Step into my high school debate club for a second—yes, back to Boise High, where I wore blazers two sizes too big and treated Lincoln-Douglas debates like Olympic sport. It was here that I learned something pivotal: I could argue my way out of just about anything. Politics? Sure. Whether “Die Hard” is a Christmas movie? Please, hand me the mic. But there was one argument I could never win: the quiet tug-of-war between me and my deepest, most irrational fear. Public speaking? Nope, nailed that by freshman year. Spiders? I mean, who actually likes them? No, my foe was tougher, stealthier, and infinitely more awkward: rejection.

And not any rejection—the romantic kind. I could lead a committee meeting like it was an episode of “Parks and Recreation” (Leslie Knope energy full-blast), but the idea of putting my feelings on the line? Of risking someone looking me square in the eyes and saying “no thanks” to my face, my humor, my oversized heart? That fear held real estate in my brain for years. For the longest time, I did what many people do when faced with their own emotional kryptonite: I avoided it.

Spoiler alert: avoiding your deepest fear only makes it better if your problem is quicksand. Turns out, life has a way of forcing your hand—that is, if you let it. Here’s how I finally kicked rejection to the curb and, in doing so, learned how to be kinder to myself along the way.

Fear: The Potato Farmer's Daughter of All Anchors

Growing up in Boise’s North End, surrounded by the unpretentious charm of tree-lined streets and the smell of hops brewing at my parents’ craft brewery, I thought I had the “Idaho resilient woman” thing down. My grandparents farmed potatoes, for heaven’s sake—my DNA should’ve been tough as russet skin. But for every ounce of grit I had, there was an equal and opposite force: fear. I was chronically terrified of looking vulnerable. And the idea of being rejected? I’d have rather walked barefoot across our family farm post-harvest, dodging sharp rocks and lingering potato stalks.

Let me be clear: I didn’t lack bravery entirely. I also uprooted my life once to briefly live in Chicago (more on that later) and even clicked “publish” on some wildly personal essays. But dating? On that battlefield, I was more Fredo Corleone than Don Vito—a little fragile, a little lost. I kept my cards close to my chest, and my romantic history reflected it: missed shots, slow fades, and a Rolodex of “what-ifs.” Like that time a guy in my creative nonfiction class invited me to coffee and I said no preemptively because, heaven forbid, an “I’m not interested” might follow later. In hindsight, the coffee probably would’ve been fine. But my “rejection shield” led me to imagine every possible worst-case scenario, usually involving crushing embarrassment and awkward small talk in line for lattes.

Facing Fear in a Windy City

Sometimes, change blows gently into your life, like the soft Boise breeze that rolls off the foothills on an early spring morning. Other times? It’s a Chicago winter, the kind that slaps you across the face and demands you figure it out—fast. My fellowship in Chicago was marked less by journalism deadlines and a lot more by lessons in vulnerability. It was in the middle of that bustling, fast-talking city, over a hole-in-the-wall pizza date that wasn’t even very good (deep dish? Not for me), when I realized something: fear doesn’t actually protect you from anything. All it does is rob you of the chance to try—a realization that hit me harder than my first Idaho blackout IPA.

That “aha” moment didn’t magically transform me into a fearless romantic. But it planted a seed. One I watered slowly, with baby steps and plenty of self pep talks. I started saying “yes” more. A casual drink here. A movie date there. And then, the big one: when someone I actually liked—like, liked liked—asked if I wanted to go hiking, I said yes without overthinking it. Now, let me tell you: the only thing worse than rejection is being rejected while wheezing halfway up a steep incline five minutes into a date. But I learned something pivotal on that hike (besides the importance of carrying enough snacks): life feels better when you stop doing the rejecting for other people. You’re letting them make their own decisions. And whether they choose you or not, your value doesn’t budge.

The Practical Tools That Helped

Okay, friend, confession time: The fear of rejection doesn’t just evaporate when you have your romantic epiphanies on a dusty Chicago sidewalk—or, later, midway up a trail overlooking the Boise River. What it takes is practice. Here’s what worked for me (and trust me, these are tools even the shyest potato farmer’s daughter can use):

  • Practice micro-rejections. I once read that small exposures can lessen fear over time. So start small. Volunteer to pick a restaurant for dinner and survive someone saying, “Eh, not my vibe.” Or, if you’re like me and chronically over-apologize in emails, try going one full day without signing off “Sorry!” whenever you send a message. You’d be surprised by how good it feels to not needlessly self-inflate someone else’s approval.

  • Flip the script. What if, instead of seeing rejection as proof of your unworthiness, you viewed it as proof that you’re brave? If you never put yourself out there, you won’t grow. When someone once turned me down for a second date, I told myself, “Hey, at least I showed up ready to embrace possibility—did they?”

  • Give yourself closure—even in the small moments. Sometimes we stew in rejection not because of what it says about us but because we keep replaying unanswered questions in our minds. If it’s a failed date? Journal out what you learned, close the book, and maybe laugh a little. Even Netflix cancels its shows sometimes, and nobody blames the actors.

  • Anchor yourself to what’s real. My grandma used to say, “You can’t grow a crop if all you focus on is the frost.” Translation: stop catastrophizing. Rejection feels big in the moment, but most of the time? It’s a fleeting blip in the cosmic radar of your life. Let it sting, then focus on the good stuff—the people who already value you for who you are.

The Takeaway

Here’s the thing I learned on all those hikes, bad dates, and years spent dodging my biggest fear: rejection doesn’t define you. At best, it’s a needle, flicking you ever so gently toward the people and experiences you really belong with. At worst, it’s a story—a funny, slightly awkward memory you can tell your friends about years later over a pint from a downtown brewery.

And the real freedom? It’s realizing that rejection says more about the person saying “no” than it does about you. Turns out, you don’t need to win every connection to win at life. Your worth? It’s already baked in—take it from this thoroughly tenderhearted Idahoan.

Fear, as it turns out, is like my overgrown backyard garden after a hot August: messy, but manageable. All it takes is the right tools, a bit of patience, and the occasional laugh at the absurdity of it all. Whether it’s a high school debate or a first date, life’s better when you show up and just try—even when there’s a chance you might lose. And from personal experience? Winning feels all the sweeter when you’ve got nothing left to fear.