Facing Fear

Facing fear, 2021

First experiments with “right-brained writing:” facing the fear of the unknown

There is an underlying rumble, a buzz, a frequency that rolls like a quiver along my sensory wires, deep under my skin, knowing I’m about to write. The mere act of making contact with my voice in writing brings up a familiar anxiety and doubt, coupled with a yearning to be heard and acknowledged.

I noticed a craving for a cigarette return — I used to smoke occasionally many years ago — like calling in a firefighter to put out the flames running down the electrical walls of my nervous system. Part of me feels much safer to numb and suppress the voices under my skin, and the curiosity of what would happen if I were given space to speak. 

I felt myself peering over the edge of something new. The voices heed warning signals.

• “Don’t leap. It is unknown.

• Stay on the well-traveled highway you know will lead somewhere universally accepted.

• Do the task. Fulfill the checkbox.

• Be of service.

• Work hard. Be responsible.

• Do your work with efficiency.”

pockets of fear and anxiety

I listened for what lay beneath these pleas — deeper fears. “If you stay the course, you’ll be valued, profitable, and safe. You’ll be loved and belong.” Veering off track, I feared I may risk everything.

Wow. Okay.

This felt like an intense start to a 5-day self-imposed writing retreat. But I leaned in. It was time for a little off-roading adventure. Suddenly, I was off the ledge and into the unknown.

The leap into the unknown

Each day, I wrote down my present experiences. Above is a taste. “What would it look like to write from my right brain?” I wondered. After day 3 (see map 1), I began to paint to integrate my experience and track the felt sensations of the present moment.

By right-brained writing, I mean sharing a sensory experience on paper with visual and metaphoric detail rather than with words. The reason for doing this is efficiency in communication — often both in the case of the “writer” and reader.

In other words, painting could be more “productive.” My brain even seemed to be physically rewiring itself, evidenced by pain behind my right ear for days after this realization. (My naturopath suggested the pain might be due to congested lymphatic drainage. Lots of rewiring!) What I “thought” was not productive turned out to be a writing shortcut and was of tremendous value to me.

The moral of the story:  Lean in. Leaning into the unknown can open up those doorways of potential you never would have known existed.