Have you met Fritz?

Published 10:05 pm Monday, October 26, 2026

It’s almost Halloween, so let’s talk about fear. Because even though we Americans celebrate scary stuff on October 31st, the rest of the year we’re downright hostile to it.

“Be fearless,” they said. “Crush your fears,” they said. “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself,” they said.

If those are the directives, I’m failing each one. There’s not a single day when I’m not arm-wrestling fear — of what might happen, of what might not happen — all of it.

Fear is the invisible Siamese twin I can’t escape. I’m not sure if that makes me weak, or just willing to admit it.

If you love anyone or anything in this world, the fear of losing it is always just a breath away, especially for those of us who have seen firsthand how quickly, how tragically, things can change. Once you know, you know. The pain of loss colors everything that comes after it.

Most of the time, I feel shame when I’m fearful, convinced it’s a character weakness. “If I was stronger…” “If I had more faith…” “If I could just think positive…” I’ve beaten myself up a thousand different ways for feeling something that’s just another human emotion hard-wired into the system.

Why don’t I feel shame about joy, relief, or even boredom? Because those emotions don’t carry the baggage attached to fear. Fear feels like failure. It strikes at the core of who we are.

But I’m done trying to ignore it, resist it, or punch it in the face. It gets bigger every time I try. Because fear is part of me. It’s part of you, too. And sometimes fear does us favors. It forces us to consider the risks. Makes us plan for what might go wrong. Tells us to run from real danger. Fear has saved us more times than we know.

But let’s face it, it’s not a perfect system. Sometimes things get out of whack. Fear often sticks its nose into situations where it doesn’t belong, especially when it’s trying to protect us from embarrassment, rejection, or failure. It mistakenly thinks that uncomfortable emotions are as dangerous as drowning. Fear becomes our overprotective big brother who sees threats everywhere.

This kind of overactive fear is not just a product of modern society or our terrifying 24-hour news cycle. French essay writer Michel de Montaigne, who lived in the 1500s and never once scrolled Facebook, wrote this: “My life has been full of terrible misfortunes, most of which never happened.” It’s been more than 400 years since he wrote those words, and yet I’m right there with him. Fear, my friends, is timeless.

And since it’s not going anywhere, despite all those motivational posters, we might as well make peace with it. So I’ve named my internal fear. I call him Fritz, a name that reminds me that sometimes he malfunctions. He makes a big ol’ something out of nothing, or he worries out loud while chugging Red Bull at midnight, refusing to shut up.

But it’s pointless to throw Fritz out of the house. He has spare keys buried all over the yard, and he’ll barge right back in. His job is to stay close, and he means well. If I pretend he’s not here, he’ll yell louder. It’s better to reassure him that we’ll both be okay.

Me: “Fritz, dude, I hear you. It feels scary, I know. I feel that. But we can handle this. We’ll be careful, and we can trust ourselves even if something goes wrong.”

Fritz: “But what about…? And then what if…? And remember that time when…? And maybe you’re not ready, or smart enough, or brave enough, or…”

Me: “Oh, Fritz, you freaked out little whirlwind of worry. I love that you always try to protect me, but we can dial that down for now. We’ve been scared a thousand different times, and we kept on going, remember? Let’s make a deal: If an angry bear shows up, you can be in charge. If not, please shut your pie-hole and enjoy the scenery.”

Perhaps if we negotiate a more peaceful coexistence with Fritz, he won’t try to run the show even when he’s not needed.

From my Fritz to yours, may your Halloween be rich in courage, kindness, and so many Snickers.

Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her books are available on Amazon.