What My Fear of Uncertainty Was Really Trying to Teach Me
For most of my life, I tried to outrun uncertainty.
I managed it with structure, to-do lists, overthinking, and a constant drive to stay one step ahead. I believed that if I could just anticipate every outcome, I’d feel safe. That I’d feel in control, until one morning things changed.
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It was early on a Thursday morning. At the time, I was living with my parents, a surprising pivot in my life. I had been out of the house since I was 18, and at 36, I found myself back in my hometown.
That morning felt like most others. I got dressed, put on some makeup, and asked my mom if she liked my outfit before heading out the door. I was meeting someone for coffee after a few back-and-forth messages, we landed on 8:45 a.m. As usual, I drove down a familiar road. I’d taken it hundreds, maybe thousands of times. It’s the road to my old high school and where my parents now live.
The night before, I had been on the phone with a friend. I told her how excited I was to be approaching the end of my first year post-breakup. I had gone through a painful heartbreak, and I was finally feeling like I was ready to move forward. I told her, “I think I’m through the worst of it.” I was hopeful and optimistic.
I got in the car, put on my favourite song, and started driving. A few minutes into the drive, I noticed a car speeding toward an intersection on my left. I knew there was a stop sign there. I panicked, I swerved instinctively, and in a flash, I flipped.
Time seemd to stop.
I never lost consciousness, so I remember everything. I remember thinking, No. No, this cannot be it. I had just said goodbye to my mom. I wasn’t in love. I had so much I still wanted to do in this life!
My car landed upside down. My phone dialled 911 automatically (a feature I didn’t even know existed, but was so grateful for). I called for help. I could hear footsteps around me, and someone talking to 911. I can only imagine how scary it must have been for the bystanders.
And yet, there were so many people that helped. A woman who happened to be a nurse. A woman I knew, who crouched down through the broken glass, reached into the car, and turned off the engine. A stranger who talked to me calmly while I hung upside down, supported only by my seatbelt. I tried to breathe. I tried not to think about all the Grey’s Anatomy I’d watched. And finally, the paramedics arrived and I was out.
The confusion afterward was intense. At the hospital, my parents and sister met me. And within a few hours, I was discharged.
I knew how lucky I was to be alive. But even that realization came with its own complexity. One minute, you’re on autopilot, living life. Next, people are telling you how close you came to dying.
It’s a strange thing to carry.
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After this, I confronted a truth I’d been avoiding: control is an illusion. In the months that followed, it wasn’t just about my physical recovery, there were some life lessons in there that I was learning. The fear, the spiralling thoughts, the tightness in my chest. Everything felt unfamiliar. It felt bigger than what I knew how to manage. I was afraid the new set of fears wouldn’t go away.
The toll of trying to stay in control
Before the accident, I spent a lot of time in a heightened state of alertness, constantly scanning, planning, and preparing for worst-case scenarios.
Like so many of us, I mistook productivity for peace. I thought if I stayed busy enough, if I kept achieving, I’d finally feel calm. But the calm never came.
Looking back, I now see that my nervous system was in survival mode. I didn’t need more tools or fixes, I needed to listen.
In the months that followed, I began to notice the thoughts that kept me stuck:
“I should be over this by now.”
“This is just how I am.”
“What if I can’t handle it?”
Slowly, I started asking better questions:
If fear wasn’t in the driver’s seat, what would I choose?
What’s within my control, and what can I release?
Can I stay with myself, even when I don’t have answers?
What’s one small action that supports who I want to become?
Rewriting the story
I used to believe I had to be fearless. Healing and post traumatic growth has taught me that courage isn’t the absence of fear, courage and fear can both exist, and you get to choose which one you feed.
Over time, I began to rewrite the story I was living in.
The old story said:
I had to control everything to feel safe.
If I was anxious, something was wrong with me.
Rest was something I had to earn.
The new story says:
I can hold both fear and self-trust.
I don’t need to fix every feeling.
I’m allowed to care for myself, just because I’m human.
Small shifts, lasting change
What changed everything wasn’t one big moment. It was a series of small choices. I paused before reacting, practiced speaking to myself more gently, and I continuously grounded myself before pushing through.
These shifts helped me regulate, not just my nervous system, but how I relate to myself.
The power of acceptance
Acceptance isn’t giving up or feeling fine about everything. It’s meeting yourself where you are, with kindness instead of judgment. It’s choosing to show up for yourself, even when things feel messy or uncertain.
There are still days I feel anxious or unsure. But I now meet those feelings with compassion and curiosity. I’ve developed a deep appreciation for how I care for myself and especially in how I speak to myself.
If you're in a season of uncertainty...
You don’t need to have all the answers. You don’t need to be fearless.
You just need to stay with yourself, one small moment at a time.
Maybe the story you’re living in isn’t the one you have to keep telling.
Maybe uncertainty isn’t the enemy, it’s the invitation to begin again.
It will never be lost on me how lucky I am, to be able to witness all seasons of life, and to trust that healing is its own kind of growth. Uncertainty isn’t something to fear, it’s possibility.