What scares me the most (and why I do it anyway)

The Universal Terror of Putting Yourself Out There

A few years ago, I found myself, inexplicably, in the center of a small stage at my niece’s school talent show. I was there as a favor—to assist with a skit—but somehow ended up performing a dance routine with a group of eight-year-olds. The room was filled with PTA parents wielding judgment like a weaponized bake sale, and I was wearing a tiara (don’t ask).

In that horrifying moment, I realized something: nothing feels quite like the heart-pounding, gut-wrenching fear of looking ridiculous in front of other people. And yet—I did it. I waved my jazz hands, shuffled awkwardly, and emerged from the experience strangely triumphant.

Why? Because terrifying as it was, I discovered something even more petrifying: not trying at all.

Insert that epiphany into the world of relationships, and you have my lifelong battle with fear and vulnerability—arguably my biggest Achilles heel. This isn’t just about swiping right (too easy) or confessing you love someone (too cinematic). I’m talking about the fear of showing people who you really are. And I’d bet my favorite pair of vintage boots you’ve probably felt it too.

Let’s unpack it together, shall we?

Fear #1: Looking Like a Mess

Confession time: I was raised in a household where appearances mattered. Sure, we didn’t live on the glossy part of the Vegas Strip, but the glittering performance ethos bled into everything we did. My mom would pin sequins onto costumes with an artist’s precision, and my dad, despite working backstage, always ironed his shirts. Presentation was sacred.

So naturally, I internalized this belief that in all things—dating, work, grocery shopping—I must present my “best self.” No flaws visible. Sparkling in proverbial sequins at all times.

The first time I cried in front of someone I was dating, I was mortified. Not just because mascara smears are never as Instagram-cute as the movies suggest, but because I’d revealed that I didn’t have it all together.

Sound familiar? But here’s the truth: relationships—real ones—are built on authenticity, not perfection. Nobody gets through life looking like a Vogue editorial at every moment. Embrace the bedhead. Admit you’re terrible with directions. (True story: I once got lost in Caesars Palace for two hours and ended up sobbing in some Roman-themed hallway in front of a man I was dating. And what did he do? He laughed and held my hand so I wouldn’t wander off again. That’s love, folks.)

Why I Do It Anyway: Because “perfect” might dazzle for a moment, but vulnerability forms connections. If you don’t let people see your quirky, messy, real self, how can they truly fall for you?

Fear #2: Getting Hurt (Again)

Ah yes, the classic fear—the one song Adele, Taylor Swift, and Beyoncé collectively belt out in a three-hour concert of sadness and triumph. Getting hurt, humiliated, or abandoned again is enough to make anyone swear off romance entirely, even if it means clutching their cat or cactus collection a little tighter.

For me, it often feels like stepping onto a Vegas stage blindfolded, not knowing if you’re about to dazzle the audience or trip into the orchestra pit. I’ve been ghosted after a three-month whirlwind romance. I’ve been broken up with via text (a horrendous five sentences long). These things leave dents—emotional battle scars that say, “Hey, proceed carefully.”

But guess what? Staying in your self-protective cocoon is safe, sure, but it’s also stultifying. Imagine Houdini locking himself in chains and never bothering to perform the trick. When you avoid discomfort, you avoid the magic too.

Why I Do It Anyway: Surviving heartbreak—even the most mind-numbingly painful ones—teaches you that you can survive it. And spoiler: the more you confront your fears, the braver you become. Take it from someone who wrote a novel about her love life crashing and burning—and lived to write another.

Fear #3: Rejection (With a Capital "R")

Fun fact: when I was 19, I asked a guy to prom—full ‘80s rom-com style—with a glittery poster board and his favorite band lyrics scrawled across it. What did he say? “Sorry, Aurora, I don’t feel that way about you.” Ouch. To this day, I can’t listen to Bon Jovi without cringing.

Rejection is a special kind of suckage. Whether it’s your crush, a Tinder date, or someone you’ve loved intensely, hearing “no” is like someone sliding a giant NOPE stamp across your heart.

But if there’s one thing Vegas has taught me, it’s that playing it safe doesn’t win you the jackpot. You don’t get to experience joy—the real, standing-on-a-mountain, shouting-from-the-rooftops kind of joy—unless you risk putting yourself out there.

Why I Do It Anyway: Because even in the face of rejection, there’s always a rebound. Maybe that “no” clears the way for the person who does sing Bon Jovi with you karaoke-style. Maybe the pain brings clarity or growth or those essential ugly cries we all need on occasion. Whatever the case, you’ll always walk away with more than you started.

Fear #4: Time and the Ticking Clock

There’s a clichéd pressure I love to pretend I’m above: “the timeline” that insists we meet X milestone by X age. Get married before 30! Be financially secure by 35! Have it all figured out by yesterday!

Truth is, I’m a late bloomer’s poster child. I started pursuing creative writing seriously much later than my peers. My debut novel didn’t publish “on time,” and I’m still fumbling through relationships sans a five-year plan. Sometimes this feels like failing, and nothing triggers panic like the sound of life slipping by.

But if you let the arbitrary ticking clock win, you’re letting fear control the narrative. Connection—romantic, platonic, or otherwise—doesn’t happen on a rigid timeline. And thankfully, I’m discovering life is messier (and more wonderful) than folding cleanly into someone else’s mold.

Why I Do It Anyway: Because love is a game of patience and perspective. Certain relationships, growth, or lessons arrive when you’re ready for them—not when a Hallmark calendar says they should.

It’s Normal to Be Scared—Do It Anyway

The truth is, most of us walk into relationships with a balancing act of excitement and fear. Will this person like me? Am I too much? Not enough? Is this going somewhere or nowhere?

Fear has a purpose—it keeps us from stumbling headfirst into chaos like Bambi on roller skates. But it also has a way of shrinking us, keeping us small, safe, and sitting on the sidelines.

So here’s what I’ve learned, both from a lifetime in neon-lit Vegas and in the uncharted deserts of the heart: every risk you take, every goofy jazz-hand routine you perform in the metaphorical talent show of life, leads to growth. The world may laugh for a second, but real love—the kind that sees you in your tiara, mascara smudges, and all—is waiting.

All you have to do is show up. Fear and all.