I still remember the exact moment I decided my fear had to go. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon at Amelia Earhart Park in Hialeah. My cousin Isabel, queen of unsolicited opinions, looked over at me during our family picnic and said, “Raúl, you’re not a kid anymore. When are you going to stop being scared of putting yourself out there?” She meant it in that classic Cuban way—half loving, half exasperated, and 100% intended to embarrass. But here’s the thing: she wasn’t wrong. My fear of rejection, of being truly vulnerable, wasn’t cute anymore. It was holding me back—not just in dating, but in how I approached life entirely.

Growing up in a bustling Cuban bakery where every inch of your life was up for neighborhood debate, I became a master at sidestepping anything that might get turned into someone else's chisme. I didn't just avoid rejection; I avoided risk like my mom avoided measuring cups when making flan (seriously, it was all by instinct). Throw in my natural inclination to overthink, and pursuing any kind of meaningful relationship seemed about as appealing as learning calculus in 90-degree heat.

But here’s where the fear of rejection gets sneaky. It doesn’t always feel like you’re afraid of being turned down. It disguises itself as “Who has the time?” or “I’m just focusing on me right now” when really, each small avoidance is just another brick in the wall between you and what you want. So here’s the story of how this proud Hialeah-raised maestro of over-analysis decided to tear down that wall one brick at a time. Spoiler: It was messy, embarrassing, and absolutely worth it.

Facing Fear is Like Dancing Salsa

You Will Definitely Step on Some Toes

Rejection and I first locked eyes under dim, romantic lighting during my early 20s. I found myself pulling off one of my grandest avoidance techniques: being the flirt without ever making a move. You know, cracking jokes, being the funny guy in the group, but retreating before things got real. Comedy, while it’s fun, had become my armor. It’s easy to throw up a quip about your favorite Cuban singer or compare someone’s laugh to Celia Cruz’s when you're not actually risking anything.

But one night at a salsa night in Tallahassee—yes, they have those—someone called me out. I had flirted my way around conversations with this girl named Ana like a pianist riffing scales, but as soon as she leaned in, like she might actually say something serious, I panicked. She noticed. "You’re one of those, huh?" she said with a smirk. "Big personality, small follow-through." Ouch.

It should’ve been embarrassing (and it was), but her words stayed with me. It was as if she’d highlighted a truth I wasn’t ready to face. Here’s the reality: life—and especially dating—isn’t a perfectly choreographed salsa. You step on toes, miss beats, and sometimes get your oversized ego bruised. But none of that happens if you don’t step onto the floor.

The Bakery Chronicles: Mess Up, Clean Up, Try Again

When I was 13, my dad let me help out in the bakery on Saturday mornings. "Let me help out" included burning three trays of pastelitos de guayaba because I refused to use a timer. "I can remember on my own," I’d said confidently. My abuela in the corner muttered something about how "stubbornness will cost you." (Okay, Tía Lety, we get it.)

That moment replayed in my mind the first (and second, and fifth) time I actually put myself out there after Ana’s comment. Whether we’re talking dating, meeting new people, or just being vulnerable as a human, you're going to mess up. Maybe you’ll say something awkward and feel like disappearing into a portal to another dimension. Or maybe someone will ghost you, leaving you in your feelings with nothing but a bag of croquetas for comfort (highly recommend).

The thing is, messing up is part of the recipe. Burnt pastelitos don’t mean you never try to bake again. It means you learn, laugh at yourself, and preheat the oven next time. Courage isn’t the absence of screw-ups; it’s being willing to keep going even when you’re not smooth, polished, or perfect.

Vulnerability: A Lesson in Timing (and Putting Down the Armor)

Here’s what they don’t tell you about vulnerability—it feels awkward. Straight-up, cringey awkward. But putting yourself out there isn’t about always being suave or clever; it’s about showing up as you are.

The first time I called someone I really liked and asked them out—no jokes, no “let me know if you’re free” escape routes—my voice cracked. CRACKED. Like I suddenly went through puberty again. “I’d…uh…like to take you to the new exhibit at the HistoryMiami museum,” my voice squeaked into the phone. And yet, even as my face warmed to a temperature unsafe for human existence, the person said yes. Not because I nailed it, but because I was honest and tried. There’s a charm in showing your imperfect, unfiltered self.

Fear Doesn't Vanish—It Shrinks With Practice

Here’s another thing they don’t tell you: you’re never completely fearless. The fear doesn’t magically evaporate one day, no matter how many Disney movies you’ve absorbed. (Looking at you, Elsa.) What happens, instead, is familiarity. You learn to recognize fear's voice, accept that it’s there, and proceed anyway.

I won’t lie—there are still moments when the fear creeps up, whispering, “Do you really think this will go well?” like a melodramatic telenovela villain. But after enough times confronting it, you start answering back: “Maybe not. But we’ll survive it anyway, won’t we?” That’s the practice part. Over time, the big, insurmountable fear gets smaller, less powerful, and ultimately, just a thing.

What I’d Tell You Over a Cafecito

So, you’re sitting across from me, cafecito steaming in those tiny cups, considering whether it’s worth taking the risk to really put yourself out there—whether that’s asking someone out, saying how you feel, or chasing something you truly want. Here’s what I’d say:

  • Rejection isn’t personal. Life’s full of timing, chemistry, and factors outside your control. Someone’s “no” doesn’t make you any less worthy.
  • Laugh at yourself, often. Awkwardness is universal. You’re not the first to trip over your words, and you won’t be the last.
  • Celebrate your courage. Showing up takes guts. Applaud yourself for trying, even if it doesn’t go perfectly.
  • Keep stepping onto the dance floor. Whether it’s love, work, or karaoke night at your local bar—start showing up. The worst thing that happens is you learn something new about yourself.

Because at the end of the day, conquering fear doesn’t mean demolishing it. It means living through it, pastelitos burned and salsa missteps and all. And isn’t that messy, nerve-wracking, and joyful process what makes life (and love) so delicious?