I welcome fear, as I know what I resist, persists.

A smoke alarm with a flat battery chirps every forty seconds, and it will keep it up for a week. You can put a pillow over your head. It is still going to chirp.

Fear runs a similar circuit. Ignored, it doesn't leave — it gets more inventive about when it interrupts you. Three in the morning. Halfway through a film. In the queue at the till.

Welcoming isn't affection. It's opening the cupboard and looking directly, naming what specifically you're afraid of in one plain sentence. Answered alarms go quiet. Being answered is all they were asking for.