Fear + Foundations
My childhood was spent in the transitory state of U-Haul. We moved at least twenty times, and no—my parents weren’t in the military. As a kid, I witnessed drug abuse, learned to use “potty words” like they were critical English vocabulary, and I experienced abuse—verbal, physical, and sexual. My ACE (Adverse Childhood Experiences) score is a 9.
Curious what yours might be? Take the test here.
Now, for the record, my mother never hit me repeatedly—but there were definitely a handful of men who took their turn. If the test had swapped the word “mother” for “father,” scoring a 10 out of 10, I imagine a red buzzer would’ve gone off and a team of emotional paramedics would've leapt from the back of a trauma ambulance to provide immediate resuscitation—whether I wanted it or not.
I say this not for pity, but because it’s the truth. And the truth is, like many others, I’ve had some serious healing work to do.
And I’ve done a lot of it. It took me over 40 years, but I think—maybe—I’ve made it to the other side. Or at least a really nice landing pad.
Still, before I even grabbed the creamer for my coffee this morning, my brain fired off three classic fear thoughts:
Am I going to be safe driving to see my daughter?
If I post about being in menopause, will the internet exile me for saying the word “menopause” out loud?
And finally—why am I already this afraid? I literally just woke up.
So, I grabbed my coffee, lit a candle, and dropped into meditation. That’s when I found it: fear, sitting squarely in my root chakra. It wasn’t hiding. It was just there. And once I saw it, I didn’t push it away or try to warrior my way through. I did something radical: I sat with it. I gave it a blanket. I let it talk.
And it did.
It showed me a lifetime of instability, a sense of unsafety so deep it had pulled the very roots out of my foundation. Fear showed up in my mind’s eye as a scared little child. And together, we began to build.
Fear set the first brick of my dream house, and I took direction on where to lay the next one. Brick by brick, fear went from a frantic voice at 6 a.m. to a collaborator. A little architect with big feelings and a vision for a new kind of home. The shift was real: from surviving to creating safety.
Once the house was complete, something magical happened. A Great Horned Owl flew out one of the windows, wearing glasses shaped like a horizontal infinity symbol. No, really. It was cosmic chic and a flying message for me.
That owl represented the wisdom in the darkness, and those glasses? A reminder that it’s all connected. What happened 40 years ago—or even five minutes ago—can live inside us forever unless we pause, breathe, and sit by its side.
Then, the owl transformed. Right before my eyes, it became a dove. The glasses stayed perched above its beak—still infinity, still timeless. The dove brought lightness, grace, and this deep sense of celebration. It felt like fear had completed its mission: it had been heard, honored, and freed.
What if honoring our fears is the only way to transform them? What if fear isn’t a villain—but an ally, an architect, a kid with a blueprint and just needs someone to build it with?
So I ask: what does your dream house look like? Does it have a drawbridge? A moat? A grassy field lined with rose petals and wind chimes made from old keys?
For me, the building materials have been compassion, curiosity, and a little humor. The kind that lets you laugh while holding the hard stuff. Judgment and denial just smear muck on the foundation. They don’t build anything.
So I do the daily work. I witness the stuck emotions. I ask the hard questions. I sit with the scared parts and wait for them to speak. And when it’s time to build, I listen. I place each brick with intention. I plant trees for the owl and the dove to perch on. And I remember that the foundation of peace is often built with the hands of fear.
Take the ACE Test if you’re curious. But more importantly—take a breath. Then ask your fear what it’s trying to help you build.
Song: Raindrops by Elephant Revival. This song + magical infinity glasses helped me locate the root cause of the emotional blockage.
© Katie Baker 2025
