Don’t Just Name Your Fears – Give Them a Hat.

“The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.”

– Joseph Campbell

We all know the drill by now.

Name your fear.

Slap a label on it. Call it abandonment, call it failure, call it not being enough. Say it out loud. Own it. Maybe journal it, maybe share it in a men's circle, maybe post it on Instagram with a soulful caption.

Then what?

You walk out of that circle, that breathwork class, that coaching session—and your fear is still there. Maybe it's even louder now. More clever. It’s changed costumes. It’s wearing a disguise, pulling the strings from a distance.

Naming your fear is not enough.

It’s a start. But only a start.
Because fear, like shame or desire or grief, is a shapeshifter. It doesn't sit still just because you've caught it once. It evolves. It adapts. It finds new ways to ride shotgun in your life.

So, what do we do?

We give it a hat!

Fear in Disguise

Men like us - we’ve already walked through the fire.
We’ve built businesses, taken hits, led teams, carried families, stared down burnout, and kept the mask on anyway.
We’ve succeeded in the outside world and realised: the inside job is a whole different kind of war.

And in that inner war, fear is the enemy that shows up in costume.
It wears the hat of reason.
The hat of productivity.
The hat of strategy, logic, caution, realism, even spirituality.

Fear rarely screams. It whispers.
It sounds like:

• “I just need to be a bit more ready.”

• “Now’s not the right time.”

• “I need to learn more before I try that.”

• “I’m protecting my energy.”

• “I’ll do it when things settle down.”
  
  

Sound familiar?

Fear is the best-dressed bastard in the room.

Give Your Fear a Hat—and Then Talk to It

What does this mean, really?

It means personifying your fear. Not to banish it, not to defeat it, but to relate to it. Give it a face, a name, a story, a damn hat—and then sit across from it. Look it in the eye.

This isn't new-age fantasy. It’s ancient warrior practice.

In the Roman legions, they’d literally name and invoke fear to prepare for it. In Jungian work, we externalise the shadow to make it conscious. In Stoicism, we rehearse adversity to rob it of surprise.

This is how men train for the fight inside the fight.

So when your fear shows up as perfectionism, maybe you name him Sergeant Sharp.
He’s all about precision. All about control.
He keeps your desk neat, your inbox tidy, your life small.

When your fear shows up as avoidance, maybe he’s The Wandering Poet.
He talks of inspiration. Waits for alignment. Always chasing the next idea. Never finishing the one in front of him.

When your fear shows up as anger, he’s The Wounded General.
He barks orders. Gets defensive. Doesn’t trust anyone. Keeps you safe by keeping you alone.

See what we’re doing here?

We’re giving fear shape. So we can face it. So we can speak to it, dance with it, disarm it - not just with fists, but with intimacy.

The Turning Point: Fear Is a Misguided Ally

Here’s the twist most men miss:

Fear is not trying to destroy you.
Fear is trying to protect you.

It learned early - maybe when you were 5, maybe 15 - that the world could be cruel. That vulnerability got punished. That wanting too much brought disappointment. That power could attract violence or rejection.

Fear made you survive.
It built you armour.
It helped you win.

But you’re not that boy any-more.

The problem is, fear doesn’t know that.
It’s still playing the old game. Still trying to keep you from the cliff’s edge, even if you’re now meant to fly.

So here’s the deeper work:

We thank fear.
We honour its service.
And then we politely - but firmly - relieve it of duty.

The Task: Invite Your Fear to Speak

This week, don’t run from fear. Don’t try to kill it, numb it, transcend it, or shove it into some stoic cold shower fantasy.

Instead: have a conversation.

Real-World Task

1. Create a Fear File.
   Choose a fear you know is running your show right now.
   Not just “fear of failure” but something visceral—“If I put this thing into the world and it flops, I’ll lose all credibility.”
   

2. Personify It.
   Give it a name, a personality, a role, a backstory.
   What kind of hat does it wear? Fedora? Beanie? Army helmet?
   What does it want for you? What is it afraid of happening?
   

3. Dialogue It.
   Set a timer for 10 minutes. Write a conversation between you and your fear.
   Let it speak. Let it rant. Let it accuse. Then you respond.
   

4. Thank It. Then Reassign It.
   Literally write this:
   “Thank you for protecting me. But I’m not that boy any-more. Your service is no longer required in this way.”
   
   

This is not performance. This is reprogramming.

You can’t evolve what you won’t face.
And you can’t face what you won’t see clearly.

Reflective Exercise

Sit with this:

“What has my fear cost me - and what might it be trying to give me now?”

Write your answer. Not once. But every morning this week. You’ll be surprised how it changes. You’ll be stunned at what opens.

Reading List

1. The War of Art – Steven Pressfield
   A must-read on resistance, fear, and creative battle.
   

2. Iron John – Robert Bly
   A poetic and mythic dive into the wounded masculine.
   

3. Ego Is the Enemy – Ryan Holiday
   For seeing the fear that hides behind your ambition.
   

4. King, Warrior, Magician, Lover – Moore & Gillette
   Essential for naming the energies within us—including those distorted by fear.
   

5. Letters to a Young Poet – Rainer Maria Rilke
   A guide to befriending fear through mystery, not mastery.

We’re not here to slay dragons.
We’re here to walk into the cave, look the bastard in the eye, and say:

“I see you. Let’s talk.”

Because this is the path.
Not around. Not over. But Through.

And on the other side of that cave?

Not just treasure.

But truth.