Choosing Love Over Fear

These days, I find myself thinking often about everything that has shaped me.

What I was taught.

What I’ve read and explored on my own.

What I’m still coming to believe.

I think about the kind of life I want to live, the example I want to set for my children, and even what my purpose might be here — or what I might leave behind.

Not in a heavy way.

Just in a quiet, ongoing awareness.

One thing I’ve started to notice over time is how often fear shows up in the way we are taught to think and live.

Not only in religion, but in so many areas of life.

In the news.

In politics.

In the expectations placed on us—

go to school, choose the right path, don’t make mistakes or there will be consequences.

Even in the home sometimes.

That old idea of “Wait until your father gets home,” where fear becomes the motivator.

Where mistakes are something to be punished rather than understood.

And I’ve realized — that way of living doesn’t resonate with me.

I’ve come to lean in a different direction.

Toward love instead of fear.

Toward understanding instead of assumption.

Toward growth instead of punishment.

I don’t see mistakes as something to be feared. I see them as opportunities—if we’re open enough to look at them and learn from them.

Years ago, my husband and I experienced something that really shaped the way we see things.

We had just lost his father unexpectedly, and we were driving back to our hometown in the middle of the night—around three in the morning. We were both shaken, exhausted, and trying to process what had just happened.

At one point, my husband started to go at the wrong moment at a stoplight. It wasn’t intentional—just a distracted, emotional moment.

Almost immediately, a car near us began honking. Someone was angry. You could feel it.

And I remember sitting there, thinking how quickly people react — without knowing anything about what someone else might be going through.

We started talking about it right then.

About how that person in the other car could be rushing to the hospital.

Or trying not to be late for a job they couldn’t afford to lose.

Or dealing with something heavy, that no one else could see, like we were that night.

The truth is you never know.

After that night, something shifted for both of us.

We became more aware.

More patient.

More willing to pause before reacting.

Better drivers, maybe—but in addition to that, more compassionate people.

There’s a word I came across at one point—sonder.

It means that every person you pass is living a life just as complex and full as your own.

That idea has stayed with me.

Because when you really think about it — it changes the way you move through the world.

You start to realize that most people aren’t out to hurt you.

They’re just living their lives.

Navigating their own struggles.

Doing the best they can with what they have in that moment.

I’ve come to see so much of life as a choice.

You can choose to be angry at the person who cuts you off in traffic.

Or you can choose to pause and consider that maybe there’s something else going on. Something you can’t see.

You can choose frustration.

Or you can choose grace.

And I try—every day—to choose grace.

To assume people mean no harm.

To treat others with the same respect I want.

To look people in the eye, smile, and acknowledge them as I pass by—no matter who they are or what they look like.

Not because I always feel like it.

But because it’s the kind of person I want to be.

I also believe there is something greater than us.

A higher power.

But I don’t see it as something separate from us. I believe it exists within us all.

A quiet knowing.

An instinct.

A sense of direction that doesn’t always make logical sense but feels right when we listen to it.

And I believe we have the ability to influence the world around us in ways we don’t always fully understand.

The way we walk into a room and shift the energy.

The way our presence can bring calm—or tension.

The way a small act of kindness can ripple further than we’ll ever see.

That doesn’t mean I get it right all the time.

I’m human.

There are still moments when I get frustrated. When I react. When I feel annoyed at the person who cuts me off or the one who steps in front of me in line.

But I notice it quietly now.

And I come back to the person I want to be.

Again and again.

Because for me, this isn’t about perfection.

It’s about intention.

This is where I find myself now.

Still learning.

Still questioning.

Still growing.

Choosing, as often as I can, to live from a place of love instead of fear.

Reflection

• In my daily life, where do I notice fear influencing my thoughts or actions?

• How do I typically respond in moments of frustration or discomfort?

• Do I tend to assume the worst… or allow space for other possibilities?

• What would it look like for me to choose love, understanding, or patience instead?

• When have I followed a quiet inner knowing? What did that feel like?

And gently consider:

Who do I want to be… in the small, everyday moments that shape my life?

We don’t always get to choose what happens to us.

But we do have a choice in how we move through it.

And sometimes, that choice—made over and over again—is what shapes who we become.

A Gentle Invitation

Today, simply begin to notice your reactions.

In small, everyday moments—traffic, conversations, interruptions—pause and ask yourself:

• What is guiding me right now — fear or love?

• Am I reacting automatically, or choosing how I respond?

You don’t need to change anything yet.

Just notice.

Awareness is the first step.

You are always welcome here.

WGG