'The Exorcist' is absolutely my favorite horror film, and I

In the vivid and nostalgic words of Odette Annable, there is both humor and hidden depth: “‘The Exorcist’ is absolutely my favorite horror film, and I watched it when I was, like, seven years old with my mother for the first time. I don’t know why my mom let me watch that. I couldn’t go to the bathroom by myself. I couldn’t go upstairs by myself. I couldn’t sleep.” Though spoken with lightness, this memory reveals something profoundly human—the way fear shapes us, the way it lingers, and the way it teaches. Her story, of a child trembling before shadows yet remembering the experience with fondness, speaks to the paradox of our fascination with the things that terrify us.

In ancient times, the philosophers taught that fear is both a teacher and a test. It is the forge through which courage is born. Odette’s childhood encounter with “The Exorcist,” though born of innocent curiosity and maternal lenience, became an early meeting with the unknown—the kind of primal dread that has haunted humankind since its first firelight flickered against the walls of a dark cave. When she says she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t go upstairs or to the bathroom alone, she echoes the timeless truth: that when we first meet fear, it grips us utterly. But from that grip, a deeper strength begins to awaken.

Odette’s mother, though perhaps unaware, had enacted an ancient ritual—one that countless generations of parents have performed, introducing their children too early to the mysteries of life and death, of danger and imagination. In mythology, this is the moment of initiation, when innocence is tested by darkness. Just as Theseus entered the labyrinth to face the Minotaur, or Persephone descended into the underworld, the child in Odette faced her first glimpse of horror—not in the world outside, but within her own mind. For true terror does not dwell in the film or the shadows, but in the imagination, which magnifies and transforms what it fears most.

But there is beauty in this fear, too. When Odette calls “The Exorcist” her favorite film, she is acknowledging not just the story’s power, but its role in shaping her. The movie terrified her, yes—but it also fascinated her. That duality is the very essence of the human spirit: we are drawn to what unsettles us because it reminds us of our fragility and our wonder. To be afraid is to feel alive. It is to stand at the threshold between safety and discovery, between childhood’s illusion of invulnerability and the adult’s acceptance of mystery. Fear, then, is not the enemy—it is the doorway to understanding ourselves.

History is filled with such awakenings. Consider Mary Shelley, who at eighteen wrote Frankenstein, a tale born from a night of shared ghost stories and waking nightmares. What began as fear became creation. Her monsters were not merely horrors—they were reflections of the human soul’s yearning and guilt. Likewise, Odette’s early terror before The Exorcist reveals that the imagination, once stirred by fear, may become the wellspring of fascination, artistry, and introspection. The same darkness that once kept her from sleeping also taught her to appreciate the storytelling power that can move the heart so deeply.

From this story we can draw a simple but eternal lesson: do not run from fear, but learn from it. Fear, when faced with awareness, becomes wisdom. It shows us where our limits lie—and how we might transcend them. As children, we tremble before the shadows; as adults, we learn to name them, to understand their nature. Thus every fear we survive becomes a teacher, shaping us into beings of deeper strength and compassion.

So remember this, O listener: fear is not merely a curse—it is a gift, if we face it rightly. Do not despise the things that once frightened you; they have carved your courage in secret. Whether it was a dark film, a painful memory, or a trial of the heart, those moments forged the steel of your soul. As Odette Annable discovered, what once robbed you of sleep may one day make you smile in remembrance. The night that once terrified you can, in time, become your favorite story. For even in fear, there is growth; even in trembling, there is becoming; and even in darkness, there is the promise of light.