I actually do like scary movies. I used to hate scary movies.

Hear the words of Neve Campbell, the queen of fright and heroine of terror, who confessed: “I actually do like scary movies. I used to hate scary movies. You know, when I was young, I saw The Changeling, with George C. Scott, which I think is the scariest movie ever made. After I saw that, I swore I would never see a horror film again. Then I started making them.” In this utterance lies the paradox of the soul: that which once filled us with dread may, in time, become the very stage upon which we discover our strength.

The meaning of these words reaches beyond the realm of cinema. As a child, Campbell recoiled from horror, her spirit shaken by the fear that The Changeling inspired. She swore never again to gaze into that abyss. Yet fate, with its strange ironies, led her to become a central figure in the world of horror films, remembered most for her role in Scream. What she once avoided, she came to embrace—not because fear disappeared, but because she grew strong enough to confront it, and even to embody it in her art.

So it is with life: the things we swear to avoid often circle back, demanding not our escape but our courage. Just as Campbell learned to stand within the very world that once terrified her, so too must we learn to face the shadows that haunt us. The fears of youth may transform into the callings of adulthood, shaping the roads we walk and the gifts we bring to others. What was once a wound can become a weapon; what was once terror can be transformed into triumph.

Consider the story of Winston Churchill. In his youth, he dreaded failure, for he had stumbled in school and struggled with speech. He might have sworn never to speak in public again. Yet the very thing he once feared—public speaking—became his greatest power. His voice, once a source of insecurity, became the weapon that steadied a nation in its darkest hour. Like Neve Campbell, he turned his fear into his field of battle, and in so doing, he became unforgettable.

The lesson for us is clear: fear is not a prison, but a teacher. To run from it forever is to remain small, but to confront it is to discover our strength. The very paths we swear never to tread may in fact be the ones that shape our destiny. Campbell thought she would never again endure a horror film, yet in embracing that world, she became its emblem. So too might we find greatness hidden within the things we once rejected.

Practical action follows: reflect on your own fears. Ask yourself: What have I avoided because it seemed unbearable? What did I once swear never to face? Then, take a step toward it. If you fear speaking, speak; if you fear failing, attempt; if you fear rejection, reach out anyway. In each case, you will find that fear shrinks in the presence of courage, and what once terrified you may become the soil from which your greatest victories grow.

Thus let Neve Campbell’s confession be more than a tale of cinema—it is a parable for life itself. She who once trembled at The Changeling became the heroine of Scream, transforming terror into triumph. Let us do likewise: let us not flee forever from the shadows, but walk into them until they bow before our light. For only then will fear cease to bind us, and instead become the crucible in which our true selves are forged.