Faith Is the Opposite of Fear

S'mores and Spirituality: Lessons from a spiritual retreat on emotional sobriety and the power of stillness.

This weekend I went on a spiritual retreat for people in recovery at a YMCA camp in Pennsylvania. With the help of the camp's detailed map, I spent the afternoon and evening learning the layout—its outdoor bathroom inconveniently up the hill from my assigned log cabin (meaning no liquids after 4 p.m. for me!), and the dining hall a work-up-your-appetite long walk through the woods.

By Saturday morning, I’d found my rhythm and joined workshops where we journaled, listened for our Higher Power, and twirled paper butterflies across the lawn, as others in my group blew soap bubbles from wands—all of us laughing like children.

It felt like letting go—if only for a few moments.

Afterward, I trekked back through the woods to my rustic log cabin for some much-needed quiet after a lively lunch with sixty other recovered alcoholics. The YMCA camp sits just up the hill from Caron Transformative Care, the organizers of this annual event. Both the camp and the recovery center are located on what is affectionately known in recovery circles as "Magic Mountain." Caron’s alumni and staff call it that because miracles seem to happen on that mountain—it’s where countless souls rediscover hope and the desire to live again.

There, in the hush of the cabin, stretched out on the lower bunk, I looked down at my treasured bracelet inscribed with “Be still and know...” and felt a new kind of stillness descend.

Be Still and Know

Reflecting on those words, I began to think about my behavior that morning. My robust sense of humor naturally springs from deep inside—a precious gift I’ve always cherished. But sometimes, that gift shifts. My laughter goes from effortless to forced, becoming a painted-on version bordering on the Ringling Brothers' famous clowns. When genuine joy turns into performing for approval, my ease gives way to anxiety. Jokes become teases; warmth turns edgy, with an undercurrent of frost.

It was in that quiet moment—using the same reflective tools I teach my clients through my RETURN Method—that I was able to pause, go inward, and gently notice these shifts inside me. This kind of inner awareness doesn’t happen by accident; it’s the fruit of committed work in recovery: learning to meet discomfort, honor old patterns, and receive grace instead of shame.

“Be still...” I closed my eyes and went deeper, searching for answers. Almost immediately, I realized I’d put my armor on: my laughter had become a shield. Going further, I uncovered the fear beneath that shield—a familiar, old fear of rejection. Even though I love meeting new people, there it was: that lingering voice whispering that, among a group of sixty, someone might not like me and I would be left out.

I let myself breathe in that truth, feeling both the ache and the relief of naming it. For a moment, I simply rested—with the ache, with my heartbeat, with the quiet all around. As I traced the words on my bracelet, something softened. The invitation to “be still and know” began to root not just in my mind, but in my body.

The Awakening

Stillness, I realized, isn’t about quieting the outside world. It’s about meeting the Presence within, allowing intimacy with God to hold me—even as the world spins with noise and loneliness.

The psychiatrist Carl Jung once wrote, “Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.”

In that cabin, I understood exactly what he meant. The awakening wasn’t dramatic—it was quiet. I saw the part of me that performs to feel safe and recognized it with compassion, not judgment.

Stillness made room for both the humor and the humility: for me to cherish the gift while laying down the armor.

Eckhart Tolle says, “Stillness is your essential nature. What is stillness? The inner space or awareness in which the words on this page are being perceived and become thoughts.”

That’s what I felt—awareness itself opening like a window in my soul.

And that is what emotional sobriety looks like for me—not perfection, not silence, but awareness. Seeing those moves as they happen and graciously choosing again.

As I lay there, the stillness of the woods wrapped around me, and I understood why they call it Magic Mountain. It’s not the mountain itself—it’s what happens when grace finds you there.

Faith vs. Fear: A Living Contrast

Fear grips, predicts, rehearses, and bargains. It says, “I’ll feel safe when ____ happens,” trying to control the world to get there.

Faith releases, receives, and responds. It says, “I am held now,” and moves from that center—one honest moment at a time.

The spiritual writer Thomas Merton said, “Faith is a principle of inner transformation. It is a turning of the whole person to the light of God, in whom we discover our true being.”

When I live from fear, I perform.

When I live from faith, I belong—even when the outcome is unknown.

“Be Still” in Real Life

Here are three tiny practices I’m carrying home with me:

1. Breath Before Words: One slow inhale, one long exhale. If my chest feels tight or my laugh feels like work, I pause. I don’t have to perform to belong.

2. Centering Line: “Let me bring light, not seek it.” If joy flows from love, it fills me. If it flows from approval, it drains me.

3. Gentle Reframe: When I catch myself teasing to stay safe, I ask, What do I really want to say? Often, it’s something simple and true: I care about you. Letting that truth color my tone changes everything.

As Brené Brown reminds us, “Faith is a place of mystery, where we find the courage to believe in what we cannot see and the strength to let go of our fear of uncertainty.”

Why This Matters for Our Next Series

Next week, in Women in the Rooms, we begin our October FEAR series. This weekend showed me why that conversation is so vital.

Faith isn’t the absence of fear—it’s the capacity to walk through fear without giving it the steering wheel.

Faith lets us tell the truth when our ego wants to perform.

Faith is how we rest in God, not just as an idea, but as the Quiet within us.

If fear has been loud in your life lately—if control masquerades as safety—come sit with us. Bring your journal, your breath, your honest heart. We’ll practice presence together.

Wrap-Up: What I Now Understand

During one of the workshops—about thirty of us sitting at tables building tiny altars to bring home (FYI: mine is in the photo below)—someone shared his favorite motto: “Don’t worry—everything is going to be alright.”

I spoke up and told the group that a few months ago, I gave away a wooden sign painted with those exact words. I didn’t do it out of cynicism, but because I no longer need the promise of someday. 

I’ve come to believe that everything is alright—here, now—even when life is messy and uncertain.

This is the gift I carry forward: peace is possible not because circumstances are perfect, but because Presence—real Presence—holds us even in the midst of old fears.

The mystic Julian of Norwich wrote, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” For me, that’s no longer wishful thinking—it’s lived truth.

A Closing Prayer

Spirit, teach me stillness without shutting down,trust without needing guarantees,humor without armor,and courage without control.Let me know—right here, right now—that I am held.

Amen.

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My RETURN Workshops are finished for 2025, but the work continues. 🌱

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