Dear Too Much,
I had to sit with you for a while.
Under my flesh you crawl, But I’m ready to brawl.
Too much trauma,
and
Too Much baggage
Or at least that is what I told myself.

Like a swirling vortex,
a tornado I cradle
I’ve held onto you like some sort of label.

Dear too much,
I had to sit with you a while,
just to figure you out.

Call by call, and talk by talk he fixes that.
Walk by walk I remember that,
If one that therapist can handle all “This” then someone else can too,
and maybe, just maybe, Too Much is actually just enough.

Dear Too Much,
You’re finally out of touch.

Dear Fear,

You’ve been lurking in the shadows, creeping into my thoughts like a cold, unseen presence. I thought I could outsmart you distract myself with distractions, tell myself I’d get to it tomorrow. But tomorrow never comes, does it?

You show up like an uninvited guest at every moment I shine. You whisper that I don’t deserve to be here, that I’m not doing this, that it’s only a matter of time before I get exposed. You’ve made me question my worth more than once, turning my achievements into shadows of doubt. You convinced me my success is nothing but a fluke, and I am nothing but a fraud waiting to be unmasked.

You’re the one who stands in the doorway, tempting me to stay in my comfort zone. You distract me with “just one more scroll” or “ one more episode.” You are always patient, like a slow poison, convincing me that there’s no need to rush. But deep down I feel your grip tightening, the hours slipping away, leaving me with nothing but guilt and missed opportunities.

But today- today, I’m taking my power back, you may be a shadow, but I’ve learned that shadows only exist because of light. I’m the light. And I’m done hiding from you.

I’ve stared you both down long enough. I know you’re not as powerful as you seem. You can whisper all you want, but I won’t be silenced. I’ll push past you, step by step, and I’ll make my way to the future I’ve been too afraid to claim. You might still show up, but I’m no longer letting you dictate my story.

Watch me. I’m doing this.

Sincerely, a future that’s no longer waiting.

Prowriting Style Score: 79
My Fears: Imposter Syndrome and Procrastination

I think about my fears when I’m crocheting,
Why is my anxiety here? It is dismaying!
With each breathe my heart beats faster,
What do I do – force fake laughter?
My brain shoots thoughts at lightning speed,
It grows louder and louder. Silence is a need.
I hate to dwell on my losses, but
Here is where my depression and anxiety crosses.
With the hook I stab the yarn,
On my heart, pain carves a scarred tarn.
I don’t know why this moment is full of stress;
I close my eyes and I pray to be blessed.
I no longer want to feel like my crochet hook,
Stuck in a web of knots, lost on what way I should’ve took.
So instead I clear my mind,
There’s a lot up here; so it might take some time.
I throw away my financial worries,
While my self doubt scurries.
I will no longer be prisoner to my thoughts,
I untangle a mind full of knots.
I rebuke every negative thought that come my way,
Because my Lord’s presence is here to stay.
I lift my eyes to the mountains,
Through faith I will possess an endless fountain.
I continue to weave my yarn,
Calmer now, because peace has been borne.

Style Score: 100%

You sit in the pit of my stomach, a rock, an unwelcome but also familiar knot of discomfort.

But how is it that you also arrange yourself in my mind, lacing my thoughts like a sickly smoke, intertwining and tainting? You are a haunting, a ghost no one invited, even so, I entertain you.

You seep into the cracks of me that aren’t otherwise filled, like a handful of slime squeezed in a fist; you overflow, you stick to my dry skin, not as moisture but a reminder of what I lack. Something small I forgot to do.

I tell myself to be stronger than you. I tell you to be quiet. A mantra, a prayer, a desperate plea that you ignore.

You and I seem to have something in common, at least. Neither of us will listen to me.

“Why would anyone listen to you?” You seem to ask.

I just want to be heard, to be appreciated, like everyone does. Heaviness weighs inside my chest. Sadness, I think, maybe despair.

You tap my shoulder in every happy, confident moment to steal something from me and I wonder, is this something that happens to everyone?

You whisper my name, “Heather,” as if we’re good friends, well-acquainted—and I suppose we are, you’ve known me my whole life—“You aren’t good enough; they’re going to pass.” You’ll never make it. Your dreams will never come true. Time is running out. You’re too old. No one cares what you have to say.”

I’ve believed you.

“Don’t sing. They will laugh at you.” You said, and I didn’t sing.

You have stolen my voice more than once. I allowed it. How much doubt have you sewn? How many dreams have you crushed? I’ve let you have your way, because I didn’t know better.

I did not know how to separate your lies from my truths and maybe I still don’t.

But at least now I know how to spot you. You and your clever manipulations. You, planting a seed of doubt and watering it whenever I permit. Maybe my fears will eventually be realized, but I can no longer allow you to stop me from trying.

Fear, you are a misuse of my imagination, and I mustn’t entertain you.

Even if you remain a lingering cloud on the horizon of my thoughts, I must endure the storm of my doubt. I must sing and write and share. I will.

Style score 84%

Dear Unknown,

I shiver when I hear your name. You are so cavalier towards my distress.

I distance myself from you to no avail; because you always seem to find me.

You are the culprit of my misery. Or you could be the reason for the joy that awaits me.

I lay awake all night, and I don’t want to face the day. You are there to greet me at sunrise.

I sit here stagnant, engulfed in fear.

I am reluctant to admit that you are my deepest fear, but I refuse to live my life imprisoned by you.

I vow from this day forward that I will face my fear of you, and live my life despite your unpredictable ways.

I realize who I am. I am kin to a royal family, and I hold special powers and authority.

Unknown, you must relinquish the grip you hold on me.

I will place demands on the Kingdom inside of me. To reveal my greatness, and see the world as an empty canvas, awaiting my commands.

Sincerely,

To my oldest friend, Rejection,

Unfortunately for me and fortunately for you, I have chosen a career which guarantees our longstanding acquaintance. As long as I chase this unpredictable dream, you will always have me at your mercy.

I would ask you to be gentle with me, though I know I’d only be kidding myself. I’ve become accustomed to your unyielding nature since I was ten. You’d think I’d be used to be it by now, and yet you would be wrong. No matter how many times it happens, no matter how many pep talks I give myself in the mirror, I am still gutted just as deeply when you sink your claws into my unassuming flesh.

You always know exactly when I am at my most vulnerable. You lie in wait until my resolve is sufficiently weakened and my self confidence eroded enough to let doubt seep in. It is then, in the moments when I most need a break, that you choose to check back in, remind me you’re still here, become reacquainted. Like an old friend too narcissistic to let us drift apart in peace.

I often lay awake at night wondering when you will pounce on me next. I dream of the life I wish to have, all the while tormented with the shadow lurking in the corner, reminding me that with every brave step I take, I am only barring myself to you more.

And yet I continue to choose this. I continue to go on auditions, to send out my manuscripts, to put myself out there despite the very real notion that I am only kidding myself. I choose this while knowing full well that I am stepping out into daylight and making myself a quick and easy target for you.

Why do I do it?

I am not some sort of masochist who lives for the thrill of the pain you inflict. No. On the contrary. I despise the bitter taste you leave in my mouth each time you unarm me with your apathy.

It’s not personal, they say. Rejection is a part of the process. A part of life.

Something I must get used to if I ever want to make it big.

But I cannot ignore the fact that it stings each time you try to tell me I am not special.

Not a good enough actress.

Not a good enough writer.

Not worthy enough for the position.

Not desperate enough to be the one who makes it.

Not. Enough.

It is your voice I hear when I think I am utterly unspecial.

But the trust is that the more time I spend around you, the less unpredictable your attacks become.

Your indifferent nature will always haunt me, but I strip away a bit of your power every time I choose to expose myself, to play my hand and bet on the dreams I chase.

Because I really believe one day, you will smile in the back of an ornate, stuffy room full of Hollywood’s finest artists. And you will watch as I ascend the steps and accept my award, uttering the words I have practiced in the shower with a shampoo bottle clutched in my hand, thanking the academy and God and my mom.

Maybe then, when our longstanding and complex relationship finally fulfills its purpose and I can say I actually made it, I will understand that there was nothing to be afraid of after all. I will remember that your influence fueled my frustration and determination to prove you wrong.

Until that fateful day, I will continue to look over my shoulder with caution, keenly aware you are always just at my heel. I will continue to be forced to sit in your less than comfortable presence, hoping against hope that it won’t always feel this pointless.

And in the moments when the fear becomes debilitating as I clutch my chest at night, your cold hands wrapped around my neck, preventing me from dreaming any longer, I will continue to breathe until you loosen your grip, reminding myself that you are here for a reason. That I must feel the fear and continue to chase this life I long for, anyway. Because it is only then that I can truly overcome you.

So yes, I am afraid of you. But no, I will not let that control how I choose to live the only life I’ll ever get.

I know this is not the end of you and me, and to that I can only say one thing: bring it on.

Until next time, old friend.

Yours truly,

A fool who dreams

Style Score: 100%

a journal on fear.
fear. a feeling most of us avoid. the thought of embracing it sounds insane. why would we want to sit in an uncomfortable feeling? it’s easier to run from the things that scare us than it is to be okay with them. is fear always a bad thing? I choose to believe it isn’t. that a healthy amount of fear provides the urgency to achieve the things on our mind. a healthy amount of fear welcomes growth, forces movement. rebukes stagnation. a healthy amount of fear can be lifechanging, when we allow it to knock on our comfort and push us into the person who conquers it.

there isn’t a life you could live where you avoid ever feeling fear. there is a life where you can spend a great amount of time running from it, though. I highly recommend you don’t run from fear. if nothing else, fear will teach you about yourself. remind you of your strength, remind you of how much you can handle before you break. remind you that your mind is tough, and the more you look fear in the eyes, the tougher you become. those who are resilient are resilient because they have faced their fear time and time again. even when they didn’t want to. especially when they didn’t want to. the resilient mind looks at fear as something to overcome. as our growth is typically on the other side of fear.

I can remember a lot of fearful moments in my life. of those fearful times, I grew from the majority of them. besides the time it was unnecessary fear like getting scared of a ghost or a noise I heard or something that holds no real value. however, looking at things that have intimidated me, things that have felt bigger than me- I have made myself equal to. I have leveled out the playing field that I had thought could not be leveled. and that’s the power of believing in yourself enough to overcome the difficult things.

two years ago, I lived in a constant state of fear. in an unhealthy way- a way in which I felt like the whole world was after me. that the world was a dangerous place, and I was fragile. that one small blow and I’d collapse under the sake of the world. I used my fragility as a scapegoat of growth. the person I could eventually become I was already intimidated by, as I knew the power I could possess, and that was scary. it seems counterintuitive to be intimidated by your own potential, but I feel like most people actually are. that’s why people don’t embrace change often. they like to stay the way they are. it requires less effort. and looking at the power they could one day hold is almost too much to handle. you deserve to reach your highest self, yet you have to get out of your own head.

too many people live under the imposter syndrome- always feeling like they aren’t doing enough. that they aren’t ever going to be as good as other people doing the same thing of them. that they aren’t actually on the way to achieving their goals. living under a box, feeling sheltered, shy. you can’t be shy when it comes to fear, overcoming it. you have to be relentless, pull out your strength, battle fear with the parts of yourself you’re willing to let go of. change, the embracing of fear, requires sacrifice. that’s what people are scared of. what they may have to let go of in order to reach the other side of their fear. there’s things and people, there’s a version of you, that you have to rid yourself of, and that’s hard to be okay with.

I remember the day I decided to embrace my fear, apply for my dream job. but it wasn’t the application that scared me. or even the interview necessarily. it was the way my life would look after taking the leap of faith on myself. knowing that nothing in my life would look the same after embracing this fear of mine. I knew everything would change: my environment, the people in my life, my lifestyle, all of my habits and routines. everything I knew was about to explode, disintegrate. and that’s what I feared most. but, one day, I realized I could sit in this hesitation for the rest of my life if I wasn’t careful. I realized that one day my fear could turn into regret. and for a lot of people, that is the pipeline. they fear something to the extent of running from it for so long that it transitions into regret. the “I should have” “I wish I would have” “what if” mentality that feels far more painful than the discomfort of fear. in life I think we ought to choose our discomfort. for me, I would rather feel fear long enough to grow from it. rather than the anxiety of running from it until I stumble into regret. as regret is a thing you cannot undo. but growth is something you can always capitalize off of. you can always switch directions, keep growing from your fear. but you can’t go back in time and do something because you chose not to do it out of fear. you have to sit with the decision you make in the way you go about fear. it will follow you.

I chased my fear long enough to be met with a version of myself I never would have dreamed of- one who is resilient mentally and physically. a version of myself that lives life fully, and loves each day. there was a big life on the other side of everything I feared. I’m happy with how I choose to regard fear.

fear will change you for better or for worse. and that’s entirely up to you. two years ago, it was changing me for the worst. it forced me to stay inside, sheltered me in, closed me off to the world. if you live in fear deep enough, you close yourself off to the opportunities of the universe. you close yourself off to a life that has so much to offer. fear can be paralyzing. debilitating. agonizing. you can live in a way where you succumb to it. where all of your actions align with the avoidance of the very thing you feel smaller than. and life will prove you are smaller than this thing. only because you are placing it above you.

but, if you so choose to allow your growth from fear, it can change you for the better. it can make your world seem bigger. open doors you used to hide behind. you’ll feel stronger, nothing is unachievable anymore. you’re capable of so much. once you prove that to yourself, you’ll nearly be unstoppable. life will feel like a challenge. in the best way.

I’m now 30, and to imagine that when you were my age, you already had my brother and me. Being still unmarried and unsure what I really want out of my life, I cannot believe that you were working full time yet still somehow managed to come home to us every day to have dinner together, to read us to sleep, and to have the energy to bring us out on the weekends. It is oddly heartbreaking for me to think of how our relationship has changed over three decades.

For the first decade, I had clung on very tightly to you, to dad, and to my siblings. I don’t know when people start fearing death, but I am very sure that death was one of my first and greatest fears. Before I turned ten, I remember sitting with you by the window being very afraid. I asked you if you would wait for me at the gates of Heaven so that you could be the first thing I saw when I died. I made you promise, over and over again, to stay there and wait for me so that we would not be lost from each other.

The second decade, as with most parent-child relationships, things changed. I was growing into my own, so they say. From a loving, close, relationship, ours turned into a cold one fraught with secrets and anger. Emotions had subsided by the time I went into university overseas and you took two weeks off work to help me settle in. However, I will regret not being matured enough to have recognized your action as love. I am ashamed that I did not reciprocate, and instead I left you alone in my dormitory while I went out and stayed out late into the night under the guise of making new friends. You let me sleep on the bed, you took the sleeping bag on the floor. To think that I had only deigned to have dinner with you once during the two weeks, while you were alone in my room with nothing else to do. I try to wipe the memory of the second decade out of my mind.

The third decade, thankfully, I matured midway through and started trying to get the relationship back to where it should have been. Alas, time and maturity are trickster twins – the moment you get one, the other starts slipping away. One night, we were driving late at night to grab Macdonald’s for my brothers, when all of sudden for no apparent reason you turned to me and said so very nonchalantly, “I wonder what your brothers would look like when they grow old”. I don’t know what that comment meant to you then, but I think of what you said every now and then and it saddens me to think that the futures that my brothers and I walk towards everyday will always remain a mystery to you after some point.

Today, I wish that I can spend more time with you, yet I also feel my own dreams and ambition tugging me in other directions. As I get to the age you were when I pestered you to wait for me at the Heavenly gates, the fear that the time I have left with you is running out looms larger. Up till my last decade, I only had to fear some ungodly catastrophe, a freak accident, some rare, black swan event that would cause you would be taken away from this earth. Today, the fear of losing you is no longer irrational; the fear is real and it gnaws on me, it is a logical conclusion to the ailment of life. It grows every time I see you and notice that you have gotten skinnier, that you look frailer. Every time I hear you complain about some new thing that is bothering you, whether it be a worsening memory or unexplained pains, I am reminded that unlike other fears, this is one fear that will come to pass.

I cannot change the past and treat you as you deserved then, and I cannot control the future and get to have you in my life forever. The only thing I can do is to believe that I am making the right choices in balancing time with you now and time to work on my future. When the day comes as I know it shall, then I can only be strong and believe that you will wait for me as you had promise those many years ago. Loss is a pain that everyone on earth will go through, and we are no different. Neither of us are perfect, but I will not let that nor any fear stop me from loving you better.

63% style score

Dear Time

You are a thief. That might seem harsh, and maybe a little irrational. I admit that you have given me some of my greatest moments. My wedding day, and the birth of my four beautiful children are just to name a few. Despite what I have been given you have also robbed me. I can’t say that it’s all your fault, but it’s easier to blame others than be accountable for our own lack of action.

During the course of day I wonder if there is ever enough time to complete all that needs to be accomplished. How is it possible that sixty seconds turn into a minute, sixty minutes turn in to an hour, 24 hours turn into a whole day. Gone! Poof! Just like that! Of course, that isn’t the case when I am working. You slow your roll. It’s like honey dripping from a spoon, slow and sticky. Yet, when the workday is finally complete, the large hands on the clock spin out of control. It’s just not fair.

Some say that time is your friend, others say it’s your worst enemy. I guess time is what you make of it. How do you get the most out of the time we have? Are you in control or am I just looking for someone or something to blame? I reflect on that rhetorical question. I was just seventeen when my mom died of cancer. I had a short amount of time to learn from her and love her. My husband and I married just shortly after her passing. We were married for ten years before we had our first of four kids. Ten years to develop a plan, build a nest egg, get prepared for raising a family. We did none of those things. We kept telling ourselves we had time. You are so sneaky. Letting us think that time was infinite. You play with our minds in a way that tricks us into believing we have time. Even when our children were small, I was always watching the time. Time to get up, time for breakfast, time for school, time for bed. I was always and continuously mentioning time. Five more minutes in the tub, ten more minutes to ride your bike. Everything has been hinged on time. Then you blink and they are all grown adults, and you wonder where the time went.

Even today, as I approach my middle-aged years, I wonder if I will be allotted enough time to see my children get married and have kids of their own. I wonder how long I will be able to fall asleep to my husband’s heartbeat, after his cardio-thoracic surgeon brought him back to me. I get it, time is not promised to any of us. We can’t prevent the sands of time from pouring through the hourglass. That being said, there is no time like the present to make changes, make things happen, live like there is no tomorrow. You have taught me that. I can’t get time back, but I can make the most of the time I have left. You have robbed me in the past but not anymore. Now I am not saying that I can’t waste time near a cozy fire with a good book during the winter. Sometimes that is the perfect antidote to a stressful schedule, but I vow that I will make every day count. I will not waste any more time feeling sorry for myself or worrying about what could have been. I will not let time trickle away without achieving something. I am only scratching the surface to who I can become, what I can accomplish and how I can be an example to my family, friends and community. You may have won the battle, but you have not won the war. Time will be on my side because I will make it so.

Time marches on, but so will I. I will hold myself accountable for my failures and celebrate my successes. I have the power to turn negative experiences into positive periods of growth. So, you just keep ticking, let the days turn into weeks, then months, then years. I will continue to grow and become the person I was always meant to be because time does not control me.

Sincerely,
Reva M. Gomes

Style Score 82%

Dear Bestie,

I get it. I do.

You’ve been my ride or die since I chickened out from going to the school of Journalism school at the University of Missouri back in the day. Circa 1998.

You held my hand as I decided on that High School English Teacher thing instead when I ended up pregnant at age 21.

You never left and bought a front row ticket to watch as I became a single mom of 4 little girls by the time I hit age 26.

You were there when we walked across that stage to get that degree, 8 months pregnant while my 4-year-old, 3-year-old, and 18-month-old daughters watched as I waddled across that stage.

You never left.

You told me it was ok when I got that D in Shakespeare.

You stayed with me all the way through. My loyalty to you mirrored the loyalty you showed me first. Please know I’m forever grateful.

While teaching teenagers to write, you encouraged me to focus on the Mommin’. It was easy to stay a small-town writer—just a few FB posts here and there and a Substack or two.

Chapter after chapter turned into more than a single book over the course of all those years busy with Mommin’ on the solo.

It’s now 2025, and you’re still here. And I accidentally somehow turned 45. The halfway point.

The 3 oldest daughters, now 23,22, and almost 19 in college and 1 with her own degree, while the youngest, now 18, has only 4 months left before high school graduation as the class valedictorian. The last to leave the nest as she heads to Mizzou at summer’s end.

We always told ourselves, you and I, that I was too busy to write for real. And here we are now, with just a few months left before that excuse no longer pays rent.

Somewhere along the way, I uncovered your real name.

My bestie.

First name: Fear.

Middle name: Writing.

Last name: Books—with a handful of words in between

Fear of Writing the Books. All of them.

But the thing is, I’ve lived with you so long that somewhere along the way I’m no longer scared of you.

I realized that my best friend, Fear, had molded me into the writer I’ve become—a writer whose name I never believed would appear on a book.

Somewhere along the way, fear becomes the thing that refines a girl and makes her better.

Fear becomes the key to unlocking what’s inside you.

The one who is the Creator put that thing into your heart.

The One who placed a girl like me on this earth at this specific time in history to create, produce, and contribute to her people in her places. To use words to help others in their becoming.

I want you to know I am so thankful for you. But the time is here. It’s time to let you go.

I don’t need you anymore. Truth is, I’m a small-town girl, and it wasn’t easy raising 4 little girls on the solo on a teacher’s income, but I did it. And now, it’s time to write.

I needed you for the first 45. I needed a bestie like you. A someone to do life with. To grow me. To help me become.

I made it out of that small-town mentality—the one that holds a girl with a pen hostage. The one that silences dreams too soon.

It’s time to step into who I’ve spent years accidentally becoming—and fully own all that I now am.

I’m done pretending the words I’ve been writing all these years were simply words without an audience.

Words written but never read.

Truth is—the next 45 years is enough time to write all the words for all the people who need to read them.

Those held hostage by their own fears in need of unlocking.

Turns out I’m the owner of the keys. It’s up to me to have the guts to share the words given to me with others in desperate need of the keys given to me in the currency of words.

Fear isn’t the enemy.

Sometimes, she just needs space to help a girl to become.  

With Love Always,

Style Score: 90

Dear Fear,

I see you. I know your patterns. You slip in quietly, not as a roar but as a whisper, as a slight hesitation, a second round of overthinking, a perfectly rational reason to wait just a little longer. You don’t paralyze me outright–you just keep me moving away from stillness. You make sure I’m always reaching for the next thing, because as long as I’m reaching, I never have to ask: Is this already enough?

But I’ve unraveled your disguise.

You call yourself ambition. You dress up as refinement, as striving, as self-improvement. But underneath it all, you are the belief that I must earn my right to rest, to be seen, to feel fulfilled. You have convinced me that I am safest when I am becoming, because if I am becoming, I do not have to confront the truth that scares me the most:

What if, after all the becoming, I still feel like something is missing?

I won’t play this game anymore.

Here’s why you won’t win:

I know now that I do not need to chase anything to be whole. Growth is not the same thing as peace. Motion is not the same thing as meaning. Reinvention is not the same thing as belonging. The future version of me–the one you keep telling me will feel better, lighter, more at home in herself–she is not waiting on the other side of more effort. She is already here.

I am overcoming you not by fighting you, but by refusing to let you dictate my pace. I will not let the next project, the next revision, the next version of myself be the condition for my contentment. I will write, create, share–not to chase an outcome, but because the act itself is enough. I will let my work exist without over-editing it into submission. I will let myself exist without constantly preparing for the next iteration.

I will stay present, no matter how uncomfortable that feels.

You can stay, Fear. I’m not exiling you. But you don’t get to lead me anymore. I will walk forward, not because I am afraid of stillness, but because my soul chooses movement from a place of fullness, not lack.

And the best part? I don’t need to win against you. Because I have already stopped losing to you.

Sincerely,
Me.

style score 84%

Dear fear of mine,

Imagine peak summertime, peak childhood, skin fully lathered in Coppertone. 

It was a Friday, my last day of swim lessons. 

You introduced yourself to me with the persistence quite like a morning glory, winding from belly to throat until I became entangled with the unavoidably obvious fact that my time had come to walk the dreaded plank towards my destiny . 

The final test.

The diving board. 

Shuffling one foot in front of the other, I gripped the edge of the board with pruned toes and watched as the crystal blue oasis below transformed into the darkest pool of uncertainty . 

Paralyzed, I wondered why anyone in their right mind would put themselves in a situation such as this one. 

 I looked over at my dad, whose words echoed in the canals of my water logged ears. 

“You can do it” 

Your vine of flowering hesitation tightened with each beat of my terrified heart, but somewhere, beneath the ripples of doubt, a quiet knowing grew. 

So I made the leap, nose pinched, eyes closed, and plunged into the realization that the anecdote to loosen your hold is only to jump unabashedly into what I am called to do.

And as I continue to navigate life’s pools of possibilities, standing on the water’s edge of all that is before me, I see you not as the vine that holds me captive, but the current that unravels its grip, leading me from the tangled shores of uncertainty into the deep reservoir of my own courage. 

Style Score 77%

Dear fear ,

I have been avoiding you most my life until i figured out what was happening.

You see , i was the first born so my mom overprotected me from everything.

Every time i would fall she was there to catch me both literally and figuratively.

My dad was not around much and when he was i did not listen to his advice due to him not having my respect. Although a neglectful parent, he sought my attention to follow his counsel. His selective role-playing prompted me to selectively heed his words. Though some bitterness remains after all these years, a significant portion of his claims were accurate.

Its just the messenger was the right one to get the message across.

I was afraid of success to be honest because i was fine with being just average.

Was not into education but i was intelligent just never applied myself.

Was not into socializing i was okay being by myself 

Am i good enough ? Am I not smiling enough? laugh more ?

I am okay with being alone

I remained completely frozen by fear and did nothing for years.

Now it fuels me and with those voices of self doubt i still go

My daily routine includes self-care, even when battling tiredness, depression, or anxiety.

I still go out , still workout and remain active not sitting much on my couch or laying in bed

Face your fears is what my grandfather always says 

I learned to not only acknowledge you feat but to appreciate your role in life

Even when those voices tell me to stop i keep going

I’m afraid of the unknown, but I know what’s best for me lies ahead, so I’ll keep growing.

I hope you’re aware that I won’t back down from a fight with you.

Sincerely: your biggest and toughness rival my will to succeed , Isaac is me