When Fear Meets You at the Gate

And why the scary thing is rarely as scary as we think

Next to the house we're staying at in the south of France, there's a small romantic road that winds between fields down to a grove of oak trees covered in ivy. When we first discovered it, Theo and I were both filled with wonder at how something so beautiful could just exist here for us. Picture the most romantic French country lane you've ever seen in a film—you're close.

It became my walking path. My place to fill up and let gratitude wash over me. France has been showering us with gifts.

A few days ago, I brought my camera and tripod. I wanted to film some content and share this favorite spot with you. As I walked along the main road to turn onto 'my path,' I saw that the neighbor's cows had been let out into the field beside it—the one that had been filled with summer flowers just days before.

I cheerfully greeted the cows, waved to the calves, and started skipping down the grass-covered lane when suddenly I saw him.

THE BULL.

Something in me froze. Wasn't he staring at me angrily?

And wasn't it strange that there was only a thin electric wire around the pasture? That muscular giant with horns could easily break through. It wouldn't even take effort. The shock he'd get from the wrong wire probably wouldn't feel like more than a mosquito bite on a muscle mass like that.

My breathing stopped. I glanced at the calves now standing between me and the murder machine—because that's what the bull looked like in my eyes. Quickly, I saw myself trampled into ground meat as the bull chased me across the meadows for daring to greet his calves.

My steps quickened. I couldn't help but notice his staring gaze on my blue summer dress.

I can't remember the last time I was that afraid. How my thoughts ran wild and invented one terrible story after another.

It was fine. The bull stayed in his pasture. But he had moved closer to the thin wire (which now just looked like sewing thread to me) when I needed to pass on my way back.

Breathless, I came home to Theo and told him everything.

The next day, he suggested we walk 'our path' together. I said right away that I thought it was scary, but now he was with me so maybe I'd be safe. But when we got to the pasture, the bull was standing there—glaring just as intensely as the day before—and I refused to take one step closer.

'No, I don't dare,' I said to Theo, who looked at me surprised. 'But you're not usually like this—afraid of a bull.'

I pointed at the thin wire and stammered. 'You see, he could step over it at any moment.'

It ended with me turning back and Theo walking on alone.

So why am I sharing this with you?

Because fear is so controlling in so many things we do.

No, maybe not about glaring bulls. But we often carry so many fears, especially when it comes to our relationships.

What will they think if I say it like it is?

I can't set that boundary or I won't be invited here again.

If I ask for what I need, they'll think I'm too demanding.

If I tell them how I really feel, they'll leave.

I need to keep the peace or everything will fall apart.

And sometimes—maybe most of the time—the fear exists as unconscious controlling thoughts that we never quite catch, but that steer our lives nonetheless.

And apart from bulls on the French countryside, I've encountered so many fears during all my years of spiritual work. I've politely told them to sit in the back seat.

Because for me, it's become a sign that I'm about to break one of my limiting patterns—patterns that have long believed they were keeping me safe but have only limited my life.

A few years ago, I read a quote that I later made into a poster and hung at home. It said: 'The moment you decide to reach your dreams, the first thing to come and meet you is fear. Nod, and keep on walking.'

It has helped me so many times. Like when I dared to share my story in my book. Or in the documentary on Swedish national TV. But also when I brought up my needs, told someone I was hurt by the way they spoke to me, or asked for help.

When we dare, life expands.

So I decided to dare walk past the pasture again. This time I wouldn't let fear control me. I walked with brave steps toward my path because I also wanted to photograph the terrible bull so you could see.

But when I approached, both cows, the calves, and the bull were lying down, dozing in the sun. They'll probably get up when I come closer, I thought.

But no.

They lay there peacefully, chewing grass, and let me walk past without the slightest glare.

And then I remembered—this is how it is. When we meet that thing that felt so scary, it's often not nearly as scary as we thought.

It's as if life comes to help when we've decided to take those scary steps.

The bull I was so afraid of? He was just lying there in the sun, chewing grass. Not interested in me at all. Just... peaceful.

All that fear. All those stories I made up in my head. None of it was real.

And I think about how often we do this in our relationships. How we build up these huge scary stories about what will happen if we dare.

If we speak up. If we ask for what we need. If we set that boundary.

We see the bull charging when really, he's just lying in the sun.

So what could you do today? Which 'bull' do you need to dare to meet?

Because remember, the first thing that comes to greet you when you want to expand into life is always fear.

Nod, and keep walking. With Love Beatrice

Want to learn how to navigate fear in your relationship and build the kind of love that actually expands you? Next Level of Love teaches you how to turn toward love instead of fear—so you can create a relationship that expands in every way. 🤍