What Scares Me the Most (and Why I Do It Anyway)

Most people assume my biggest fear is something outdoorsy—a surprise avalanche during a winter hike or waking up tangled in my tent with a bear sniffing my trail mix stash. After all, as someone who grew up scaling the Flatirons and whose entire Instagram is a love letter to the Rockies, nature seems like the obvious place to look for my vulnerabilities. But no, my greatest fear comes not from the wilderness but from something far more terrifying: vulnerability itself.

And what’s the arena where vulnerability is most inescapable, raw, and awkward? Relationships. Nothing tests your courage (or ego) quite like baring your soul to another person, especially when the stakes feel high and your inner critic won't shut up.

So, here's the kicker: being scared of relationships doesn’t stop me from diving into them headfirst. Because some fears are worth facing, even when they twist your stomach into backpacker-grade knots. Here’s why I knowingly dance with dread—and how you can move through fear toward something deeper, truer, and maybe even beautiful.

The "Fight or Flight" Moment

Think of dating like standing at the edge of a cliff during a sunrise hike. You know that taking in the view will be breathtaking, but it also reminds you just how far you’d have to fall if something goes wrong. That’s what it’s like for me when I open up—both magical and wildly uncomfortable.

Here’s an example: once, during what I thought was a casual fourth date, the woman I was seeing asked, “What scares you most about falling in love?” And while the inner nature bro in me wanted to deflect by making a joke about poison ivy or bear attacks, I froze. There it was. The big question. Flee and make a quippy excuse about needing to check on my compost pile—or answer honestly?

Reader, I told her the truth: “That someone could know everything about me and walk away anyway. That after all that effort and openness, it still won’t be enough.” The words hung between us like morning dew, fragile yet impossible to ignore. While part of me expected her to bolt, she nodded. “Same.” And despite my clammy palms and sudden desire to retreat to the nearest trailhead, we had one of the most illuminating conversations I’ve ever had about fear, connection, and trust.

Takeaway: When you’re in fight-or-flight mode, fight the urge to run. Lean in, even if it means sweating through your shirt and eating vulnerability like it’s charred marshmallow around a campfire—messy but worth it.

Why It’s So Hard (and Why That’s Okay)

Let’s get one thing straight: being scared in relationships doesn’t make you weaker or “less healed.” Fear simply means you’re human. Show me someone who claims to fear nothing in love, and I’ll show you someone who’s either lying or using avoidance as their unofficial love language.

In high school, I thought I wasn’t afraid of emotional intimacy because I was great at conversations that didn’t actually go places. You know the surface-level stuff—favorite bands, preferred hiking routes, Twilight versus Harry Potter discourse (I went through a phase; let’s move on). At the time, I confused openness with oversharing facts. But real emotional intimacy? That’s the stuff that comes from being honest about your flaws—not just listing your streaming passwords.

It’s hard because it matters. Vulnerability is an emotional hike at altitude, challenging and thin-air dizzying, but you don’t get to the summit by avoiding all the switchbacks. (Wow, I’m really leaning into hiking metaphors here, aren’t I?)

Here’s permission to stop seeing fear as a personal failure and start recognizing it as a signal. Fear doesn’t mean something is insurmountable, just that it’s worth facing.

My Personal Toolkit for Running at My Fears

I’ve developed some strategies for tackling emotional fear—not because I’m perfect at it, but because I’ve wiped out enough times to know I need better gear if I'm going to keep climbing. Feel free to borrow these!

  • Reframe fear as investment. Starting something that scares you means you’re on the brink of meaningful growth. It’s not a threat; it’s a signpost that you’re exactly where you need to be.

  • Practice mini “exposures.” Instead of waiting for that big, cinematic moment to be vulnerable (cue dramatic movie score and misty sunrise), start small. Share something personal but low-stakes and see what happens. It trains your brain to recognize that honesty doesn’t equal disaster (or rejection).

  • Call out your inner critic. My inner narrator sounds like a mix of a grade school bully and that mean judge from The Great British Bake Off. (“You’re underbaked emotionally, mate!”) When the critic starts, I counter with logic or humor. It’s amazing how naming your doubts aloud—preferably to a friend—takes their power down a peg.

  • Solidarity scares the fear monster. Vulnerability loves company. When I told that date about my fear, her “same” was crucial. Look for people who match your honesty instead of recoiling from it. It’s like trekking into a storm with someone who also packed a rain jacket—they get it.

  • Cut yourself slack. Fear will sneak back in sometimes, no matter how much progress you've made. It’s not about eliminating it permanently but learning to coexist with it: "Hey, Fear, I see you sitting over there. Stay put—I’m busy loving someone today."

What Happens When You Go All In

Here’s the surprising thing about welcoming fear instead of banishing it: it makes you more daring. Like finally crossing that nerve-wracking suspension bridge between two mountain peaks, you discover you didn’t plummet to your doom. More importantly, you see life from a new perspective.

Getting vulnerable doesn’t make you weak—it builds emotional strength in the same way lugging a heavy backpack during a long hike builds endurance. Sure, your legs (and your heart) are sore at first. But over time, it’s THAT muscle memory that helps you keep showing up—even when the terrain gets rocky.

For me, confronting my biggest fear has gifted me with deeper relationships and with steady reminders that being known fully is worth the risk. I might still sweat excessively when it’s my turn to share feelings at a dinner party, or second-guess sending a text where I’ve finally admitted the obvious (“Hey, I like you. Like, like like you.”). But I do it anyway. Every little plunge into vulnerability gets me closer to love that doesn’t just skim the surface but sinks roots deep into the soil.

Your Fear Is the Map

Sure, the journey of relationships is scary. Fear whispers lies like “You’ll never be enough” or “It’s safer to stay guarded.” But here’s the trick: some fears aren’t meant to stop you. They’re meant to guide you. Like a good trail map, your fear shows you where the difficult, worthwhile climbs are—and they’re always worth it.

So, my advice? Lace up your boots, pack some courage, and don’t let fear be the trail guide. Be vulnerably human, messy and brave all at once. Remember, it’s not about conquering fear—it’s about knowing it’s there and daring to hike forward anyway.