The Fear That Almost Stopped Me

How I learned to move forward when every voice (especially my own) told me not to

We all have big dreams.

Some live quietly inside us for years, surfacing every so often before we push them back down. A career leap. A creative project. A bold move that feels too big, too risky, too uncertain.

For me, that dream was travel. I had always wanted to live abroad—to experience other cultures, landscapes, and ways of life. I wanted to explore Africa, to see the places and meet the people I’d only known through stories and colleagues.

But for years, I convinced myself it wasn’t possible.

I told myself I couldn’t afford it. I had a mortgage, a demanding job, a cat I adored, friends who relied on me. And there were the external voices too—family, friends, coworkers—each offering their own version of doubt:
“It’s dangerous.”
“You’ll get lonely.”
“You’ll regret it.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I agreed with them.

My Breaking Point

Then, a few years ago, everything changed. My marriage ended. I was recovering from shoulder surgery and burnout. The life that had once felt predictable and safe now felt impossible to continue.

When the old dream resurfaced—Maybe now you could go—it brought the same familiar chorus of doubt with it.

The same script played in my head on repeat:
You can’t afford it. You can’t just leave. It’s not practical. You’ll be too lonely. It’s too dangerous. You’re not the kind of person who does things like this.

And just like before, I believed those voices. I agreed with them.

They felt protective, reasonable, adult. But underneath that logic was something else—fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of failing. Fear of discovering I wasn’t as brave or capable as I wanted to be.

For a while, I let those fears win. Then one day, I paused.

I asked myself a question that changed everything:

What if every single barrier disappeared?

What if I had the money, the time, the support, the courage—would I go?

When I imagined that reality, I felt two things at once: a surge of excitement and a deep, visceral terror.

That mix told me the truth I’d been avoiding. The problem wasn’t the circumstances. The problem was the story I’d been telling myself about what I was and wasn’t capable of.

So, instead of dismissing the fear, I sat with it. I looked at it closely. I let it speak.

It told me I was scared of being alone. Scared of failing. Scared of proving, once and for all, that I wasn’t strong enough to do something extraordinary.

And then, gently, I told it something back: I see you. But I’m going anyway.

That was the moment everything shifted—not because the fear disappeared, but because I stopped letting it make the decisions.

The Leap

So, I did.

I sold nearly everything I owned, packed what I thought I’d need for six months into a backpack and a carry-on, and booked a one-way ticket to Cape Town.

That six months stretched into eight, across twenty-five countries in Africa and the Middle East. I saw lions take down prey on the Serengeti, summited Mount Kilimanjaro, lived with a hunter-gatherer community in South Sudan, and watched falconers in Qatar.

Each adventure was extraordinary, but what changed me most weren’t the moments of awe—it was the constant negotiation with fear. Every border crossing, every new language, every unfamiliar city demanded the same question:

Will you let uncertainty stop you, or will you keep going?

Over and over again, I kept going.

What I Learned

Looking back, I can see that the fear never disappeared. It just stopped being in charge.

The more I stepped forward despite it, the more it softened—from paralyzing to humbling, from enemy to teacher.

I learned that fear doesn’t always mean stop. Sometimes it means pay attention. Sometimes it’s just the body’s way of saying, This matters.

And when something matters that much, it’s worth moving toward.

Your Turn

Maybe your dream isn’t to travel across continents. Maybe it’s to change careers, start something of your own, or finally speak out in a room where your voice has been quiet.

Whatever it is, notice the story your fear is telling you. Then ask yourself the same question I did:

If every obstacle were gone—if it were truly possible—would I do it?

If the answer is yes, even a trembling yes, that’s enough to start.

Because sometimes, the most transformative journeys don’t begin with confidence.
They begin with fear—and the decision to move anyway.