What if I told you that the thing I fear the most has nothing to do with spiders, public speaking, or accidentally sending a text meant for my best friend to someone I’m dating? (Although, let’s be real, that last one is a contender.) What actually keeps me up at night is the idea of showing up fully and letting someone see the unedited, behind-the-scenes version of me. Vulnerability—a word that sounds as delicate as a soap bubble but feels as terrifying as free-falling without a parachute.
And yet, I keep doing it. Over and over. Why? Because, even though it’s terrifying, I’m convinced it’s the only way to build something real. And nothing worth having comes without a deep breath and a willingness to take the plunge.
Let’s talk about why vulnerability is the emotional equivalent of bungee jumping—and why it’s worth every shaky step toward the ledge.
Fear 1: The Fear of Being Misunderstood
We’ve all been there. You’re sharing your weirdest, quirkiest story—the one about how your childhood nickname was “Croqueta” because of how much Cuban food you consumed—and instead of laughter, you’re met with a blank stare. Yikes.
For me, this fear stems from growing up straddling two cultures. The richness of my Cuban roots didn’t always translate well with people who didn’t know the difference between dominoes (the game) and Domino’s (the pizza). It felt safer to hide parts of myself. Why risk rejection when you can curate and edit, right?
Wrong. Over the years, I’ve learned that misunderstanding is inevitable. Not everyone will love every version of you—and that’s okay. The real ones will ask questions, lean in, and maybe even try your grandmother’s arroz con pollo recipe. But they need the chance to see the real you before they can love you for it.
My Rule of Thumb:
Lead with curiosity. Ask questions about their quirks and experiences, too. Connection isn’t a performance; it’s a two-way street. And if someone doesn’t get your love for plantains or your obsession with salsa music? No pasa nada. You’ll find someone who does.
Fear 2: The Fear of Rejection
Ah, rejection. It stings worse than a Cuban cafecito burned at the bottom of the pot, doesn’t it? Whether it’s the middle school crush who ghosted your note (yes, I’ve been ghosted since middle school) or the person who “wasn’t ready for a relationship,” being rejected feels deeply personal.
It took me playing poker with my abuela and hearing her say, “Mija, sometimes you fold a bad hand; sometimes the other person does,” to realize something. Rejection isn’t always about you. Sometimes, it’s about timing, compatibility, or even things entirely outside of your control (like their own baggage).
The more you’re willing to risk it, the more resilient you become. Trust me: bruises heal. I can’t count how many times my grandmother’s poker advice has reminded me not to take things so personally. Rejection isn’t a stop sign; it’s a detour in disguise.
My Rule of Thumb:
Every “no” gets you one step closer to the right “yes.” Each risk is a chance to learn—not just about others but about your own wants and needs. Spoiler: Once you commit to loving yourself first, rejection starts to lose its punch.
Fear 3: The Fear of Getting Messy
Relationships are messy. Like, “accidentally knocking over a mojito on a white tablecloth” messy. A classic example? The first time I introduced my boyfriend to my boisterous Cuban family. Over dinner, my uncle grilled him about his political opinions while my cousin blasted reggaetón from a speaker the size of a small refrigerator. In my head, I was shouting, Abort mission. Abort! He’s going to run for the hills.
But here’s the thing—I didn’t need to panic. He wasn’t expecting perfection, just authenticity. And that’s exactly what he got, even if it came with a side dish of drama and too-loud music. Messiness isn’t the enemy; it’s often where the best memories begin.
When we bottle up our emotions to avoid making waves, we lose the chance to navigate the messy, beautiful parts of connection. Will some conversations be awkward? Absolutely. Will some attempts to “fix” your mistakes look like a bad sitcom episode? Definitely. But that’s where growth—and a surprising amount of humor—lives.
My Rule of Thumb:
Embrace the chaos. We’ve all got some. The right person won’t just tolerate your mess; they’ll dance in it with you. Bonus points if reggaetón is involved.
Fear 4: The Fear of Losing Yourself
If rejection stings and messiness intimidates, this one is the existential gut punch. Relationships can blur into co-dependence if you’re not careful. One day you’re sending flirty memes back and forth; the next, you feel like an extra in someone else’s life story.
I’ll admit, I’ve been there. I’ve RSVP’d to too many parties I didn’t want to attend and listened to too many monologues about hobbies I couldn’t care less about (fantasy football, this one’s for you). But surviving that taught me a crucial lesson: Real connection doesn’t require shrinking yourself. It requires expanding together.
Does vulnerability mean compromise? Of course. But it should never mean compromise at the cost of losing the person you’ve worked so hard to become.
My Rule of Thumb:
Keep doing the things that make your heart feel full—whether that’s Friday domino nights with the family or writing that cringe-worthy poetry no one else will ever read. The right partner will respect and cheer you on.
Why I Do It Anyway
So, why do I continue to show up, fears and all? Because vulnerability is what turns coffee dates into “Can you believe we met like this?” stories. It’s what allows someone to look at you and say, “I see the real you—and I like it.”
Sure, it’s terrifying. But it’s also exhilarating, like the first beat of salsa music that makes your pulse race. And while it doesn’t always work out, when it does? It’s worth every awkward dinner, every vulnerable text, every leap of faith.
The reality is, being vulnerable doesn’t make you weaker; it makes you braver. It’s proof that you’re willing to risk discomfort for a chance at something extraordinary.
So, take a deep breath and step forward—not because it’s easy but because you’re worth it. You’ve got more courage than you realize. And who knows? The next leap might just feel like flying.
