Everyone is afraid of something. Some people spend their lives avoiding darkness, sleeping alone or watching horror films.
But other people face their fears, enduring the heart-racing, sweat-stained process of acknowledging something terrifies them – and staring it squarely in the eyes nonetheless.
Today we are starting a new series called ‘Facing my fear’, launching with an essay from a young widow who had to return to the city where she first met her late husband. We hope to tell a new tale weekly of courage against adversity – whatever that might mean to each writer.
If you want to share your story, send a summary of no longer than 200 words to us.opinion@theguardian.com. Please put ‘Facing my fear’ in the subject line.
