When Fear Found Me

Some moments mark us before we even understand what they mean. This is the story of the first time fear tried to take me — and the moment I realized I wasn’t going to let it.

(Poem)

Fear found me young.
It didn’t knock — it crept in.
Its grip was cold, unrelenting.

I tried to run, but my legs wouldn’t move.
I cried for help, but nothing came out.
It held me tight, refusing to let go.

I screamed for my mother, but she couldn’t hear me.
No one could see me slipping away.
I was lost in the abyss, drifting somewhere between here and nowhere.

My body stayed below while I floated above, watching myself choke.
My breath grew thin.
The world dimmed.
I was fighting not to go under.

Then — the lights.
Blinding.
Pulling.

I heard a voice say,
Don’t go toward the light. Come back.

I wanted to return.
I tried.
But fear held me suspended, frozen in space.

I could see everything.
I could do nothing.

I opened my mouth to scream — silence.
I kicked.
I thrashed.
I fought with everything I had.

And I kept fighting.
And fighting.

Because even then, even as a child,
I refused to let fear win.

For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.” — 2 Timothy 1:7

Fear came for me early — but it didn’t know who it was dealing with. I learned young that even when my voice is silent, my spirit is not.

This piece comes from a memory I carried quietly for years. Writing it wasn’t just about revisiting fear — it was about reclaiming the moment I realized I had a fighter inside me long before I had the words for it.

If you’ve ever felt frozen, voiceless, or suspended between worlds, I hope this reminds you that survival is its own kind of courage. Sometimes the smallest version of us is the one who teaches us how to rise.