Introduction
It’s been about a year since I last wrote a blog article, a gap which is attributable to a combination of factors (isn’t it always a combination of factors rather than one thing in particular…? Seems like it’s my answer to everything!): Workload, family stuff, health, energy levels, motivation, prioritising, procrastinating, recharging, hiding in bed… You get the idea, and I will spare you the details. Suffice to say that today I am minded that devoting some time and attention to writing a blog article – while admittedly not directly helping me to complete the three reports I need to get through – is something that is going to be enlivening and invigorating, rather than draining, and will give me a kick of ‘oomph’ that will enable me to get some other stuff done later. At least, that’s the theory. So here we are. Full steam ahead. Let’s go!
In this article, I will explore the concept of Facing Your Dragons, a psychological and behavioural process that can help us at times of challenge or difficulty, or when experiencing emotional distress (e.g. anxiety). We will also see how Facing Your Dragons doesn’t necessarily mean heroically slaying them – there are some dragons that cannot be slain. But – as Obi Wan Kenobi wisely noted in Star Wars (A New Hope): “There are alternatives to fighting.”
Facing Your Dragons is a process that I have been through many times both at work and in life, but one of my more memorable examples occurred back in 2010 when I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. That example will be the main focus of this article.
I hope you find these musings helpful. As always, take what you want and leave the rest.
In this article, I will explore the concept of Facing Your Dragons, a psychological and behavioural process that can help us at times of challenge or difficulty, or when experiencing emotional distress (e.g. anxiety). We will also see how Facing Your Dragons doesn’t necessarily mean heroically slaying them – there are some dragons that cannot be slain. But – as Obi Wan Kenobi wisely noted in Star Wars (A New Hope): “There are alternatives to fighting.”
Facing Your Dragons is a process that I have been through many times both at work and in life, but one of my more memorable examples occurred back in 2010 when I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. That example will be the main focus of this article.
I hope you find these musings helpful. As always, take what you want and leave the rest.
Facing Your Dragons
 |  |
Facing Your Dragons is a metaphor for acknowledging and confronting our fears, rather than ignoring or suppressing them. Rather than engaging in avoidance (or, as it’s more technically known in psychological speak, experiential avoidance – see e.g. Harris, 2009; more on this later) and refusing to think about something because it’s too uncomfortable, we might choose to find the courage to look the monster in the face and plan how we might respond to it. As mentioned, I personally experienced the value of this approach in 2010 when I was dealing with the reality of having been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS).
Although I had been braced for the diagnosis for about a year, it still nonetheless hit hard. While at the time I was physically fine (apart from occasional partial loss of sensation in various places on my body), I was all too aware of the range of horrifying eventualities that potentially lay in front of me and our family. Having been given a heads-up by my neurologist that a diagnosis of MS was a possibility, I had researched the range of ways that MS can affect a person (see here for a list). It didn’t sound promising, to say the least. MS can affect any part of your body or sensory experience that is affected by neural transmission, depending on which particular parts of your Central Nervous System your immune system attacks – so pretty much anything you can think of, really. But I wasn’t in that place yet. I was fine. I was cycling around 30-40 miles a week, regularly going to the gym, and just had occasional weird sensations or numbness to deal with. That range of symptoms from the internet? “Don’t think about it”, I told myself; “You’ll drive yourself mad.”
Although I had been braced for the diagnosis for about a year, it still nonetheless hit hard. While at the time I was physically fine (apart from occasional partial loss of sensation in various places on my body), I was all too aware of the range of horrifying eventualities that potentially lay in front of me and our family. Having been given a heads-up by my neurologist that a diagnosis of MS was a possibility, I had researched the range of ways that MS can affect a person (see here for a list). It didn’t sound promising, to say the least. MS can affect any part of your body or sensory experience that is affected by neural transmission, depending on which particular parts of your Central Nervous System your immune system attacks – so pretty much anything you can think of, really. But I wasn’t in that place yet. I was fine. I was cycling around 30-40 miles a week, regularly going to the gym, and just had occasional weird sensations or numbness to deal with. That range of symptoms from the internet? “Don’t think about it”, I told myself; “You’ll drive yourself mad.”
 |  |
For a couple of years I had also had the dubious pleasure of regularly visiting the MS centre and, while sitting in the waiting room, being greeted with what I dubbed the ‘Wall of Doom’ – a rather grim collection of pamphlets and leaflets with dread-inducing titles such as ‘Walking Difficulties’, ‘Vision Problems’, ‘Bladder & Bowel Problems’, ‘Sensory Difficulties’, ‘Pain’, 'Fatigue' and so on, that graphically charted the path that might or might not lay in front of me in the years ahead. Indeed, while in the waiting room I often chose to look in a different direction to this unenticing library, seemingly in the superstitious hope that refusing to digest the words on the leaflets would spare me from the reality of their contents (no such luck in some respects – although I am still some distance from having an MS full-house, I am pleased to say).
However, despite the fact that I was still in good physical condition, what I also noticed over the subsequent days and weeks was the emergence of an un-ignorable feeling of anxiety; an extra psychological gift to accompany the possible physical symptoms that might develop.
Anxiety is a normal human emotion, and a potentially helpful one (e.g. it's a signal of danger or possible loss). However, if you’ve experienced anxiety for a prolonged period you’ll understand that, if unchecked, it’s not much fun and can interfere with our ability to function and enjoy. There’s the difficulty sleeping; the panic-inducing 3am imaginings; the sick feeling inside; the avoidance of activities that might otherwise be good for us; the perceptual fog that colours all aspects of our day-to-day lived experience; the narrowing of our world. I didn’t want to live my life in dread; I wanted to make the most of my life while I could, especially now I was even more conscious of the ticking of the clock and the unpredictability of how my symptoms would develop. But the feeling wouldn’t go away. And the longer it remained, the more I tried to push both the anxiety and this whole idea of MS out of my mind.
No dice. Not even a measly, boring six-sided one.
What else to do?
It was time to look MS in the face.
Having psyched myself up for the exercise, and having located myself in a suitable place, I asked myself: “What am I most afraid of here?” – rather than dealing with MS as a broad construct, I tried to identify the specifics that were most bothering me.
At the time, given how physically active I was, the idea of losing my mobility and potentially needing to use a wheelchair was terrifying. I couldn’t think about it. How dreadful!
But think about it was exactly what I needed to do. Avoidance wasn’t helping. In fact, it was only making things worse.
It was time to face the dragon.
To do so, I imagined a future vision in which I was in a wheelchair; for me, the vision came as one of me sitting in a wheelchair at a garden table, outside a conservatory, in the sunshine. I don’t know why it came to me in that way, or where this particular house and garden was (I know it wasn’t ours!); that’s just how it happened. Anyway, that’s by-the-by. As I conjured the scene, I also tried to connect with the fear, sensations and thoughts that accompanied this vision. How might I feel? What might life be like? How would I cope? I mentally explored the possibilities, and imagined the sense of loss, sadness, and frustration that I would experience at no longer being able to cycle through the countryside; at my independence being taken away (to a degree); and at the general pain in the ass I imagined it would be.
And then, as the detail of the picture developed, the image suddenly evolved. I was no longer alone. My family were beside me. We might have been playing cards or some other game. My wife, daughter and son were there.
My daughter was laughing.
I was smiling.
We were happy. I was happy.
This was a lightbulb moment.
Even in a wheelchair, I would be able to show up as a husband and father to my wife and children. I would be able to give and receive love; to care; to show kindness; to have fun. The way in which those things happened might look different; but happen they would.
We would be able to share time together, and we would find ways to adapt.
We would handle it, as best we could.
And we would still find ways to find joy.
We will handle it.
It was time to breathe again.
Until the next time.
Discussion
This example has illustrated how, by refusing to allow ourselves to engage with uncomfortable thoughts, feelings and experiences, we can actually prevent ourselves from growing and moving forward. The psychological process of ignoring, suppressing, or not attending to how we think and feel is known as experiential avoidance (Harris, 2009; Jackson-Brown & Gillard, 2016), and is a central concept in Acceptance & Commitment Therapy (ACT). Harris (ibid) defines experiential avoidance as “…trying to avoid, get rid of, suppress, or escape from unwanted ‘private experiences’ (p. 23). The irony is that by engaging in experiential avoidance, by sticking our head in the sand about thoughts and feelings that trouble us, the less likely we are to be able to move on from what is actually causing our distress. As Harris (ibid) continues: “The more time and energy we spend trying to avoid or get rid of unwanted private experiences, the more we’re likely to suffer in the long run” (p. 24).
In contrast, the healthier thing for me to do was to Face The Dragon of my fears about Multiple Sclerosis; in my case, to look the possibility of a wheelchair in the face, acknowledge the reality, and try to make some sort of peace with it. To accept the fact that it may become a reality (another central principle of ACT). Not to necessarily like the fact that it might happen; certainly not for me to be a dragon-slaying hero that could make the monster go away (MS is here to stay, as much as I’d like to hand this particular card back to the Universe). But to find a way to at least live with the dragon, or despite the dragon, even if I may not befriend it. I was braced for the future; and back in those days before my mobility issues took hold, I can guarantee you that no-one cycled around Bristol with a broader smile than I did, savouring the opportunities, days and moments while I could.
And of course, we can remember this process and exercise each time we feel so provoked by life’s challenges.
Conclusion
Facing Your Dragons is the opposite of experiential avoidance. It is a metaphor for confronting our fears rather than ignoring or suppressing them, acknowledging the presence of challenges that we might consider intimidating and finding both the courage and resilience to face them. We may not be able to slay the dragon; some monsters are here to stay. But we may be able to find a way to live with them, or despite them; to build a life around them in which we can still experience joy, live according to our values, and pursue our goals. In so doing, rather than allowing unaddressed fears to grow and become self-limiting, or allowing ourselves to become passive victims of our circumstances, we endeavour to reclaim a sense of power and agency over our lives and wellbeing.
Postcript
It’s fifteen years since I went through this mental exercise, and my mobility has in fact deteriorated to the point where I now use a wheelchair. Not all the time – I can get by on sticks for some activities if the distance is short and I can take rest breaks – but it is a painstaking process, and there are some things for which using a wheelchair just makes things more convenient, straightforward, and quicker than hobbling along slowly, stiffly and painfully on sticks. Interestingly, when the time to start using a wheelchair came, I didn’t regard it as the pain in the ass as I originally thought I might; nor did I feel a sense of loss, sadness and frustration. I think I’d already done my grieving about the loss of my mobility and was instead ready to embrace the ease, accessibility, and restoration of my ability to do things that the chair would provide. It helped that, when I sat in the chair, my daughter suggested that I should be referred to as "My Liege" while I was being pushed along. Oh yes, I'll have some of that, thank-you very much! It also enabled us to go out to a local Indian restaurant and back together without taking the car. On the way home, I could see the stars and the moon; I could feel the cool night air on my face; and I could feel the joy and freedom as we whizzed along the quiet pavements back to our home.
However, despite the fact that I was still in good physical condition, what I also noticed over the subsequent days and weeks was the emergence of an un-ignorable feeling of anxiety; an extra psychological gift to accompany the possible physical symptoms that might develop.
Anxiety is a normal human emotion, and a potentially helpful one (e.g. it's a signal of danger or possible loss). However, if you’ve experienced anxiety for a prolonged period you’ll understand that, if unchecked, it’s not much fun and can interfere with our ability to function and enjoy. There’s the difficulty sleeping; the panic-inducing 3am imaginings; the sick feeling inside; the avoidance of activities that might otherwise be good for us; the perceptual fog that colours all aspects of our day-to-day lived experience; the narrowing of our world. I didn’t want to live my life in dread; I wanted to make the most of my life while I could, especially now I was even more conscious of the ticking of the clock and the unpredictability of how my symptoms would develop. But the feeling wouldn’t go away. And the longer it remained, the more I tried to push both the anxiety and this whole idea of MS out of my mind.
No dice. Not even a measly, boring six-sided one.
What else to do?
It was time to look MS in the face.
Having psyched myself up for the exercise, and having located myself in a suitable place, I asked myself: “What am I most afraid of here?” – rather than dealing with MS as a broad construct, I tried to identify the specifics that were most bothering me.
At the time, given how physically active I was, the idea of losing my mobility and potentially needing to use a wheelchair was terrifying. I couldn’t think about it. How dreadful!
But think about it was exactly what I needed to do. Avoidance wasn’t helping. In fact, it was only making things worse.
It was time to face the dragon.
To do so, I imagined a future vision in which I was in a wheelchair; for me, the vision came as one of me sitting in a wheelchair at a garden table, outside a conservatory, in the sunshine. I don’t know why it came to me in that way, or where this particular house and garden was (I know it wasn’t ours!); that’s just how it happened. Anyway, that’s by-the-by. As I conjured the scene, I also tried to connect with the fear, sensations and thoughts that accompanied this vision. How might I feel? What might life be like? How would I cope? I mentally explored the possibilities, and imagined the sense of loss, sadness, and frustration that I would experience at no longer being able to cycle through the countryside; at my independence being taken away (to a degree); and at the general pain in the ass I imagined it would be.
And then, as the detail of the picture developed, the image suddenly evolved. I was no longer alone. My family were beside me. We might have been playing cards or some other game. My wife, daughter and son were there.
My daughter was laughing.
I was smiling.
We were happy. I was happy.
This was a lightbulb moment.
Even in a wheelchair, I would be able to show up as a husband and father to my wife and children. I would be able to give and receive love; to care; to show kindness; to have fun. The way in which those things happened might look different; but happen they would.
We would be able to share time together, and we would find ways to adapt.
We would handle it, as best we could.
And we would still find ways to find joy.
We will handle it.
It was time to breathe again.
Until the next time.
Discussion
This example has illustrated how, by refusing to allow ourselves to engage with uncomfortable thoughts, feelings and experiences, we can actually prevent ourselves from growing and moving forward. The psychological process of ignoring, suppressing, or not attending to how we think and feel is known as experiential avoidance (Harris, 2009; Jackson-Brown & Gillard, 2016), and is a central concept in Acceptance & Commitment Therapy (ACT). Harris (ibid) defines experiential avoidance as “…trying to avoid, get rid of, suppress, or escape from unwanted ‘private experiences’ (p. 23). The irony is that by engaging in experiential avoidance, by sticking our head in the sand about thoughts and feelings that trouble us, the less likely we are to be able to move on from what is actually causing our distress. As Harris (ibid) continues: “The more time and energy we spend trying to avoid or get rid of unwanted private experiences, the more we’re likely to suffer in the long run” (p. 24).
In contrast, the healthier thing for me to do was to Face The Dragon of my fears about Multiple Sclerosis; in my case, to look the possibility of a wheelchair in the face, acknowledge the reality, and try to make some sort of peace with it. To accept the fact that it may become a reality (another central principle of ACT). Not to necessarily like the fact that it might happen; certainly not for me to be a dragon-slaying hero that could make the monster go away (MS is here to stay, as much as I’d like to hand this particular card back to the Universe). But to find a way to at least live with the dragon, or despite the dragon, even if I may not befriend it. I was braced for the future; and back in those days before my mobility issues took hold, I can guarantee you that no-one cycled around Bristol with a broader smile than I did, savouring the opportunities, days and moments while I could.
And of course, we can remember this process and exercise each time we feel so provoked by life’s challenges.
Conclusion
Facing Your Dragons is the opposite of experiential avoidance. It is a metaphor for confronting our fears rather than ignoring or suppressing them, acknowledging the presence of challenges that we might consider intimidating and finding both the courage and resilience to face them. We may not be able to slay the dragon; some monsters are here to stay. But we may be able to find a way to live with them, or despite them; to build a life around them in which we can still experience joy, live according to our values, and pursue our goals. In so doing, rather than allowing unaddressed fears to grow and become self-limiting, or allowing ourselves to become passive victims of our circumstances, we endeavour to reclaim a sense of power and agency over our lives and wellbeing.
Postcript
It’s fifteen years since I went through this mental exercise, and my mobility has in fact deteriorated to the point where I now use a wheelchair. Not all the time – I can get by on sticks for some activities if the distance is short and I can take rest breaks – but it is a painstaking process, and there are some things for which using a wheelchair just makes things more convenient, straightforward, and quicker than hobbling along slowly, stiffly and painfully on sticks. Interestingly, when the time to start using a wheelchair came, I didn’t regard it as the pain in the ass as I originally thought I might; nor did I feel a sense of loss, sadness and frustration. I think I’d already done my grieving about the loss of my mobility and was instead ready to embrace the ease, accessibility, and restoration of my ability to do things that the chair would provide. It helped that, when I sat in the chair, my daughter suggested that I should be referred to as "My Liege" while I was being pushed along. Oh yes, I'll have some of that, thank-you very much! It also enabled us to go out to a local Indian restaurant and back together without taking the car. On the way home, I could see the stars and the moon; I could feel the cool night air on my face; and I could feel the joy and freedom as we whizzed along the quiet pavements back to our home.
Zooming home, thanks to my wife, with Indian leftovers in hand. The brand of wheelchair I am using is called 'Karma', which is written on the sides in large lettering. My son found this highly amusing, and wondered if they might need to rethink their company name. He's got a point.
Reflection Questions
Caution: If you’ve got Serious Shit (technical term) going on in your life, there’s a chance you might find this exercise upsetting. Only engage in it if you’ve got your full consent to do so, if it’s the right time and place for you, and if you know who else you can go to for support if you find it triggering or overwhelming.
And now, having faced your dragon, I invite you to return to the present moment by grounding yourself in the ‘now’ (Tolle, 1999). If you feel willing and comfortable to practice a mindfulness exercise, then you might, for example: Pay attention to what you can see around you. Pay attention to the feel of your feet on the ground (or your arse on your chair, whatever works). What else can you feel? Pay attention to the rhythmic cycle of your breathing. Pay attention to what you can hear (Can you hear any birds? What do they sound like?). Finally, I invite you to take a moment to reconnect with your goals and values, and to plan whatever next steps will help you to move towards those goals or to bring your values to life in your behaviour.
- What dragons, if any, might be present for you?
- How does the dragon affect how you think, feel and behave?
- When you feel ready, I invite you to look the dragon in the face and consider: What if that happens? How will I feel? How will I handle it? What will I do? Who will I seek support from? You might wish to try imagining or visualising the scenario and/or what you are doing.
- If you can’t slay the dragon, how might you imagine yourself living with the dragon, and building a life around it that enables you to live according to your values?
- How likely is it that this dragon-like event will occur? Might there be other possibilities?
- Is this perhaps a dragon you might need to access further support to deal with? From whom?
And now, having faced your dragon, I invite you to return to the present moment by grounding yourself in the ‘now’ (Tolle, 1999). If you feel willing and comfortable to practice a mindfulness exercise, then you might, for example: Pay attention to what you can see around you. Pay attention to the feel of your feet on the ground (or your arse on your chair, whatever works). What else can you feel? Pay attention to the rhythmic cycle of your breathing. Pay attention to what you can hear (Can you hear any birds? What do they sound like?). Finally, I invite you to take a moment to reconnect with your goals and values, and to plan whatever next steps will help you to move towards those goals or to bring your values to life in your behaviour.
References
Harris, R. (2009). ACT Made Simple: An Easy-to-Read Primer on Acceptance and Commitment Therapy. Oakland, CA: New Harbinger Publications.
Jackson-Brown, F. & Gillard, D. (2016). Acceptance & Commitment Therapy for Dummies. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons.
MS Trust (2024). MS Signs & Symptoms. Retrieved from https://mstrust.org.uk/information-support/ms-symptoms-diagnosis/signs-and-symptoms on September 22nd 2025.
Tolle, E. (1999). The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment. New World Library.
Jackson-Brown, F. & Gillard, D. (2016). Acceptance & Commitment Therapy for Dummies. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons.
MS Trust (2024). MS Signs & Symptoms. Retrieved from https://mstrust.org.uk/information-support/ms-symptoms-diagnosis/signs-and-symptoms on September 22nd 2025.
Tolle, E. (1999). The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment. New World Library.
Further listening
Sciencing the S**t Out of MS. Podcast series by Dr Cora Sargeant. Episode 2: Acceptance and Activation. Click here to find it on Spotify.
RSS Feed