What scares me the most? It’s not skydiving (though throwing myself out of a plane ranks pretty high on my nope list). It’s not public speaking, either, although my palms practically turn into waterfalls every time I have to grab a mic. For me, the thing that truly terrifies me is vulnerability—the moments that demand I take the guardrails off, ditch the script, and let someone see me exactly as I am.

Letting someone in feels a little like living in an impeccably designed glass house that’s surrounded by kids armed with BB guns. Because honestly, what if they see the “real you”—the quirks, the flaws, the embarrassingly strong opinions about pineapple on pizza—and decide they’re not into it? Vulnerability feels risky. Unsafe. Like your heart might get dinged up in the process. And yet, time and time again, I choose to face it. Here’s why.

Fear Is a Kooky, Yet Well-Meaning Friend

Let’s start with a hard truth: fear is rarely rational, especially in relationships. My fear of vulnerability whispers all sorts of unhelpful things—“You’re too much,” “What if they ghost you after you tell them that embarrassing story about Napa?”—as if loneliness is somehow safer than connection. But here’s the twist: fear isn’t necessarily trying to sabotage me. It’s just trying to keep me safe, albeit in the clumsiest way possible.

Fear is like that friend who binge-watched too many true crime shows and now triple-checks the locks every night. You can’t blame them for being cautious, but you also can’t let them run your life. When fear pipes up, I listen (briefly), thank it for trying to protect me, and then gently tell it to have a seat.

The Truth About Vulnerability (It’s Messy, But Worth It)

There’s this persistent myth about vulnerability that irks me: the idea that it’s synonymous with weakness. Sure, it might look that way from the outside—tears, messy confessions, awkward pauses—but I’d argue the opposite. Vulnerability is for the brave. Imagine standing on a cliff and diving headfirst into water you’ve never swum in before. It’s exhilarating, yes, but it also feels like you might belly-flop. Big-time.

The first time I told someone I loved them, I was certain it was going to be my social undoing. As a California kid raised in a family that prized politeness over emotional theatrics, I hadn’t had a lot of practice in the “say what you feel” department. But when I said the words, however clumsily, they were returned in kind. (Cue Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere” playing in my head—hello, dopamine!)

That moment shifted me. I realized that by letting someone see the messy, unpolished parts of me, I could actually create deeper connections. It was proof that while vulnerability doesn’t always guarantee a fairytale ending, it does make whatever happens next more real, more meaningful.

When Fear Shows Up During “The Talk”

And oh, does fear love to crash in during pivotal relationship moments. You know the scenes I’m talking about. The ones straight out of a Netflix rom-com where the lead characters finally sit down to DTR (define the relationship). My most recent episode of DTR-induced fear? Summer, Santa Monica Pier, late-night churros.

I wanted to tell the person I was dating that I saw a future with them. Mid-bite of churro, though, my internal monologue turned into a disaster movie script: "What if they don’t feel the same? What if I keep jogging along the Santa Monica beachfront solo forever?"

Here’s what I’ve learned about foiling fear’s plot:

  1. Take it slow – Vulnerability doesn’t mean sharing every deep, dark secret on the first date. Start small. Test the waters. For me, it was confessing my undying love of cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies. If they could get on board with my annual “so-bad-but-so-good” December movie marathons, they were probably safe territory for bigger confessions.

  2. Set your intention – Before opening up, get real with yourself. Why are you sharing this? For me, wanting to map out that future conversation wasn’t about forcing an answer—it was about establishing clarity in the relationship. Fear tends to chill out when you’re clear about your “why.”

  3. Leave space for the unknown – The toughest part of vulnerability is the outcome you can’t control. They might not say “I feel the same.” But here’s the thing: not putting your cards on the table only guarantees a game of guesswork. (And let’s be real, who ever won a poker game by never making a single move?)

Reframing Fears As Challenges

One of the greatest lessons I’ve learned from writing about the environment is that uncertainty is inevitable. Every day, we face big, overwhelming challenges—like climate change—that require us to step out of our comfort zones. And in some ways, relationships aren’t so different. Both demand vulnerability. Both require patience. And both remind me of the need to throw planning out the window sometimes and, well, just show up.

Take hiking, for example. Whenever I travel up the California coast, I force myself to take on a trail with a steep incline. The daunting climb, the shaky calves, the smug mountain bikers whizzing by—it’s all worth the payoff: that golden coastal view at the top. Vulnerability in relationships? Same deal. It’s the aching, scary uphill climb to get to a place that takes your breath away.

What You Gain by Letting Go

Here’s the unexpected reward of facing down vulnerability: it has a ripple effect. By embracing it in your relationships, you start doing the same in other parts of your life. Conversations become richer. Friendships grow deeper. You get more comfortable being the weird, wonderful, one-and-only version of you in a world that badly needs authenticity.

So yes, I still get scared. Every single time. I still hear fear’s voice over-analyzing my text messages (“Was that joke about sea otters and commitment too much??”). But I’ve also come to see fear not as a stop sign, but as a green light. Because if something scares me, it probably means it’s worth exploring.

And that’s why I do it anyway. Not to please anyone, not to check off a box, but because life—and love—is far too short to stay safe behind the edges of your own comfort zone.

Final Thought: Step Off the Cliff

If vulnerability has been feeling like cliff-diving to you, think of this as your nudge to take the leap. No, there’s no guarantee it’ll go perfectly. It probably won’t; you might sputter out the wrong words. But there’s something so sweetly human about boldly diving into the unknown. And maybe, just maybe, what’s waiting on the other side isn’t the free fall you anticipated—it’s someone, steady and smiling, waiting to catch you.

From my heart to yours: try it. Fear’s along for the ride whether you like it or not, but you’re the one steering. Buckle up, hold your breath, and see where the journey takes you. After all, the coastline’s always more beautiful when you face the waves head-on.