Fear and Creativity: What Therapy Can Teach Us About Taking Risks (Part 1)

Fear is one of the most common reasons people come to therapy, though they don’t always name it that way. It might sound like self-doubt, anxiety, or “feeling stuck.” Sometimes it’s a fear of change. Sometimes it’s fear of staying the same. But behind so many of the challenges people bring into the therapy room, is one deep and complicated question: What if I try something different, and it doesn’t work?

Therapy doesn’t ask you to conquer fear. It invites you to understand it. Fear isn’t the enemy, it’s a protective part, trying to keep you safe. And the more you get to know it, the more room you make for something else: curiosity, growth, and even creativity.

What Fear Is Actually Trying to Do

Fear is hardwired into our nervous system for a reason. It helps us avoid danger. But it doesn’t always do a great job of distinguishing between actual threats and emotional risk. Fear might show up as perfectionism, people-pleasing, or rigid routines. Quiet patterns that shape your relationships, your choices, and your sense of what’s possible. It might keep you from asking for help, setting boundaries, or trying something new.

When fear is driving, it narrows your world. It tells you to play it safe, stay invisible, or shrink your needs. And while those strategies might have served you once, they often come at a cost; especially when growth, healing, or change is what you really want.

Creativity as a Threat (and an Opportunity)

Creativity isn’t just about art. It’s any action that asks you to imagine something different. Leaving a job. Saying how you really feel. Asking for more. Even starting therapy is a creative act, because it requires vulnerability and a willingness to explore what isn’t fully known yet.

That uncertainty is exactly what fear reacts to. Creativity can be beautiful and life-affirming, but it also challenges the parts of you that want certainty. So if you feel resistance when you try to do something new or take a meaningful risk, that’s not a failure. It’s fear doing what fear does best.

The goal isn’t to eliminate that fear. It’s to listen to it... and then move anyway.

Letting Fear Speak: An IFS-Informed Approach

For many people, fear isn’t just about what’s ahead, it’s tied to what’s already happened. Past trauma can deepen and complicate the fear response. When your system has learned to expect danger, even small steps forward can feel unsafe.

Internal Family Systems (IFS) is one way of approaching this. In IFS, fear is seen as a part, not a flaw. Instead of pushing it away, we get curious about it. What does this fearful part of you want you to know? What is it afraid might happen if you don’t listen to it and actually do something different from what it’s telling you to do?

When fear is externalized and seen not as the whole truth, but as one voice among many, it often becomes less overwhelming. You don’t have to argue with it. That’s where that curiosity and creativity can begin to guide you—because creativity asks what else is possible. When fear softens, space opens. And in that space, something new can emerge. 

Introducing Enchantment and Sensory Safety

Fear lives in the mind. Racing thoughts, worst-case scenarios, and mental spirals are just some examples. But your body holds something else: the ability to feel safe, present, and even enchanted.

Enchantment doesn’t mean magic. It means warmth. A moment of quiet joy. A feeling that arrives without striving. A warm mug between your hands. Sunlight on your face. The sound of someone you trust.

These experiences don’t erase fear, but they give your nervous system something else to hold onto. They remind you that comfort and ease are still accessible, even in the midst of uncertainty. In therapy, we often explore these moments as a way to anchor ourselves and to remember what safety feels like and where it lives in the body.

A Practice to Try

If you’re reading this, there’s a good chance you’re standing at the edge of something. You might be considering change, contemplating growth, or wrestling with the unknown. That means fear is probably close by, offering its usual reasons not to try. Here’s one way to respond:

Write a fear inventory. No edits, no judgment. Just name what’s there. Every voice, every what-if, every worry. Put it down on paper so it has somewhere to go besides your mind. Then pause. You don’t need to address any of your fears at this moment-just give them a voice and let them be. The simple act of naming your fears allows for pause and interoception.. It reminds you that fear is a part of you, not all of you, and that you’re allowed to keep moving anyway.

Often, what fear overwhelms isn’t logic. It’s your body’s sense of safety. Learning how to access calm, even briefly, is part of the work. So is noticing the moments when it’s possible.

And alongside fear, there is something else. A quieter presence. A moment of warmth or calm. You might notice it when you stop bracing. In Part Two, we’ll explore what it means to recognize that feeling and why it matters.