Let Go of Your Fears and Your Ghosts

The Blessing and the Curse of a Life in Self-Development

“And for once, you let go
Of your fears and your ghosts
One step, not much
But it said enough…”
- Taylor Swift

I’ve been self-aware for pretty much my whole life—exploring who I am in the unseen writings of my first blog, deciphering my heart in essays and posts, and pouring my soul into my novels. From the earliest days of that twenty(or)something space, I knew that I wanted to always strive to be the best version of me, and I found that version through the catharsis of my writing.

In the Broadway Musical Hamilton, Alexander Hamilton sings, “I wrote my way out/wrote everything down far as I could see…”

I’ve always related to that line. Every artist does; I think every writer feels the same.

I wrote my way through my twenty-something life—through humiliation by an unpleasantly unhinged boss in my first corporate job, through stumbles in my career and the advent of spiritual awakening, through planting seeds for dreams to come true.

I wrote my way through my thirties—through the darkest days of diagnosis, through the depths of illness and begging for relief, through release of my old life and the surrender to the new.

“And when my prayers to God were met with indifference…”

I wrote my way through the most sacred love story I’ve ever known. Through nurturing home, life, and created family. Through having to walk away and let it all fall apart.

“I picked up a pen, I wrote my own deliverance.”

Through putting my life back together and opening my heart to dream again.

I wrote and wrote and wrote because writing is the way I make sense of the world.

I wrote in my novels, I wrote essays and social media posts, I wrote letters that will never get sent and in journals that will never be read.

I wrote to understand myself.

Throughout this life, I’ve studied myself—wanting to know who I am on a deep, intrinsic level. Not just why I am the way I am, but who is that person, truly? I’ve used the Myers-Briggs and Enneagram and Astrology to grow in how I identify with myself. I invested thousands of dollars in courses and healings and energy sessions to get to the root and understand my personal energy. I studied trauma bonding and attachment theory to grow in conscious connection with others, and I learned Law of Attraction to heal into the best version of myself.

This hasn’t been the occasional, “I read a book, let’s try a new habit” kind of self-study. This is the self-actualization depth and devotion of getting to the core of my sacredness—understanding my patterns, my beliefs, my fears, my desires as compass points for growth.

And that’s been the blessing and the curse.

Because with profound self-awareness comes immense personal responsibility. I can’t turn my emotions off with a switch. I can’t numb myself out to the injustices in the world—or even in my own small corner of it. I can’t ever escape from myself with the typical vices.

When you’re self-aware, there’s no running from yourself.

The blessing and the curse comes when you can see yourself clearly—you see where everything has meaning as an opportunity for you to grow more, do more, become more. And you’re never “done.” When you’re awake to yourself, self-growth stops being a phase and becomes a way of life.

And my life has flourished because of it. I’ve consciously built a life I’m so proud of—I have work I love through the businesses I’ve built, connections that are reciprocal in effort and lovingly nurtured, and I feel more free to be me than I’ve ever felt before.

Through this work, I’ve shed identities that kept me small. I released patterns that held me back. I reshaped beliefs that kept me hidden inside my own heart. In so many ways, I’ve sculpted myself into the woman I once could only dream of becoming. I can sense and see the magic that weaves its way in the threads of my everyday life, and I’m so incredibly grateful.

But here’s what I didn’t know: if you’re not careful, the healing and growth can become another consciousness loop. It’s another way to say, “I’m not enough yet” or “I’ll be worthy when…” It’s another way to keep yourself in a state of constant becoming—

while you forget that you already are.

When I met the person who activated me to my ascension—the next level of my spiritual journey and myself—he made me feel alive again. I’d spent years recovering from continuous relapses of Chronic Lyme and company, and I was knee-deep in the throes of healing my fractured relationship with God and learning to love myself again, recapturing who I was before I was sick, only better and stronger.

His wild spirit mirrored the one that I had tamed in myself. His spontaneity ignited the adventure that had always been part of my soul. His acceptance of me softened the weight I’d always carried—being the one to hold it all together for everyone else; the constant doing and givng until there was nothing left of me; the way I’d been needed so much I’d forgotten what it felt like to simply be myself.

To simply be.

For a while there, he took me as I am so I could become who I was—I didn’t need to prove myself, to earn love, to be something more.

I could just be me. That was enough to be loved.

Being with him was a mirror for a truth I hadn’t—up until then—fully dared to live: that love, trust, and expansion don’t always come with more effort. Sometimes, they come with just letting yourself be held.

That was a revelation. And it was terrifying.

Because when you’ve carried yourself and the world your whole life, setting it down feels like a freefall.

Over the past few years, so much in my life has changed—and I had to let it.

Through it all, I’ve been learning. Learning not to pick that weight back up, not to hoist it on my shoulders as my own. I’ve been learning that the inner work continues, but not in the hustle and effort like before. I don’t have to strive to become a better version of me to prove I’m worthy, to validate my existence here.

I get to grow as a natural evolution of who I am.

Because that’s life. And life is meant to be lived.

It’s strange territory—letting go of the fears and the ghosts that took up so much space in my mind. Some days, I feel the pull of that old version of me—the instinct to pick up the weight again and micromanage my own healing and measure my worth in how much I’ve “worked” on myself.

But I know who I’ve been. I know who I am.

And I’ve seen a glimpse of the woman I’m in the natural process of becoming just on the horizon…

And I love them all the same.