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

Fear Is a Funny Thing (Until It Isn’t)

Let's get this out of the way: I hate heights. Roller coasters? Nope. Roof decks with those clear glass railings? Not unless I’m clinging to the wall like I’m auditioning for a low-budget Spider-Man reboot. Even the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier got a hard pass from me for years. I don’t like feeling out of control, plain and simple. Maybe it’s because I grew up on the South Side of Chicago, where control—over your safety, your future, or even the tone of your voice in certain situations—was something you never took for granted.

So when my friend Andre convinced me to go indoor rock climbing last year—"It’s only like 30 feet off the ground, bro!"—my first reaction was to remind him that I still had a will to live. But he persisted, throwing in the ever-compelling argument that "you might actually grow as a person." Great. Now I was climbing walls for personal development.

What scared me even more than leaving solid ground, though, was the deeper fear it dredged up. Was this hesitation about a wall of fake rocks … or was it about me?

It's Not Just Heights—It’s Vulnerability

I’ve come to realize my fear of heights has a sibling: my fear of being vulnerable. And just like heights, vulnerability makes you feel off-balance, exposed, and completely open to the possibility of falling (emotionally, anyway).

You see, I’m one of those people who likes to be “the rock.” The steady one. Mr. Reliable. Maybe that comes from my mom, who used to joke that her job as an English teacher wasn’t just about grammar but also counseling every stressed-out kid who walked through her door. Or maybe it’s the South Side in me, where showing emotional cracks could sometimes feel like flashing a neon “kick me” sign.

But relationships? Real ones? Yeah, they demand vulnerability. Love requires you to drop the act, show your messiest sides, and trust someone not to run for the exit. And as someone who’s more comfortable being the strong, silent jazz instrumental than the raw, exposed vocal solo, opening up hasn’t always been my strong suit.

Why I Keep Climbing (Literally and Figuratively)

So, yeah. Rock climbing. I didn’t just go once. A few months after Andre’s sly challenge, I signed up for another session. And, let me tell you, it wasn't just to post a sweaty, triumphant selfie on Instagram (though, yes, that happened). It was because I discovered something surprising up there on the wall: the climb and the fear coexisted. I didn’t magically stop being scared. But I didn’t let the fear stop me, either.

In the same way, vulnerability in relationships doesn’t mean you stop being scared of rejection, disappointment, or heartbreak. It means you show up anyway. You keep climbing, even when your palms are sweaty, your heart is racing, and the ground looks miles away.

Lessons From the Wall (and the Heart)

After a couple of humiliating slips on those brightly colored climbing holds, I started seeing some parallels between scaling a wall and navigating relationships. Here’s what I took away:

  • Trust the Gear (and Your Partner): Whether it’s the harness strapped to you or the friend (or significant other) holding the rope below, trust is key. Learning to lean into that trust is terrifying at first, but when you do, you realize you don’t have to grip everything so hard.

  • Let Go of Perfection: Rock climbing—and love—don’t come with a script. You’ll mess up. You’ll grab the wrong hold or say the wrong thing. But every “mistake” is just part of the climb. In fact, the only way you fail is if you stop trying altogether.

  • Celebrate Every Win: I used to think “wins” only counted if they were headline-worthy. But sometimes, standing still on a tricky hold—or having a tough-but-honest conversation—is enough win for the day. Take the moment.

Relatable Failures, Relatable Growth

Let me be real for a sec: confronting fears doesn’t always look brave and polished. Sometimes it looks like the time I froze on a particularly high part of the wall and made Andre yell, “You are NOT about to spend the night up there!” Or the time I shared something personal with someone I cared about, only to feel like I’d overshared. I won’t lie—the sting of vulnerability gone wrong hurts like slipping off the holds five feet from the top.

But the thing is, vulnerability builds muscle. It teaches you how to get back on the wall, on the horse, or in the conversation—even after you’ve fallen. And just like the soreness after a good workout, the discomfort is proof that you’re growing.

A Word to My Fellow Scaredy-Cats

If you’ve been sidelining your fears—or your own emotional growth—here’s my advice: Don’t try to think yourself out of fear. You can’t outsmart it. You have to step into it instead.

Maybe for you, that’s initiating that tough talk you’ve been avoiding with your partner. Or asking out that intriguing stranger you’ve caught smiling at you from across the coffee shop. Or, heck, signing up for an indoor climbing class even though your legs are already shaking just thinking about it.

The Good Stuff Is Worth the Risk

I can’t say I’ve completely conquered my fear of heights. Put me on the Willis Tower Skydeck, and I’ll still break into a sweat (real Chicagoans don’t call it “The Sears Tower,” but my terror doesn’t care what it’s called). The same goes for my discomfort with vulnerability—it’s not a one-and-done kind of thing. But showing up for the climb teaches me, again and again, that courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s taking the right risks in spite of it.

Because here’s the truth: The good stuff, the real stuff, isn’t found where it’s comfortable. It’s on the other side of your fears, whether that’s heartbreak or heights. And the journey? That’s the part that makes you worth loving—scared, sweaty palms and all.