October always makes me think about what haunts me—not ghosts, but the quiet fears that linger even when the lights are on. I’ve always been a bit of a scaredy-cat. So many things used to terrify me—being in social situations, sharing my poems or personal writing, even just stepping fully into life. For a long time, living itself felt scary. Talking about the inner me was strictly off-limits according to my family’s unspoken rules. Back then, the world felt filled with things to fear. Today, those same fears no longer stop me, but they haven’t disappeared; they’ve simply changed shape. I call them my hauntings. Where Fears Begin A baby isn’t born afraid. We learn fear as we grow—through events, people, or warnings about what to avoid. Children naturally run up to anyone and start talking, until they hear about Stranger Danger. Suddenly, the world doesn’t feel as safe. We tell kids not to touch the stove, but many still test it—learning firsthand that fire really is hot. Fear isn’t bad; it’s protective. It keeps us alive. Many of our fears start before we even have language—before we can remember how they began. But as adults, it’s worth asking: Is that fear still true today? Being taught not to talk to strangers may protect a child, but as adults, that same belief can become a barrier to connection, opportunity, and joy. Those old lessons still whisper in the background—those are our hauntings. When Fear Becomes a Haunting Hauntings are sneakier than fear. They don’t freeze you; they just make you uncomfortable. They’re the small, familiar voices that say, You’re not good enough. People will judge you. You’ll fail again. One of my hauntings is that I’m not good enough. In certain situations, that thought shows up as a cough—literally. I’ll start coughing, then worry people will think I’m contagious, especially since COVID. That worry makes me cough even more. I escape to the restroom, ride it out, and come back praying it doesn’t start again. We all have hauntings, and there’s nothing shameful about them. Yours are unique to you, just as mine are to me. A haunting might not stop you from doing something, but it can make the experience less joyful, less free. Learning to Live With Them I’ve learned that exploring my hauntings helps me take away their power. Even simple grounding tricks help—like a cough drop. Focusing on the taste distracts me from the fear of being judged, and the haunting quiets down. Recently, at a doctor’s appointment, a technician began asking personal questions that made me uncomfortable. Instead of shrinking back or people-pleasing—two of my old hauntings—I said calmly, “I’m not comfortable answering those questions. May I ask why you’re asking them?” It turned out they were part of a Medicare assessment given once you reach a certain age. I chose not to answer. I didn’t cough. I didn’t feel inadequate. I didn’t feel compelled to please. For me, that was progress. Proof that hauntings can fade. Maybe when I get old enough, they’ll vanish completely—but I’m not counting on it. Fear vs. a Full Life What I do know is this: not living a full life I love is scarier than any fear or haunting. The truth is that living fully is scary. It means taking risks, trying new things, and stepping into unknown places. But the more you do, the less frightening it becomes. Growth itself chases the ghosts away. Imagine jumping out of an airplane for the first time. Your heart races. Your mouth goes dry. You hear your mother’s voice in your head saying, “What do you think you’re doing?” You squeeze your eyes shut and jump—or maybe get pushed. The rush of air fills your ears, and for a moment, you’re flying. Then you remember the parachute. You pull, feel the jolt as it opens, and suddenly you’re floating—seeing the world from a new angle. When you land safely, your first thought isn’t fear. It’s I want to do that again. Life is like that. The more we step out of comfort and into courage, the more alive we feel. Fear doesn’t disappear, but it transforms. Each leap teaches us something new about our strength. Making Peace With What Haunts Us Maybe the goal isn’t to eliminate fear or banish our hauntings entirely. Maybe it’s to recognize them, understand them, and move forward anyway. To say, Yes, I see you—but you don’t get to drive today. Hauntings will always whisper. But courage speaks louder. Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Do something every day that scares you.” I think she meant: live boldly, not recklessly; stretch yourself; dare to grow. Because every time we face what frightens us, the haunting loses a little more power. So get busy—and get scared. BOO! Reflection Prompt What are the quiet fears that still whisper to you? Are they still true today—or are they just hauntings ready to be released?