The Fear I Conquered

The First Date That Terrified Me

Fear isn’t always rational. Case in point? I’ve walked red carpets in dresses held together by faith and double-sided tape. I’ve pitched story ideas to executives who wore poker faces so stoic they could have been Botoxed. But I was utterly terrified the first time I sang Happy Birthday to a guy I was dating.

Let’s back up. I’m not talking about Marilyn Monroe-style seduction crooning. I’m saying I led a group rendition in a Chili’s on someone’s birthday—for my then-boyfriend, surrounded by his friends and family. My voice cracked at “deeeaaar Todd,” and I swear a busboy flinched.

Because here’s the truth I never told anyone: for most of my life, I was terrified of public vulnerability. Singing in Chili’s? Vulnerability. Asking someone out? Vulnerability. Being the first person to say “I love you”? Nuclear-level vulnerability. I built my life around the illusion that I could glide through relationships untouched by fear and rejection. Spoiler alert: you can’t. And it took one painfully awkward breakup and several soulful self-talks to unearth why—and start changing it for good.

My (Completely Logical) Fear of Looking Stupid

Let me take you back to growing up Goldstein in the knockout perfection factory that was Beverly Hills. Being vulnerable? Not exactly in vogue. You learn fast that looking vulnerable—or worse, unpolished—gets you relegated to supporting-cast status in the daily soap opera of your friend group. So, I clung to my perfection armor like it was Chanel couture—layered thick and strung with dry-clean-only labels that warned, “Do Not Appear Weird or Pathetic in Front of Others.”

Fast-forward to adult Becca, and I’d carried this into my love life. Sure, I’d go on dates. I’d laugh at their jokes. I’d even share light-hearted anecdotes about that time I dropped nacho cheese on an Oscar winner’s shoe (true story, sorry, Jeff Goldblum). But real emotional risk? Nope. I pulled the equivalent of glam-diving into the pool's shallow end—good enough to impress, but never deep.

The Messy Fallout (And the Overdue Wake-Up Call)

Let me introduce you to the human wrecking ball who changed everything: Ben. Ben was heart-on-sleeve personified. He was the guy who wouldn’t just hold your hand at the farmer’s market but would kiss it dramatically mid-apple selection. I told myself that his emotional openness was endearing (which it was)—until he cracked open my shell and I froze.

He told me “I love you” one night after a French movie at a tucked-away theater in Santa Monica. No big preamble, no build. Just, “I love you,” like he was commenting on the weather.

What did I say back? “Thank you!”

Spoiler alert: “Thank you” followed by a polite grin is not the stuff true romance is built on. Things fizzled within weeks. Maybe the most painful part wasn’t losing Ben—it was being forced to reckon with why I could critique plot holes but couldn’t admit my own feelings.

The Tiny Horrifying Steps That (Finally) Helped

I’m going to get real here. If Instagram captions are to be believed, facing fear is this gorgeous, courage-filled montage of yoga poses and empowering quotes. My reality? Utter awkwardness.

I started small. Too small, if I’m being honest. I interrupted people less when they were sharing something vulnerable. I had a drink with a friend who confessed her own break-up fears—and instead of trying to make her laugh it off, I said, “Yeah, that must hurt.” Baby steps.

Next, I took on the bigger stage—literally. For years, one of my favorite coffee shops hosted open mic nights, and I’d never worked up the courage to even sign up. But right after the “Thank you, Ben” fiasco, I scribbled my name on the list. And look, I wasn’t about to pull a Lady Gaga, but I read a short piece I’d written about the pressure of perfection and learning to let go. One person clapped. One person! And honestly? It was perfect.

What Facing Fear Actually Did

Here’s the thing people don’t tell you: vulnerability, like any skill, gets easier the more you practice it. Taking emotional risks in dating became less terrifying. When someone I really wanted to go out with texted, “What’s your weekend look like?” I responded honestly instead of pretending I had to schedule them between Pilates and a fictitious “meeting” (a trick I’d perfected).

Then came the big leap: saying the terrifying, soul-baring, “I love you” first. Did my stomach drop faster than Splash Mountain? Absolutely. But hearing it mirrored back was worth the moment of sheer terror.

Practical Wisdom I Picked Up Along the Way

Let’s get practical for a second, because I know we’re all here for actual takeaways, not just me embarrassing myself:

  • Start with sincerity over perfection. Whether it’s admitting feelings or cracking out a karaoke ballad, know that it doesn’t have to look polished to be real. People connect with authenticity, not an airbrushed version of you.
  • Ask yourself what’s really at stake. Before every vulnerable moment, I’d catastrophize the consequences. “If I do this, I’ll look weak, they’ll ghost me, I’ll die alone with ten cats.” But when you break it down—even the worst “what ifs” are rarely as bad as we imagine.
  • Treat vulnerability like a habit. You wouldn’t expect to ace a marathon if you’ve never jogged a mile. Consider each step—whether it’s being honest about your feelings, or singing Happy Birthday in public (again, sorry Chili’s)—as training. You’ll get better the more you do it.
  • Be a little self-deprecating, but not too much. Vulnerability doesn’t require you to be a sad-sack rom-com lead (though shoutout to all of us who’ve ugly-cried to Bridget Jones at least once). Light humor can actually help you land your sentiment without feeling too exposed.

Embrace the (Sometimes Hilarious) Mess

Here’s the kicker: leaning into vulnerability won’t erase your fears entirely. Even now, my palms get a little sweaty asking for what I need—or saying the scary thing like, “I want this to be more than casual.” But the difference is, I do it anyway. And what I’ve learned is this: sometimes the most memorable connections come not from controlling the things you fear, but surrendering to them.

Case in point? My current partner. A few dates in, while sitting at Jon & Vinny’s in LA, I confessed that I’d once introduced myself to Paul Rudd, only to forget my own name halfway through. Not exactly an “I’m cool and mysterious” moment. But you know what? He laughed. I laughed. And it set the tone for a relationship built not on posturing—but on honesty, no matter how ridiculous.

So here’s what I leave you with: being brave enough to look a little stupid might just be the smartest thing you ever do. Forget the Instagram-perfect montage—embrace the parts that feel unscripted, dorky, and unexpected. Whether it’s rising emotions in a crowded Chili’s or saying “I love you,” putting your real self out there is worth every vulnerable, sweaty-palmed second.