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I Faced What I Was Most Afraid Of: Here’s What Happened Next

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What if the thing you’re most afraid to do is the thing that will set you free?

Two Years Ago, I Did the Thing I Thought Would Destroy Me

Two years ago, I did something that terrified me more than anything else I had ever faced.

Not because I knew how it would turn out.
But because I didn’t.

I walked into my local RCMP station, said, “I have a crime to report,” and gave my statement about being sexually assaulted when I was 17.

There was no guarantee of justice.
No promise of closure.
No certainty that it would make anything better.

What I knew was this: my integrity was out.

I had told myself, years earlier, that I would give a statement. And I hadn’t.
Fear had been running the show, quietly, persistently, convincingly.

I need you to know that choosing to go in and speak my truth wasn’t about seeking revenge, validation or forcing an outcome.
It wasn’t even about the past.

It was about meeting myself in the present and choosing to act from truth instead of fear.

If you’ve ever felt like you’ve been avoiding something…

This post is for you.

Not just survivors.
Not just women.
Not just people with a story like mine.

But anyone who knows, deep down, that there’s something they’ve been running from.

A conversation you won’t have.
A truth you won’t say out loud.
A boundary you won’t set.
A version of yourself you won’t fully step into.

Not because you’re weak.
But because fear is persuasive.

What Fear Taught Me (and What It Took)

For over a decade, I believed that if anyone knew what had happened to me, it would destroy me.

So I protected my secret at all costs.

I cut people out of my life.
I ran away – physically and emotionally.
For years, I used alcohol to numb myself.
I became an overachiever so no one would look too closely.

I built a persona that looked confident, capable, and “put together” on the outside, while inside I felt hollow.

I believed I was unlovable.
I believed I was disgusting.
I believed love had to be earned through performance.

So I abandoned myself – again and again.

Red haired women leaning against an old oak tree

I dimmed my light to keep others comfortable.
I avoided hard conversations.
I didn’t follow through on the things that mattered most to me.
I became a collage of what I thought everyone else wanted.

And it nearly killed me.

Eventually, my body couldn’t carry what I refused to face. It shut me down. Forced rest. Forced a reckoning.

That was the beginning, not the end, of my healing.

Years of counselling. Doctors. Therapy. Medication. Coaching. Re-learning how my nervous system worked. Rebuilding trust with myself.

And still, even after all that, there was one thing I hadn’t done.

The thing I thought I’d never be able to do.

The Difference Between Fear That Protects and Fear That Controls

Here’s the thing, fear isn’t the enemy.

We need fear. It keeps us alive. It alerts us to danger. It sharpens our awareness.

But there are layers of fear.

There’s fear that protects.
And then there’s fear that confines.

For a long time, fear wasn’t just informing my decisions, it was dictating what I believed was possible.

And here’s what I’ve learned:

You don’t have to eliminate fear to take powerful action.
You have to stop letting it make your choices for you.

Two years ago, I didn’t feel ready.
I didn’t feel brave.
I didn’t feel calm or confident.

I felt terrified.

And I went anyway.

Why I Did It (and Why It Wasn’t About the Past)

I’ve seen the statistics. You’ve probably seen them too. 1 in 3 Canadian women will experience sexual assault in their lifetime.

According to Stats Canada, only about 6 % of sexual assaults are ever reported to police, which means the vast majority of people carry their experience alone, in silence, unseen and unspoken. It’s also the only violent crime in Canada that is not on a decline.

At the same time, police-reported sexual assault has been increasing in recent years. The overall rate grew by roughly 38 % between 2017 and 2022.

But statistics only tell part of the story and they certainly don’t capture the complexity of why people don’t come forward.

It’s easy to look at numbers like these and feel overwhelmed, or think that there’s nothing one individual could do to make a difference.

But that’s the biggest lie of all.

I can’t change what happened to me.
And even if I could, truthfully, I’m not sure I would.

Not because it wasn’t painful.
But because the pain shaped me into someone I am proud to be today.

Someone with more compassion, clarity, and courage than I ever gave myself credit for.

What shifted everything for me was this question:

What kind of future am I willing to create?

I have three daughters.

Statistically, at least one of them will experience sexual assault.

How could I ever tell them they are strong enough to speak, if I wasn’t willing to do the same?

If no one talks about these realities, how do we alter them?
If everyone stays silent, who becomes the safe space?

I want to be someone who doesn’t add to the silence.
Someone who shows up with integrity instead of avoidance.
Someone who does what needs to be done, even without certainty, or a guarantee of an outcome.

Why do you think most people don’t operate that way?

It’s not because they lack strength, but because fear is a powerful reason-giver.

Here’s the truth, if we want real change, then someone has to be willing to move through the discomfort and take action. Someone has to step outside of the uncertainty, the addiction to comfort and choose courage and vulnerability.

And if not me, then who?

So I stopped asking,
“Why did this happen to me?”

And I started asking,
“What can I do now?”

The answer was one moment of truth.
One terrifying, integrity-aligned step.

A step that didn’t rewrite the past, but radically changed the way I live in the present.

The Thing I Thought Would Ruin Me… Did

Just not in the way I expected.

Giving my statement didn’t destroy me.

It destroyed the version of me that lived her life afraid.

The version that took minimal risks.
The version that put everyone else first.
The version that couldn’t receive love.
The version that lived in constant tension and pain.
The version that snapped because she was always braced for impact.

That version was built to protect my inner child.
And it was also strangling her.

So yeah, it ruined me.

And in its place, something else emerged.

Smiling red haired women standing in the trees

A woman who softened.
A woman who trusts herself.
A woman who discovered joy and happiness.
A woman who knows she can do the hardest things and come out the other side, powerful and free.

I didn’t lose myself.

I found myself.

Making Room for Both the Darkness and the Light

This isn’t a story about pain disappearing.

Fear still shows up.
Grief still exists.
Sorrow hasn’t vanished.

But they don’t run the show anymore.

I now know discomfort as a growth edge, not a warning sign.

When something feels uncomfortable, I pause.
I tune into my body.
I ask: What’s here for me to learn?

Not all discomfort is danger.
Sometimes it’s expansion.

There is as much light in this world as there is darkness.

Denying one suppresses the other.

So I make room for all of it, because we need both.

And in doing so, I live with an expanded experience of love, joy, creativity and freedom. More than I ever thought was possible.

A Moment for You

If reading this stirred something in you, take a breath and consider:

  • What are you avoiding right now?
  • What story are you telling yourself about what might happen if you faced it?
  • Who could you become if you acted from integrity instead of fear?
  • What future are your choices creating?

You don’t need certainty, permission or for fear to disappear.

You need self-trust.

Where I Stand Now

I never imagined, I’d be where I am today.

Two years ago, I walked blindly into the unknown with a deep inner knowing that I couldn’t go one more day living life constrained by the past. Now, I know myself as someone who can handle anything.

Not because life is easier.
Not because fear disappeared.
Not because pain no longer exists.

But because I trust myself.

I trust my capacity to walk through discomfort without abandoning who I am.
I trust my ability to face fear without letting it dictate my choices.
I trust myself to choose truth, even when it costs comfort, certainty, or approval.

That trust didn’t come from avoiding hard things.
It came from meeting myself at the edge and stepping forward anyway.

If you are standing at your own edge, questioning whether you’re capable, wondering if you have what it takes to face the thing you’ve been avoiding:

You do.

You don’t need to have it all figured out.
You don’t need to feel ready (ready is a choice, not a feeling).
You don’t need fear to go away.

You need to take a step. One action.

And when you take it, you may not recognize the person you become but there’s a good chance you’ll finally feel at home in yourself.

I’m not going to pretend that I have it all figured out.

I’m still learning.
Still growing.
Still meeting new growth edges.

The biggest difference is, now I know myself to be someone who can be with whatever is going to arise. I don’t measure my strength by how much I can endure in silence. I measure it by my willingness to stay present, honest and connected to myself and the people I care about, especially when things feel uncomfortable.

So if you’re tired of the avoidance, the running, and the crippling weight of silence.
I see you.

Let this be your reminder:
You are capable of more than you’ve been taught to believe.
You are allowed to take up space.
You are allowed to choose yourself.
You can take a new step.

A Final Word

If you’ve read this far, there’s a reason.

Maybe something here reflected you back to yourself.
Maybe it named a truth you’ve been circling for a long time.
Maybe it reminded you of a choice you’ve been postponing.

I’m going to leave you with this:

The life you want is rarely on the side of comfort.
It’s on the other side of the action you’re too afraid to take.
The question you’re scared to ask.
The truth you’ve been unwilling to sit with.

Take the action anyway.

You don’t need to be fearless.
You just need the willingness to choose integrity over avoidance, one step at a time.

And when you do, you may be surprised — in the best possible way — by how life begins to shift.

If this resonated, please share this post.
Someone you care about may need the reminder today.

Resources & Support

If you or someone you know is struggling with the impact of sexual assault or thoughts of suicide, support is available. You do not have to navigate this alone.

Canada-Wide Support:

If you are in immediate danger, please call 911 or your local emergency services.

Asking for help is not weakness.
It’s an act of courage.

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