The Cost of Avoidance
"When we are no longer able to change the situation, we are challenged to change ourselves. To suffer bravely, to find meaning in suffering, is to transform tragedy into triumph." – Viktor Frankl
Avoidance feels safe in the moment. It whispers: Don’t look. Don’t feel. Don’t step forward. Just turn away. And for a while, it works. The bully passes. The storm quiets. The pain seems to fade.
But avoidance is a loan with interest. Every time we run, the cost grows higher. Pain avoided becomes pain multiplied. Shadows unchallenged become shadows that rule. The fear you refuse to face becomes the fear that drives you. And wherever attention goes, energy flows.
This is not just personal, it is collective. When the forceful shout, when the arrogant intimidate, and the response is retreat, silence, withdrawal, the field tips. The bully grows larger. The cowardice grows contagious. And the ones who say they stand for compassion and justice end up crouched in the fetal position, calling retreat a strategy.
But fear never yields to fleeing. Bullies don’t respect absence, they feed on it. The only way to dismantle the force of intimidation is to face it, to stand, even trembling, and say: No more.
Avoidance promises comfort. But the real cost is integrity. The real cost is freedom. The real cost is the soul itself.
The Parable of the Beast
There was a small village haunted by a beast. Every few nights it came to the edge of the fields. It never attacked, but its roar shook the houses and its shadow stretched across every doorway.
The villagers learned to run. At the first sound, they barred their windows, pulled their children into basements, and curled up small and silent until the noise passed. The beast never touched them, but its roar ruled them.
Years passed. The fields went untended. The harvest spoiled. The people lived in constant fear the beast might return. Their lives shrank into hiding. They called it survival. They called it self-care.
But one night, a boy, barely a man, grew tired of cowering. When the roar came, he did not run. He walked to the edge of the fields and stood in its shadow. The beast was massive, teeth like stone, eyes burning. But as he stepped closer, it stepped back. The boy took another step, and the beast shrank smaller. Closer still, and it shrank again, until what once filled the night was nothing more than a stray dog, shaking in the dark, barking to seem bigger than it was.
You see, that’s what fear is. A mirage. The further you run from it, the bigger it seems. But when you move toward it, you see it for what it is... false evidence appearing real. The village had been ruled by an illusion, not the beast itself, but their fear of it. Avoidance had multiplied the shadow. Facing it stripped it bare.
No lie can withstand the truth.
Avoidance shrinks the psyche into hiding. Avoidance shrinks, then suffocates. Avoidance hides, then haunts. It says: Don’t face it. Don’t feel it. Don’t speak of it. And so the shadow grows larger in silence.
It says: Later will be safer. Tomorrow will be easier. But tomorrow comes heavier, harder, hungrier.
Avoidance feeds the bully. Avoidance feeds, then fattens. Avoidance starves the self and strengthens the threat. It says: Stay small. Stay quiet. Stay curled in the dark. Stay in the fetal position. And the roar echoes louder with every retreat.
But presence steadies the psyche. Presence steadies, then strengthens. Presence feels, then frees. It says: Stand here. Even trembling, stand. Face what comes. And the roar loses its echo in the light of truth.
Courage transforms the psyche. Courage shakes, then steps. Courage fears, then faces. It says: You don’t have to win the fight. You only have to refuse to run.
And what once seemed a beast is revealed as bark without bite, shadow without substance.
Psychologists call this fear response avoidance coping. It’s when we try to escape discomfort instead of facing it. The relief feels good in the moment, but the fear grows stronger in the nervous system each time we retreat.
This is why therapy often uses exposure therapy... gradual steps into what we fear, teaching the body and psyche that the roar cannot destroy us.
So how do we break free from avoidance in daily life?
We begin by noticing. Awareness is key. You cannot change what you are unwilling to see. Ignorance and freedom cannot coexist.
Notice the moment you reach for escape... the scroll when the silence feels heavy, the drink when the memory rises, the busy work when the real work calls, the plan to run when conflict knocks at your door. Awareness is the first act of courage. When you can name avoidance as avoidance, you’ve already loosened its grip.
Next, take one courageous step toward the roar. Not the whole battle... just one step. Make the phone call you’ve been avoiding. Schedule the doctor’s appointment you’ve been putting off. Have the hard conversation you’ve rehearsed a hundred times in your head. One step is enough to break the trance of fear.
Then breathe. Breathe into the body you wanted to abandon. Breathe until the tightness softens, even slightly. Because avoidance shrinks the breath, but presence expands it. Every deep breath is a declaration: I am here. I can face this.
Finally, stand. Not rushing to fix, not running to flee. Just stand. Just face. Just stay. You will see, as the boy with the beast saw, that most of what roared at you was shadow and noise. And even when the pain is real, it transforms the moment you stop running from it.
This is the path out of avoidance: Notice... Step... Breathe... Stand.
Simple, but never easy. It is always easier said than done. Yet every time you practice it, the psyche learns that presence is safer than hiding.
As Bruce Lee once said: “I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times.”
This is my invitation to you. Do not run. Do not shrink back into silence. Do not hand your power to the shadow by cowering in the dark.
Notice the avoidance. Name it for what it is. The scroll to numb, the drink to forget, the silence to delay. Call it by its name, and you take back the first piece of power it stole.
Then take the step, not the whole climb, not the whole battle... just one courageous step. One call. One truth spoken. One breath into the place you swore you couldn’t go.
Courage is not the absence of fear, it is the choice to move forward intentionally despite fear’s presence.
Then breathe. Breathe like the air itself is your ally. Breathe until the chest unclenches and the pulse steadies. Every deep breath is a protest against avoidance, a way of telling fear: You will not own this body today.
Then stand. Not rushing. Not flailing. Not fixing. Just stand. Because presence is stronger than retreat, and standing firm is sometimes the loudest kind of rebellion.
The cost of avoidance is always greater than the cost of presence. Avoidance multiplies suffering, but presence transforms it. And the courage you thought you lacked was never missing at all... it was waiting on the other side of the step you refused to take.
Freedom exists on the other side of your fears. Your fears have no idea how strong you are.
So if these words stirred something in you, don’t keep them folded inside. Share them with one person who is ready to face instead of flee. Stand with them. Practice presence together.
Because courage is contagious, and avoidance loses its power when faced in community.
So rebel against avoidance. Stand for truth. Let the fire that once terrified you become the flame that frees you.
And remember... what burns away was never you. What remains is what was real all along.
Mad love and respect. Agape.
