose on this earthly plane is to help others discover and step into their own life purpose. I’ve learned that each of us has a unique gift to offer the world, and sometimes, all it takes is a reminder that we are not alone in our struggles. When we share our stories, we create a ripple effect of healing, understanding, and connection. My path has led me here, to this place where I can help others fulfill their own life purpose, just as I am on my journey of fulfilling mine.

I know that by sharing my experiences, I’m offering not only validation and support, but also a roadmap for others who may be struggling to understand their own spiritual gifts or life purpose. We are all connected, and by standing in my truth, I am helping others stand in theirs. This work isn’t just about me—it’s about the collective healing and growth we all experience together. And as I continue to grow, I know that my purpose will become clearer and more aligned with the souls I’m meant to help along the way.

I share because I believe in the power of healing, and I know that each step I take toward my own self-realization is a step that can help others do the same. This is why I’m here—to serve, to guide, and to help others navigate their own paths with courage, authenticity, and love.