Do you have a dream you’ve let slip away? That yearning for something more, something that keeps whispering in the back of your mind, only to be drowned out by the anxieties and uncertainties of life? I know I do. For decades, I’ve longed to be a writer, but I’ve become so accustomed to the shadows that the thought of stepping into the light fills me with trepidation. Perhaps you can relate?
I recall when the idea of being a writer first set root in my mind. I was in fifth grade when a paper I wrote was selected for publication in the school newsletter. Seeing my words in print, shared with the entire school, filled me with a sense of pride I’d never experienced before. As if, up until that moment, I was a shadow, not truly seen, and finally brought out from the shadows. The thing about living in the shadows it’s easy for you to retreat back to that life when you were never anchored to anything.

It was as if, up until that moment, I was a shadow, unseen and unheard. I blended into the background, my voice lost in the clamor of the classroom. But seeing my name and my words printed in the school newsletter, it was like a spotlight suddenly shone on me. For the first time, I felt truly seen, recognized for something I had created. It was exciting.
The thing about living in the shadows is, it’s safe. No one expects anything from you, no one judges you. You can observe, you can dream, you can exist without the pressure of performance. And after that brief taste of recognition, the shadows started to look appealing again. It was easier to retreat back into the familiar comfort of obscurity than to risk exposing myself and my work to potential criticism.
But that feeling of being seen, of being acknowledged, it was terrifying. Because what if I couldn’t replicate it? What if that was my one moment in the sun, and everything after was just a slow fade back into the shadows? The fear of failing, of disappointing myself and others, became a powerful force pulling me back into that comfortable darkness.
The shadows were cool and quiet, a refuge from the harsh glare of expectations. They whispered promises of safety and anonymity, lulling me back into a state of comfortable invisibility. It was easier to blend into the background, to become part of the wallpaper, than to stand out and risk being judged. And so, I succumbed to their allure. I allowed the shadows to consume me. Taking refuge in invisibility instead of exposing myself any longer to the sun. Fearing that if I stood in the sun any longer I’d surely be scorched.

Unaware at the time, my melanin skin held a deeper power. It was a reminder that I too possessed an inherent resilience, a capacity to withstand the harsh glare of scrutiny and emerge stronger on the other side. But fear had blinded me to this truth, leading me to retreat into the shadows instead of embracing the sun’s transformative power.
There’s a war raging inside me. On one side, the yearning, to emerge from the cool, comforting shadows and finally pursue my dream of becoming a writer. To bask in the warm glow of the sun, to feel its energy invigorate my words. On the other, the fear, the doubt, the crippling anxiety of rejection – shadows that have clung to me all these years, whispering promises of safety and anonymity.
Do I have the strength to weather the storm, to leave the comforts of the shadows behind? Or will fear continue to hold me captive? The battle rages on, and the outcome remains uncertain.