I lean into fear.

Leaning in sounds athletic — running at the thing with arms out. Most of the time it is far less dramatic.

It can mean saying the fear out loud to one person, in ordinary language, in a kitchen. It can mean writing down what you actually expect to happen, which is often smaller and stranger on paper than it was at two in the morning.

Fear kept wordless keeps its size. Given a shape, it becomes something with edges — still unpleasant, but findable.