Fear is a huge issue for me. I may seem “brave” to some of you, but inside, not so much. I just happen to do the fearful thing anyway. It feels like I have spent much of my life afraid.
Lately fear is not as loud as I release my baggage and my tight grip on my history.
There have been times recently when I am alone that I have blurted out the words, “I am afraid!” (or to myself in an airplane lol) and it has seemed to help the fears subside. I found that acknowledging instead of suppressing my fears makes a difference in my actions. There are still things I have to make myself do (and later think, I really didn’t need to be so fearful!) and then when I find myself on the other side, I am very glad I did them. Those are the times I am aware I am afraid, and I do it anyway. Some things, I simply don’t do. And no longer beat myself up because I don’t. Fear of the unknown still gets me many times.
However, being aware of my fears is extremely helpful. What you don’t know or acknowledge, you can’t understand or change. I know I’m working my way through these fears, and though sometimes progress feels really slow, I am continuing to grow into the me I want to emanate while not being mean to myself for taking things at my own pace.
Here is another post from Teal Swan, about fear this time. For a bit of background, Teal was a professional skier in her younger days and Blake is her long time friend.
A Lesson on Progression
The old must cease for expansion to occur. But the old is not half as prevalent outside, as it is prevalent within you. It is the outdated structure of the mind that must be laid to rest for the new to be born. Today was (I am sad to admit) my first day skiing of the season. I’d usually be the first person in line on opening day, but this year I’ve been too passionate about my other projects. The snow was perfect. The sun illuminated the mountain like a gallery light intent on showing off its splendor. Blake and I were in no hurry today. We made our way to our various favorite slopes around the resort, like we usually do. But this time, something changed. The friction that usually exists between Blake and myself when we are skiing together wasn’t there. The opposition between Blake and myself about skiing has become a family joke and has been going on for 11 years now. (Heads up, you are about to be bombarded by old photographs of me)
Both Blake and I were raised on skis. Blake is fearless on skis, a fact that has saddled him with many ski injuries. Blake is a very good skier but he lacks technique. When he is skiing, He flails around, flying off cliffs and straight lining slopes until he is going so fast, you worry for his life. I am a technique freak. My years of competitive skiing made it so I am hyper perfectionistic on the hill. So for the last 11 years, I’ve been badgering Blake about proper technique (even more so since he picked up my sport of Telemark skiing). And for the last 11 years, Blake has been resisting my critique and arguing for fun, regardless of how you ski. Itwould be simply a humorous aspect of our relationship if it didn’t hurt a bit. Something about each of our approaches to skiing triggers each other. So today, making my way to the first chairlift with Blake, I could feel both of our blood pressures rising in anticipation of the inevitable conflict. As it turns out, I was unprepared for the discovery I was about to make.
Today is the first time I have gone skiing since committing myself to the process I have designed. I unveiled part of the process in my “How to Heal the Emotional Body” YouTube video. As a result, I am much more aware of what I am feeling. And today, when I stood at the top of the first black run, I realized that I had the vibration of fear in my body. This completely floored me. When you start skiing as a toddler and you follow in the footsteps of great skiers and you turn into a competitive skier, it is easy to assume that fear no longer factors into skiing. At least this is what I told myself for the last 11 years. When I finally became aware that I actually felt fear on certain slopes, my sense of reality blew up. I went on to make a handful of discoveries about myself that both liberated me and broke my heart.
My father is an incredibly good skier. He was a racer that went on to fall in love with back country and big mountain skiing. My father, though endlessly patient with children, had a technique for teaching me how to ski… try to keep up… Hahahaha. So I eventually did keep up. All of the best memories I have of him are memories of skiing together in the champagne powder of the Wasatch Mountain wilderness.
But the most common way to keep up with better skiers is to stuff the fear you feel deep down inside and just focus on the task in front of you. Fear was not an acceptable feeling to have in my past. It was not welcome in any of the sports I dedicated myself to. It was not welcome at school, my abuser not only didn’t welcome it, he punished me for it. And it was disapproved of in the “buck up” western society I grew up around. By the time I made competitive skiing the pursuit of my life, I had disowned fear inside myself. And when I met the other skiers on the various ski teams as well as the coaches, matters got worse.
On the first day of training, I was assigned to work with a man who had won the world cup several times. I admired him the minute I met him. He was like a Viking on skis. He had endless amounts of information about technique. I was in heaven, except for one thing. Most of the best skiers are adrenaline junkies. So, he and my fellow coaches would careen down slopes that would terrify the average person. And if they (or other skiers) got into “sticky situations” on skis, including dreaded pinwheel falls, they would laugh hysterically about it. I felt like I was in over my head. The message was very clear from day one, a message continually promoted by my coaches “Fear can burn the house down, don’t let it in.” So, I did exactly what I was instructed to do. If fear was unacceptable, and I seemed to be the only one who felt it, I would keep it to myself. I did not admit to my fear. I rejected it. I suppressed it, I denied it and eventually I became unaware of it.
Why was this a problem? It was a problem because if I couldn’t admit that fear was holding me back (and no one else could clearly tell that I was afraid), my coaches could not address the actual ‘problem’. I became technically excellent, but no amount of technique makes up for a lack of confidence. If I had been in the place I am today 9 years ago, unashamed of “what is” about me and in a space of authenticity regarding my own shadow, I would have told them. My coaches could have had the opportunity to work with me on the actual shortcoming with my skiing. My low body weight would not have become the scapegoat for why I could not beat many of the more aggressive, heavier women in the sport.
Aside from obvious mental techniques that target fear specifically, there is a physical skiing technique that they would have suggested that I do if they would have known that I was having issues with fear. They would have told me to slip the top of my turns instead of carve them. Bear with me if you’re not a skier. In racing, a good turn is all about the carve. To go as fast as you can in a race course, you want to be on your edges as much as possible and you do not want to slide your ski sideways as you turn because this causes you to slow down. “Slipping the top of the turn” is treated like the plague in ski racing. The average skier only turns by slipping, which is why their turns create a spray of snow when they turn. You gradually train yourself out of doing that as a ski racer. I am a perfectionist, such a perfectionist that along with admitting to fear, I also made slipping any part of my turns not ok. I would carve, and of course the carving would accelerate me to the point where my fear would kick in and I’d put the mental breaks on and then my aggression would disappear. I was only confident on slopes where I could genuinely be out in front of my ski while carving.
Most people listen to their fear better than they listen to coaches. So coaches do not need to teach them to slip the top of the turn; they have to un-teachthem to do that. I on the other hand, listened better to coaches than I ever listened to my fear. If my coaches had known that fear was the issue in steep terrain, they would have told me to do the opposite of what they usually have to tell people. they would have told me to decelerate by slipping the top of my turns more. This makes it so you are in more control of your speed. It would have caused me to become more mentally confident and thus naturally more aggressive.
This inability to admit to fear continued on when I switched my focus to speed skating. Speed skating was 1,000 times less frightening than skiing but I still could not admit to my fear. I was more afraid of losing (and of what losing would mean about me) than I was in love with both skating and the prospect of winning. I would spent a good hour before each race in the bathroom nauseated and panicking. A fact that I hid from my coach and from the rest of the team. He was the best coach I’ve ever had in any sport. And yet I disapproved of fear in myself badly enough that I couldn’t even tell him.
Today, after I recognized that I actually felt fear, I watched other skiers go down the hill and I thought to myself “what if slipping the top of the turns is ok?” “What if it’s just like I say with spiritual tools, a tool that can hurt you in one situation can help you in another and vice versa?” The rest of the day was amazing. It’s as if the realization and the questions opened a whole new dimension to my skiing. My fear went away. I did not just have technique. I had more confidence. Then I realized what had been going on for so long between Blake and I. Blake and I mirror each other’s suppressed aspect on skis. His fearlessness is something that makes me uncomfortable because it shines a light on my fear, something I suppressed and something my mind wanted to keep suppressed. My perfectionism is something that makes him uncomfortable because it shines a light on his “butterfingers” vibration. The feeling that he is always a mess up, something he suppressed and something his subconscious mind wanted to keep suppressed. We’re actually the perfect skier if you merge us together into one. His fearlessness and fun combines with my technical skills and serious/earnest approach to my relationship with the mountain.
But it was a roller coaster day emotionally. I had to admit to the fact that if I had been authentic all those years ago and been able to recognize and admit to my fear, my ski career would have gone very differently. I would have been a far superior athlete to what I was. This was painful. One tiny change could have altered the course of history. But then again, perhaps that’s the point. Maybe if I had addressed the actual problem, I’d still be skiing professionally instead of living my true purpose today. This realization today has fueled me forward with my authenticity movement… As if I needed any more inspiration.
I have decided to share this personal story with you today in the hopes that it will awaken you to the degree that you will recognize this pattern within yourself and not make the same mistake that I did. To admit to what is true for you in this moment, you need to be brave enough to see yourself completely. Even if you think you might see things you don’t want to see about yourself. If we are still thinking aspects of us are wrong or bad, we will remain convinced that we will not be loved if we contain these aspects. And so, the Ego will still have motivation to hide it from view and hide it from our awareness. If we want progression and expansion in our lives, no matter whether it be spiritual progression or emotional progression or mental progression or career progression or love progression, we must be willing to be authentic enough to admit to what is. Even if what is, feels unacceptable or embarrassing to us. Only then, will we have something genuine to work with.