There’s a saying among my people: “The greatest journey begins with a single step.” Nowhere does this hit me harder than when I’m staring at what scares me most—challenges that demand vulnerability, resilience, or (gulp!) the kind of courage that makes your palms sweat like the Arizona summer heat. You know, the stuff most of us would rather avoid altogether.

But here’s the thing: I’ve learned that what scares me isn’t there to stop me—it’s there to teach me. And honestly? The lessons have been life-changing. Not the “I just learned how to fold a fitted sheet” kind of life-changing, though. I’m talking the deep, gut-punching realizations that get you out of your comfort zone and closer to the person you want to be. So today, I’m pulling back the curtain and sharing how I face my fears (even when they make me want to run screaming like I’m in the worst rom-com ever)—and why I choose to do it anyway.

The Quiet Fear: Letting People In

Let’s start with the big kahuna of fear: vulnerability. Growing up in a Navajo family, where storytelling was practically a competitive sport, I learned early all the ways love could go sideways. There were tales about heartbreak as sharp as a yucca thorn and warnings whispered with the gravity usually reserved for storm clouds rolling in. The message was clear: Protect yourself. Guard what matters most.

And, wow, did I take that to heart! I became a pro at keeping my armor polished and close. Friends only ever got to see the sunny, honey-I’m-fine version of me. Dating? Forget it. Attempting to connect on a soul-deep level felt like trying to hug a cactus—equal parts painful and impossible.

But then came a moment in college that cracked me open. I was standing in a snowy Vermont field (romantic, right?) with a guy I liked but didn’t quite trust, and he asked me, point-blank: “Why don’t you let people see the real you?” Cue the internal panic, followed by a long, awkward silence, and finally the truth slipping out.

Because it’s easier to build walls than invite anyone through the door.

That revelation changed everything. It hit me like a good powwow drumbeat: Claiming my humanity—in all its messy glory—wasn’t a flaw to hide. It was my power. And so began my years-long process of letting people in, one brave step at a time.

What You Can Do:
- Practice small acts of vulnerability—like sharing that embarrassing childhood story or admitting that you’re still afraid of the dark (same, to be honest).
- Remind yourself that vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s the birthplace of connection. Whenever I get stuck, I like to think of Brene Brown as a relationship Jedi Master reminding us all of this truth.

The Flashy Fear: Chasing Big Dreams

Let me take you back to January 2020. I had just quit my stable day job to become a writer full-time. There I was, laptop in hand, somewhere between terrified and exhilarated, betting on myself with the kind of blind faith you only see in romantic comedies and baking competition shows.

It felt… reckless. Like I’d tossed a perfectly good blanket off into the desert wind and left myself exposed. And yet, every cell in my body said: This is what you’re meant to do, Tiana.

Of course, chasing that dream wasn’t seamless. There were the lowest lows: rejection emails that felt like arrows, late nights wondering if I’d have to go back to smoothing over bureaucratic headaches. And the highest highs: getting published for the first time and realizing people actually resonated with my voice.

Chasing a dream isn’t glamorous. Some days, it’s gritty. Other days, it’s glorious. But always—yes, always—it’s worth it.

What You Can Do:
- Surround yourself with people who root for you. I had my mom, who may as well be the queen of pep talks, and my cousins, who always knew when I needed to hear, “You’ve got this.”
- Break the big goal into bite-sized steps. Dreams are daunting; progress is doable.

The Most Relatable Fear: Loving (and Losing)

Now we’re in deep. Loving someone or something doesn’t just feel risky—it’s the ultimate leap of faith. Whether it’s taking the plunge on a relationship, committing to a partnership, or even loving yourself enough to say “no” when you need to, all love is a balancing act. It teeters between joy and the possibility of loss.

One of my hardest lessons came during a breakup that took more out of me than I could’ve imagined. I’d poured so much of myself into our future that I forgot to leave room for just me. When it ended, I felt like the ground had fallen out from under my feet. Every happy song made me roll my eyes. I avoided farmers' markets because it was “our thing.” You get it—I was a rom-com tragic montaged into real life.

But as heartache often does, it gave me the chance to rebuild. I understood that good love—real love—isn’t about losing yourself to someone else. It’s about finding the space to grow alongside them.

What You Can Do:
- Allow yourself to hurt when love feels heavy. Feel it, and then release it. The process takes time, but every small step forward (even deleting the playlist that reminds you of your ex) matters.
- Remember the love you lose doesn’t eclipse the love still waiting beyond the next horizon. Keep your heart open.

The Biggest Fear: Becoming Who I’m Meant to Be

If I’ve learned anything about fear, it’s that all roads lead back to this—the ultimate confrontation with the person staring at you in the mirror. For me, it’s been about asking: Who am I really? What do I value? Can I live in alignment with my roots, my spirit, and the future I’m creating all at once?

It’s scary to stand at the crossroads of tradition and modernity—a spot I find myself lingering in often. As a Navajo woman who writes about love, life, and culture, I grapple with holding space for both. But every time I fear not measuring up, I remember the stories my aunties shared by the fire. Stories of warriors who trusted their path even when the way seemed unclear. And I try to channel that bravery into my own life.

Standing in your truth is intimidating. It requires you to own what’s complicated—and trust it’s okay to take your time figuring it out.

What You Can Do:
- Tune out what everyone else expects of you and ask yourself some real questions. What lights you up? What quiets your mind when things get loud? Follow those threads.
- Take cues from nature: plants don’t rush to grow, and the sun doesn’t hurry to rise. Neither should you.

Why I Keep Choosing Fear

I won’t sugar-coat this: Facing your fears is rarely pretty. You’ll cry in the car (in my case, parked in a dusty stretch of desert), ugly-laugh at the absurdity of it all, and occasionally wish for a fast-forward button. But in the end, fear isn’t your enemy—it’s your teacher. And its ultimate lesson is this: You are capable of more than you think, braver than you feel, and stronger than you realize.

Choose to face the fear anyway. It doesn’t just make for a good story—it makes for a better, bolder you.