The Barrier of Fear of Difficulty Stop Retreating 畏难关

# The Barrier of Fear: Why Shrinking from Difficulty Blocks All Progress

There’s a kind of practitioner I’ve seen many times.

They begin with great enthusiasm. A new teaching captures their imagination. A retreat transforms their understanding. For a time, they practice with genuine dedication.

But then — difficulty arises.

The meditation becomes boring. The practice reveals uncomfortable truths. The expected experiences don’t materialize. The teacher offers correction rather than praise. Or simply, life gets in the way: a family crisis, a health issue, a demanding job.

At the first sign of resistance, they retreat. They tell themselves they’ll practice more when conditions improve. But conditions never improve. There is always another difficulty.

This is what the masters called 畏难关 — the Barrier of Fear.

Historical Origins: The Tong Guan Wen's Teaching on Determination

The concept appears in the Tong Guan Wen (通关文), “The Scripture on Breaking Through Barriers.” This text, part of our Zhengyi classical tradition, identifies fear of difficulty as one of the twenty-four obstacles to cultivation.

The Tong Guan Wen takes an uncompromising position: practitioners who have a heart that fears difficulty will certainly speak but not practice. They want to advance but immediately retreat. They cannot understand the Dao. Therefore, this barrier must be completely broken through.

The text teaches: those who truly learn the Dao must not avoid hardship or danger, but advance with fierce strength. They must forget about eating and sleeping, regardless of whether they gain strength or not, whether they see results or not. The longer they continue, the more vigorous they become. The farther they go, the more diligent they become. With one heart advancing forward, they will eventually achieve attainment.

The text is clear: the path requires moving forward regardless of how it feels.

How Taoism Transforms Our Relationship to Difficulty

What makes Taoist teaching different from both self-help culture and certain spiritual paths is its honest acknowledgment: transformation requires endurance through difficulty.

In our Zhengyi School tradition, we recognize that the Internal Alchemy process is not comfortable. The refinement of jing into qi, of qi into spirit — these require sustained effort and the willingness to face difficulty without retreating.

The Tong Guan Wen offers this guidance: remaining in the worldly realm, we cannot avoid difficulty. But when hardship arises, examine whether your practice continues regardless. Why? Because the practitioner who retreats from difficulty has confused the path with the destination.

I have seen talented practitioners fail not from lack of ability but from lack of endurance. They practiced beautifully during the easy times. When difficulty came — illness, loss, the ordinary pressures of life — their practice evaporated. They had wanted the rewards of cultivation without the work it required.

My Personal Experience: The Years That Changed Nothing

I learned about this barrier through years that changed nothing.

There was a period when I practiced intensively — retreats, study, meditation. I followed every instruction, attended every ceremony, accumulated every teaching I could access. For a time, I felt I was advancing.

Then difficulty came. Not dramatic — just the slow accumulation of ordinary life pressures. My father fell ill and needed care. The temple required extensive repairs. My own body began to ache — knees that made sitting painful, a back that stiffened after an hour. The practices that had felt powerful in retreat felt insufficient in daily life.

I didn’t stop practicing. But I retreated. I reduced. I made excuses. “I’ll meditate longer when my father recovers.” “I’ll study more after the repairs are done.” “I’ll sit properly once my knees heal.”

The father didn’t recover quickly. The repairs took months. The knees never fully healed.

I told myself I was practicing intelligently, adapting to circumstances. What I was actually doing was retreating at the first sign of difficulty — and then using every subsequent difficulty as another excuse.

The years passed. When I finally examined my practice honestly, I realized I had not advanced at all. I had merely maintained the appearance of practice while avoiding the actual work.

My master noticed before I did. He asked me one day: “How long have you been practicing?”

“Twenty years,” I said.

“Twenty years of retreat,” he replied. “When will you begin advancing?”

Practical Meaning for Daily Cultivation

What does this teaching mean for someone living in the modern world, where there are always good reasons to pause practice?

First, expect difficulty as normal, not as a sign of failure. Spiritual practice is not comfortable. If it were, everyone would do it. The Tao Te Ching says that the Dao appears difficult. When difficulty arises — and it will — recognize this as the path itself, not as a sign something is wrong.

Second, maintain some practice during difficulty, no matter how small. This doesn’t mean forcing the same intensity — that’s often impossible. It means finding the practice that is actually available. Five minutes of breath awareness while waiting at the pharmacy. A single verse contemplated while cooking. A moment of gratitude before sleep. The practice that happens is infinitely more valuable than the perfect practice that never does.

Third, understand that difficulty is information. Wu Wei doesn’t mean avoiding difficulty — it means working with the nature of things. Difficulty reveals what we’re attached to, what we fear, what we’re avoiding. This information is valuable if we use it. When you notice yourself making excuses, ask: “What am I really afraid of?”

Fourth, establish your determination in advance. The Tong Guan Wen speaks of establishing the determination to practice even unto death. This isn’t about dramatic sacrifice — it’s about making a clear decision before difficulty arrives. When you’ve decided that you will practice regardless, the excuses lose their power. You don’t have to feel motivated. You just have to keep your word to yourself.

Distinguishing Misconceptions: What the Barrier of Fear Is Not

This teaching is often misunderstood in ways that create new problems.

First, some take it as permission for harmful extremes. “Hardship is good,” they say, while neglecting their health, destroying relationships, or abandoning responsibilities. This isn’t the teaching. The teaching is to persist through necessary difficulty, not to create unnecessary suffering. Wisdom includes knowing which difficulties serve the path and which are just self-destruction.

Second, others interpret it as dismissal of genuine obstacles. “Don’t make such a big deal of difficulty,” they say, while avoiding anything that challenges them. This is its own form of fear — the fear of feeling what must be felt in order to transform.

Third, some use this teaching to justify others’ abuse. “You should practice through this hardship,” they say, while others suffer from genuinely harmful situations. The teaching is about persisting through the inherent difficulties of your own practice, not about tolerating abuse from others.

The teaching is simple but not easy: transformation requires endurance. The practitioner who avoids difficulty avoids the very process that would transform them. When we can meet difficulty with steady practice — not perfect practice, just continued practice — we discover what we’re actually capable of.

The Seed and the Soil

The seed that fears the darkness of the soil will never become a tree. It will remain a seed — hard, unchanged, full of potential that never unfolds.

The practitioner who fears difficulty will never discover what they could become. They will remain at the starting line, always preparing, never actually running.

The Tong Guan Wen promises that the longer you continue, the more vigorous you become. Not because the difficulty disappears — but because your relationship to it transforms. What once made you retreat becomes something you walk through.

So today, when the excuse arises — “I’m too tired,” “I’ll do it later,” “This isn’t working” — notice it. Don’t fight it. Just practice anyway. Even five minutes. Even badly. Even while distracted.

The seed breaks through the soil not because it is strong, but because it does not stop pushing.

Note: The Tong Guan Wen (通关文), "Scripture on Breaking Through Barriers," is a classical text in the Daoist cultivation tradition. The teaching on perseverance appears throughout Taoist Philosophy as a foundation for genuine practice. The recognition that difficulty serves transformation is a central teaching across multiple lineages, though this particular framing comes from the Zhengyi tradition as transmitted through my master's teaching.