Meet The Dred

What if the real battle isn’t out there—but inside me?

I’ve been thinking a lot about this thing I call The Dred.

It’s that invisible weight that shows up whenever I’m close to something meaningful. The inner sabotage artist. The shadow in the corner. The voice that says, “Why even try?”

The Dred isn’t loud at first. It’s subtle. It’s clever. It speaks in half-truths. Tells me I’m tired. That I’ve done enough. That maybe I don’t really want this after all.

But it's always there. Waiting. Calm. Ready to pull me back the moment I step toward growth.

The worst part?

It sounds like me. It uses me. It knows my weaknesses better than anyone else—because it is me. Not all of me, but a part I haven’t outgrown yet. And some days, I mistake it for truth.

The Dred doesn't scream. It suggests. It wears the face of self-care. Of realism. Of “Let’s just take a break.”
But that break becomes a pattern. A pattern becomes avoidance. And before I know it, I’ve traded progress for safety that doesn’t feel safe at all.

It wants me still. Comfortable. But small.

And some days, I let it win. I shrink. I scroll. I distract myself. Not because I believe The Dred, but because I’m tired of fighting.

But here’s what I’m learning—The Dred isn’t going anywhere. It’s not a glitch. It’s part of the cost of becoming someone new.

The goal isn’t to kill it. The goal is to see it—and keep moving anyway. To write through it. To act in spite of it. To say “not today” when it tells me to wait.

Because The Dred isn’t evil. It’s scared. It thinks it’s protecting me from failure, from judgment, from being seen too clearly.

But I’m not that fragile anymore. There’s another voice inside me, quieter but stronger. It says: Try again. Show up. Be messy. But don’t stop. The Dred may be part of me. But it’s not in charge.

And the version of me I’m becoming?

He’s not waiting for fear to leave. He’s moving forward—with The Dred in the passenger seat, not behind the wheel.