Nope

I’ve survived the kind of pain that changes people.

I’ve buried people I loved.

I’ve fought addiction.

I’ve battled my own mind.

I’ve sat in doctor’s offices hearing things I didn’t want to hear.

I’ve carried grief so heavy it felt like a second skeleton.

I’ve been broke, broken, betrayed, exhausted, terrified, and forced to rebuild myself more times than I can count.

At some point, fear and I got acquainted.

We’re not strangers anymore.

That’s why people are always surprised when I don’t panic.

Baby, I’ve already survived things that were trying to kill me.

What exactly am I supposed to be afraid of now?

Failure?

Please.

Judgment?

Get in line.

Change?

I’ve reinvented myself from ashes before.

The truth is, after you’ve walked through enough hell, most things stop looking scary.

Except lizards.

Absolutely the fuck not.

I don’t care if they’re tiny.

I don’t care if they’re “harmless.”

I don’t care if they’re good for the ecosystem.

They look like Jurassic Park rejects that got left behind during quality control.

I’ve stared down trauma, addiction, grief, and every demon life could throw at me.

But if a lizard runs across my porch?

That’s between God and whoever created that prehistoric abomination.

Some battles aren’t meant to be fought.

6/20 Edited to

Going through multiple life challenges, from battling addiction and grief to facing health scares, can profoundly change a person's perspective on fear. For me, these experiences have shaped a resilience that teaches you what truly matters. After enduring emotional pain and loss, fear often feels like a familiar companion rather than a foe, reducing many once-daunting obstacles into manageable hurdles. However, it’s fascinating how some fears linger, like my disbelief and discomfort when encountering lizards. Despite their small size and ecological benefits, they tap into an almost primal unease for me. This contrasts sharply with my ability to handle much heavier struggles — a testament to how deeply ingrained certain fears can be, regardless of our proven inner strength. This experience sheds light on human nature: survival and growth do not eliminate all fears equally. They reframe them. While life’s serious challenges build courage and perseverance, less significant but deeply personal fears persist, reminding us we’re complex beings shaped by both logic and instinct. Sharing personal stories about trauma and resilience helps build connections for others dealing with their own battles. It shows that strength isn’t about being fearless but about choosing which fights are worth engaging. In my case, lizards represent a lighthearted but real boundary — some things, no matter how small, don't need conquering for us to live fully and bravely. Ultimately, embracing our vulnerabilities, even the quirky ones, enriches our journey. Being open about what scares us — whether monumental life struggles or harmless creatures — humanizes us and can empower others to face their fears without judgment or shame.