Fear in Motion: Lessons from the Trail

By Meadow…KLM

A personal reflection on courage as ‘fear walking’ and the calming confidence that comes from choosing to move forward in this way.

Fear doesn’t wait for permission — it shows up in the woods, in therapy, and in the quiet aftermath of a life-altering decision.

To avoid being paralyzed by fear, we need to acknowledge it and keep going.

Every time I choose to walk with fear, I find a little more of myself. And that, I’ve come to believe, is the quiet strength that saves us.

“In the fog of fear, forward is the only direction.”

Fear screams, “Stop” and “Go back”. But courage, it whispers, “Keep walking”.

Most evenings, I take a walk through the woods with my youngest golden retriever. It’s our ritual — a time for me to reflect on the day and reconnect with nature, while he bounds ahead like an antelope on a mission of discovery.

Today’s walk began like any other. I was distracted, thinking on the lessons of the week, when I stepped aside to dodge a fallen tree. That’s when I noticed my pup frozen ahead of me, gaze fixed to the left. 

There it was: a black bear, no more than 30 metres away.

We were deep in the woods by then, halfway along the trail. The bear stood on the left — the direction that led home. Without hesitation, my dog bolted toward it. I have minimal voice control over him even on a good day, which is why I usually carry (and use) a leash. Of course, today I didn’t.

I shouted his name — firm and loud, like a mantra. After a brief chase and one final call, he stopped and returned to me. Relief washed over me, but the reality remained: both directions on the trail looped back toward the bear. 

There was no way around it.

Courage Is Fear Walking

I stood frozen, the woods pressing in around me. The bear’s presence, though distant, was undeniable — a living embodiment of fear.  I heard my therapist’s words echo in my mind: “Courage is fear walking”.  Strange timing, but somehow, it landed. I couldn’t control the bear, but I could control my response.

Okay. Breathe. You’ve got this. Focus on what you can do.

I gripped my pup’s collar, made loud noises, and continued forward, not to avoid fear but to face it. Step by step, heart beating faster than usual, I chose movement over paralysis. When fear stands at the door, it’s courage that reaches for the handle and walks through. It’s the decision to move, even when fear is clinging to your heels. Courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the choice to walk with it. It isn’t always loud either. Sometimes it’s quiet — that shaky breath before stepping forward. 

One step. Then another.

Movement Matters

This wasn’t the first time this week that fear showed up on my path. As I reflected on my encounter with the bear, I realized the fear I faced on that trail mirrored the fear lurking in the shadows of a recent life decision. The same doubt and uncertainty that gripped me in the woods had echoed in my mind, urging me to retreat from the unknown. Fear has a way of hijacking moments like these — barging in uninvited, speaking in absolutes that tighten the chest, cloud the mind, and convince us that retreat is the only safe choice. But healing doesn’t happen in retreat.

In therapy, I’m reminded — gently and often — that the key to managing emotions is awareness. To connect with the feeling, let it be heard, and express it in a way that honours me — without judgment.  That’s where courage lives: in the choice of how to respond. As I continue on this path, I’m learning to recognize the subtle influence of fear; how not to banish it, but to be with it.

Therapy is Courage in Motion

Having faced my fears in the woods and in my personal life, I’ve come to understand that the same courage applies in therapy. Fear plays a complex role in healing. It’s not just a signal, it’s often a protector, shaped by past pain. It warns us away. It tries to keep us safe, even when that safety means staying stuck. For many, the idea of opening up in therapy feels terrifying. It floods the mind with questions:

What if I’m judged? What if I fall apart? What if I remember too much? What if I don’t remember enough?

These fears are valid. They come from real experiences —moments when you didn’t feel safe, when your vulnerability wasn’t met with attunement or authenticity. There’s a myth that people who seek therapy are weak or broken. But the truth? They are some of the most courageous among us. Because they choose to walk into the unknown in the woods. To name the pain. To rewrite the story.

Courage can be as simple as showing up for another session, or saying the one long-held truth you’ve never spoken aloud. 

Sometimes it’s letting yourself ugly cry. Sometimes it’s letting yourself feel nothing at all. It’s letting someone walk beside you while you face what you’ve carried alone.  Every time we choose to stay, to ask deeper questions, to move forward — we reclaim a piece of ourselves. That is when the inner landscape begins to shift. The terrain becomes more familiar, more navigable. Fear’s grip begins to loosen. Healing doesn’t happen all at once. It unfolds in motion — step by step, breath by breath.  It moves us from surviving to living, and from silence to voice. That motion begins with a shift: trusting that fear doesn’t have to dictate our path.

Lessons from the Trail

We made it home safely, with no further bear sightings. 

What I learned was this:
Fear is the body’s natural response to a threat — not something to shun. It’s something you can be with, move with.

And movement — whether it’s a step forward, a deep breath, a heartfelt cry, or a moment of reflection — becomes the rhythm of healing. 

Each small act honours our capacity for growth.

With the right tools, a curious mindset, and a willingness to keep walking — even through uncertainty — we illuminate the path ahead. Not with certainty, but with courage.

And sometimes… a leash in hand helps.

“Courage is not the absence of fear — it’s fear walking. It’s moving toward what matters.” — Susan David