What’s scarier: a grizzly bear lumbering toward you or telling someone you’re falling for them? For me, it’s a toss-up. I’ve had close encounters with both, and let me assure you—the stakes feel equally high. One happened on a hiking trail in the Cabinet Mountains when I wandered (foolishly) too close to a wild blackberry patch. The other? A more figurative wilderness of vulnerability with someone I wasn’t sure would feel the same way.

Spoiler alert: in neither case did I meet my untimely demise. But fear? Fear was there. Fossilized into my chest like something you’d find in an Idaho quarry. And yet—fear doesn’t scare me quite the way it used to. These days, I almost welcome it because, in my experience, tackling the big, scary things is where life gets good.

Here’s what I’ve learned about facing the fears that stalk us, whether they’re in the natural world or the wild terrain of our relationships.

The Fear of Being Seen

Let’s get real: few things are more terrifying than being seen—really seen. I’m not talking about the version of you that shows up polished and witty in a group photo or on a first date, the “best self” that smells faintly of freshly brewed coffee and competence. I mean the you who ugly cries at Pixar movies, who secretly googles “is this mole normal,” and who sometimes hits snooze on your personal growth.

This fear showed up for me like clockwork when I started dating again after a breakup. There I was, curled up in my flannel pajamas in a tiny cabin near Lake Coeur d'Alene, thinking about the audacity of trying again. What if I showed someone all of me and they decided, “Nah, that’s not for me”? It’s like handing someone your favorite book and watching them use it as a coaster.

What helped? A mindset shift. I reminded myself that even the most beautiful things have cracks—just visit any Idaho hot spring surrounded by volcanic rock if you don’t believe me. The cracks aren’t flaws; they’re part of the story. Putting that mindset into practice wasn’t easy, but I started small: sharing a personal anecdote here, admitting I didn’t know something there. Over time, I realized that most people find your cracks fascinating, maybe even endearing.

So, when in doubt, ask yourself: what’s scarier—being rejected for who you really are or spending your whole life hiding it? Exactly.

The Fear of Failure

This one hits close to home. Growing up in a family that ran a lakeside resort meant summers filled with tourists depending on us to make their vacations magical. Talk about pressure. If we flubbed a boat rental reservation or burned through our stock of s’mores kits too early in the week, it felt like the world might implode (or at least catch fire like the citronella candles we “borrowed” from the neighbors).

Those early lessons in failure stuck with me, bleeding into my personal relationships. When things got messy or didn’t seem to work, I’d jump straight to “I’ve ruined everything,” like I’d accidentally tipped a canoe mid-ride. But here’s the thing: failing at something—whether it’s a backyard cookout or a heart-to-heart—isn’t the end. It’s practice.

When I started thinking of failure as proof I was trying, it softened its edges. I stopped bracing for the inevitable “What if this falls apart?” and started asking, “What if this doesn’t?” Relationships aren’t science experiments where failure ruins your thesis. They’re rivers: twisting, unpredictable, but always moving and growing in some direction.

Now, when I know I’ve goofed—by missing someone’s cue or saying the wrong thing—I own it, apologize, and trust that imperfection is proof of being alive. Also, pro tip: a well-timed “I owe you dinner” can fix more than you’d expect.

The Fear of Uncertainty

Nobody tells you this before adulthood, but most of life feels like a choose-your-own-adventure book where someone’s ripped out all the ending pages. You don’t know if swiping right leads to your forever person or a six-week situationship. You don’t know if getting serious means happily ever after or heartbreak. It’s maddening, isn’t it?

Uncertainty feels like standing on a dock staring at a cold lake. You know the water’s going to be chilly, and you have two options: dive or tiptoe in one step at a time. Both choices are uncomfortable (I say this as someone who took approximately 35 minutes to ease into Lake Pend Oreille last summer).

My advice? Choose the dive. Just go for it—rip the Band-Aid off and trust that your body will adapt to the shock. When it came to my last relationship, the uncertainty was excruciating. It wasn’t just the big questions about whether we’d make it work but the smaller ones, too: Should I text him about that concert I think he’d love? Is three days too long to wait to say I miss him?

You know what helped? Leaning into the unknown. I balanced it with small acts of courage: texting saying “thinking of you” without an agenda, or making a plan even when I didn’t know what his week looked like. I focused on what I could control—my effort—and surrendered to what I couldn’t (like whether he shared my level of enthusiasm for outdoor Shakespeare festivals). Through it all, the water felt less cold over time.

A Game Plan for Facing Fear

If fear were a physical place, mine would look like a rugged Idaho ridgeline: breathtaking but slightly treacherous if you’re not prepared. Here’s your metaphorical trail map for navigating it:

  1. Name The Fear.
    It’s hard to tackle a mountain if you don’t know where the summit is. Be specific about what’s scaring you. Is it rejection? Vulnerability? Or, like, the prospect of your in-laws’ annual cornhole tournament? (Side note: It’s okay to despise cornhole.)

  2. Start Small.
    You don’t summit peaks in a single bound, and you don’t conquer complex emotions overnight. Share a little at first. Take one brave step, whether it’s asking someone their most embarrassing middle school memory or admitting you secretly love singing in the car to ’90s boy bands.

  3. Reframe The Stakes.
    More often than not, the worst-case scenario isn’t life-ending. So, you mess up a dinner reservation. Big deal—there’s great takeout around the corner. Your laugh snorts during that comedy show? Honestly, it’s kind of charming.

  4. Celebrate The Try.
    Every time you put yourself in fear’s path, you’re growing. Count every attempt as a victory—even if things don’t pan out. Gold stars for everyone.

Final Thoughts

What scares me the most? Being human. Loving people fiercely and imperfectly. Opening myself up to the possibility that someone may not love me back exactly the way I want. All of it feels like standing on the shore of a glacial lake, staring into its freezing depths. But the challenge is worth it, every single time.

Because when I push through the fear, I find something unexpected on the other side. Connection. Adventure. That indescribable feeling of knowing I took the leap, even if my landing wasn’t perfect.

So here’s my final takeaway: Be brave, even when your knees are shaky and your heart feels like it’s competing in a speed-skating event. Fear isn’t a sign to stop. It’s a sign you’re alive, standing at the edge of something extraordinary.