Things That Go Bump in the Night

The other morning, I woke up at 4 a.m.

I had logged a solid six hours of sleep, and my mind was convinced it was time to get up and begin the day with purpose and productivity. My body, on the other hand, was unimpressed by this plan. We negotiated. I didn’t leap out of bed or scroll my phone. Instead, I wrapped myself in a blanket, poured a glass of water, and read.

The house was still. JB slept soundly. The only light came from my reading lamp, a small circle of warmth in an otherwise dark room. It was one of those quiet moments that feels borrowed, like a secret you’re allowed to keep if you don’t make too much noise.

I was deep into my book when I heard something.

A sound. A shift. A presence.

I looked up and saw a shadow near the front door. The house, beyond my lamp, was completely dark. And just like that, my imagination went to work. It assembled a cast of possibilities with impressive speed. Intruder. Unknown threat. The same unnamed monsters that once lived in my childhood closet and under my bed.

I took a sip of water. Stood up. Took a careful step toward the entry hall.

The sound was the wind.
The shadow was the tree in our front yard.
The danger existed only in my mind.

I had scared myself.

I do that more often than I like to admit. And if we’re being honest, I suspect you do too.

Not just in the dark. Not just at four in the morning. But in daylight. In your work. In your relationships. In the quiet moments where you consider wanting more.

Here is the truth I’ve learned, again and again:

You are not your thoughts.

Thoughts appear quickly and convincingly. They narrate. They speculate. They warn. They sound authoritative even when they are wildly inaccurate. And when left unchecked, they can make shadows feel dangerous and stillness feel unsafe.

But thoughts are not commands. They are not prophecies. They are not proof.

Most of the fears that stop us aren’t dramatic or obvious.

They’re subtle. They sound reasonable. They whisper things like:

• • Stay where you are.
  • Don’t draw attention.
  • Who do you think you are to want this?
  • Better to be quiet than wrong.
  • Better to be invisible than exposed.

These are not moral failures. They are not signs that something is broken inside you. They are simply familiar patterns doing what they’ve always done: trying to keep things predictable.

The problem is that predictability often comes at the cost of growth.

There is a part of you that knows this. A steadier part. A quieter one. The part that doesn’t shout or panic, but waits patiently for you to listen. It doesn’t deal in fear or urgency. It deals in truth.

That part of you understands that safety and stagnation are not the same thing. It knows that staying hidden isn’t the same as being protected. It knows that mistrusting yourself slowly erodes your sense of aliveness.

And yet, when fear shows up, we often give it the microphone.

We shrink. We postpone. We convince ourselves that someday will be safer than now. We wait to feel more confident, more prepared, more certain. We tell ourselves we’ll step forward once the fear goes away.

But fear doesn’t disappear because you wait. It quiets when you move.

Just like I did in the dark that morning.

I didn’t reason with the shadow. I didn’t lie back down and hope it would resolve itself. I took a step toward it. A small one. A human one. Enough to see clearly.

That’s how clarity comes. Not through overthinking, but through proximity.

You don’t have to leap. You don’t have to overhaul your life or declare yourself fearless. You just have to take one honest step toward the thing you keep avoiding.

• • Send the email.
  • Speak the truth you’ve been swallowing.
  • Share the work you’ve been hiding.
  • Admit what you want, even if you don’t know how to get it yet.

This is where self-trust is built. Not through perfection, but through action. Through proving to yourself, again and again, that you can move forward without abandoning yourself.

Invisibility feels safe until it starts to feel like erasure.

And here’s the part we don’t talk about enough: the longer you ignore what calls to you, the louder the fear becomes. Not because the desire is wrong, but because you’re living out of alignment with yourself.

You were not meant to live small.

You were not meant to dim your instincts or outsource your authority. You were not meant to let imagined dangers dictate the shape of your life.

You have choice. You have agency. You have the ability to pause, notice the story you’re telling yourself, and decide whether it’s true.

Most of the things that go bump in the night are not threats. They are invitations. Invitations to look closer. To trust yourself more deeply. To step forward even with a racing heart.

So tell me (or grab your journal and ask yourself these questions):

• • What fear keeps tapping you on the shoulder when things get quiet?
  • What shadow have you been avoiding because you’re afraid of what you might see?
  • And what is one small step you could take today—not to banish fear, but to meet it with honesty?

Chances are, what’s waiting on the other side isn’t a monster at all.

It’s you.