“We are not going to let fear…” Matt pauses, waiting for me to finish the sentence.

“Keep us from following our dreams,” I reply. Even saying the words feels like a lie, though the process of repeating after Matt is becoming familiar.

I am afraid in the bathtub. I am afraid in the car. I am afraid in our office.

There is always a layer of fear residing just beneath my skin. I’m so sure of what I’m called to do and so hesitant to take the steps to make it happen.

A few months ago, I sat across the table from a friend suffering from writers block. She had her own fears to fight, and I recommended that she write letters to her fear.* It’s always easy to hand out advice, tossing little flames and hoping they spark something on others. It’s much harder to sit in the refining heat yourself.

So when fear and I started to speak more regularly–mostly it telling me exactly what I should and shouldn’t do– I knew it was time for me to change the conversation by taking my own advice. It’s time for me to write my own letters to fear.

I’m introducing a series of posts called #dearestfear where I’ll speak truth to my fear. My hope is that these letters will encourage me to keep going and that they’ll give someone else the strength they need to put fear in its place.

I’m not putting much structure around the project. I’ll write as many letters as I need to, as often as I need to. And newsletter subscribers will get to read the letters first.  You can write your own letters, too! Tag them #dearestfear so we can all read them and hopefully have healthier relationships to our fear.

* It felt like an original idea at the time. I’ve since remembered that I read that advice in Elizabeth Gillbert’s Big Magic.