moving fear

Last Updated on April 19, 2026

Building a Map Through Fear

I’ve been noticing that I’m building a kind of map for how I move through fear—and it’s happening through my real life, not outside of it.

Not in big breakthroughs, but in the moments where I feel stuck, overwhelmed, or unsure what to do next.

These are a few moments from this past week where I can see that pattern clearly.

The Couch

For weeks, I’ve been sitting on my new couch in the morning, having my coffee, and quietly thinking, I wish I had a better view out the window.

It wasn’t a big complaint. Just this low-level, ongoing feeling.

And at the same time, I wasn’t changing it. Because the way the couch was oriented “made sense” for the room. For the layout. For how things are supposed to look.

This morning, I just had this thought:
There’s no reason I can’t put the couch right in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The only reason I hadn’t done it was because it didn’t make sense from a feng shui or design perspective. Not because I didn’t want it.

So I just… moved it.

It took five seconds.

And now I’m sitting there looking out at the hills, over my deck, at these two trees I always look at—a maple and some kind of pine or fir—and the rain. And I love it. I feel like I’m actually in the view.

The couch even feels more comfortable.

And it just hit me—how much fear and hesitation can live in something that small.

Fear of doing something that doesn’t make sense.
Fear of what someone might think.
Fear of making a mistake or “ruining” something.

And it made me think about all the other things I don’t do for those same reasons. Like painting on my walls, or changing things just because I want to.

It’s my house. I can do whatever I want. I can always change it back.

But there’s this invisible voice that stops me.

And this time, I didn’t listen to it.

The Client

Earlier this week, I had a really intense experience with a client that completely overwhelmed me.

She sent a bunch of things at the last minute, and I already didn’t have time to work on it that day. I tried to hold that boundary, but then she got upset, and I could feel my whole system get activated.

It felt like too much.

My body felt terrible. My mind was spinning. I felt trapped, reactive, and pressured. Like there was no right move.

I ended up sending a long, emotional email and rescheduling our meeting for the next week.

It didn’t feel clean. It didn’t feel resolved. I still haven’t responded to her last message.

But it was honest.

Afterward, I could feel how much I had been holding.

I cried. I talked to Katie. I talked to Scott. There was just a lot moving through me. And then I went for a walk.

I felt desperate to feel better. Like I needed something to shift in my body, not just in my mind.

And that’s when I did something different.

The Walk + Asking for Help

On that walk, I started thinking about how Maestro Hamilton talks about working with spirit—Gaia, God, Archangel Michael—and the idea of actually engaging with that support.

So I tried it. Not in a casual way. In a very direct, almost demanding way.

I said, “I need help. I need your help right now. I need to feel supported in my body, in my mind, in everything. I need this to work. I need to be able to rely on this—not just right now, but all the time.”

It felt almost intense to ask that directly.

And then I tried to listen.

What came back was simple:

Slow down.
Go even slower.
Stop.
Breathe.
Look around.
There’s nowhere to get to.

So I did that.

I slowed my walking way down. I stopped. I paid attention to my breath. I looked up at the sky. I moved my body in different ways.

And I could feel my state shifting.

Not perfectly. Not instantly.

But enough to feel like I wasn’t alone in it anymore.

That I had support.

That I could access that support.

And that it was actually real in my body—not just an idea.

Acupuncture

I’ve been going to acupuncture the last few weeks, and I can feel that it’s helping things move.

In my last session, I dropped into a really deep place—almost like I disappeared. I think I was snoring.

Part of me was judging that. Like, why can’t I control that? Why can’t I stay aware?

But another part of me could feel how deeply my body was letting go.

And how rare that is.

I also got a bruise between my toes, which made me question the practitioner a little. He seemed kind of rushed, a little disorganized. And I noticed that part of me wants him to be more present, more attuned.

But it’s also community acupuncture. It’s affordable. It’s accessible.

So I’m holding both of those things.

And still, the experience itself—going that deep, letting my body drop—that felt important.

Bodywork Session

Then I had a 90-minute integrated bodywork session, which was very different from what I expected.

She started with tuning forks on different parts of my body, and I asked her about it. She said it was related to acupuncture points, and that sometimes she can shift things with sound that she can’t shift with her hands.

Then she started working more specifically with my left hip, thigh, and glute.

She was doing muscle testing using my arm, and also using this tool to pinpoint different areas, almost like she was gathering information from my body.

It wasn’t relaxing in the way a typical massage is. It was more… investigative. Informational.

And as she was working there, I suddenly connected it to a memory from when I was a kid in gymnastics.

A coach who would pinch our bodies—our thighs, hips, stomachs—and tell us we had too much fat. Who would put his fingers inside my leotard in ways that didn’t feel right.

I remember feeling confused. Like—do I trust him, or do I trust my body?

Because he was also the person who was supposed to help me succeed. To become better. To become an elite athlete.

And I wanted that. I wanted to be good. I wanted to be seen. I wanted to be loved.

So it created this deep confusion.

And saying that out loud in the session felt really important.

It felt like I was naming where some of this pattern in my body actually comes from.

The chronic tension. The pain. The overworking of muscles to protect joints that are too flexible.

And at the same time, there was this moment at the end where she put her hand on my chest, and I felt this deep warmth. This sense of care. Of being met.

It felt like my system was having a different experience alongside the old one.

And that felt like healing.

What I’m Seeing

When I look at all of these experiences together, I can see a pattern.

Fear shows up in all of them.

In small decisions.
In work.
In my body.
In my past.
In how I relate to support.

But I’m starting to move through it differently.

I’m noticing it sooner.
I’m naming it.
I’m reaching for support instead of isolating.
I’m asking for help—directly.
I’m slowing down enough to receive.
And I’m taking one step at a time.

Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it’s incomplete.

But it’s movement.

And I can feel that something is changing.