The Fear I Conquered

The Night My Fear Showed Up in Cowboy Boots

I can still recall what I was wearing the first time my fear decided to ruin my life. (Spoiler: it was not cute.) Picture a 15-year-old me standing under the impossibly bright lights of a high school auditorium stage during auditions for Oklahoma!—because apparently, the theater department thought forcing teenagers into cowboy hats for Rodgers and Hammerstein’s greatest hits was a rite of passage. My voice shook, my palms dripped with sweat, and my knees wobbled like a newborn calf. What I was battling wasn’t some vague case of stage fright. It wasn’t even about the overcommitment to denim I was witnessing in the room. It was something much deeper: my desperate, unshakable fear of rejection.

I didn’t get cast. (Because of course I didn’t. My “surrey with the fringe on top” sounded more like a rodeo accident than a harmonious serenade.) But what stuck with me wasn’t the flop. It was the way I shied away from the things that mattered most to me—things I actually wanted—because the possibility of rejection felt unbearable. It turned out that this fear didn’t just haunt high school auditions. It followed me into adulthood, like some uninvited sidekick waiting to whisper “What if they don’t want you?” into my ear whenever stakes were high.

Rejection, the Stage Manager of My Life

This fear didn’t stay confined to stages and cowboy boots. It seeped into some of the most pivotal places in my life: friendships, job interviews, romantic relationships, even karaoke night at The Broken Spoke (‘90s R&B medleys don’t hit the same when you’re terrified the crowd won’t sing along).

By my mid-twenties, I’d developed a coping ritual that could have earned me an honorary degree in avoidance. Didn’t think I’d get the job? “Eh, I probably didn’t want it anyway.” Someone ghosted me after a date? “Maybe they were weird and into flat-earther documentaries.” I’d pre-reject opportunities before the world had a chance to reject me, all because the sting of a “no” felt more like a hornet’s nest to the face than a simple bruise to my ego.

If you’ve ever ducked out early from someone else’s birthday dinner because you weren’t quite sure you were on their “list of favorite people,” you know what I’m talking about. It’s easier to build a tall, steel-reinforced wall than to let someone—and their potential rejection—close enough to knock it down.

But you know what’s harder? Building a life, a real one, on the other side of that wall.

Courage Is Just Fear in a Really Good Pair of Heels

My turning point came during a ballroom dance class at a community center. (Yes, this story somehow involves a salsa instructor. Stay with me.) At 27, I had convinced myself to sign up under the guise of “trying new things,” even though my motives were less about waltzing and more about convincing my then-crush that I had rhythm.

My instructor, a relentlessly enthusiastic dancer named Paulo, spotted me one Thursday night tucked into the corner of the studio. I was strategically avoiding eye contact and over-enthusiastically nodding as if to say, “Look, Paulo, I get it. I’ll just cha-cha alone.” He wouldn’t let me stay there. “Partner up,” he said with an encouraging but exasperated clap.

When I protested that I couldn’t get the moves right, he threw out something I’ll never forget: “Do you know how many times I’ve been told no? Too tall, too stiff, too slow, too anything. But every time I got told ‘no,’ do you know what happened?”

“...You salsa’d harder?” I guessed.

“Nope,” he said. “I went back. I asked someone new to dance. And then someone else after that. If you don’t ask—you don’t get the ‘yes.’ That’s on you.”

Reader, something about this horribly direct and inconveniently accurate advice hit me. There, in my Target-brand ballet flats, I realized I’d spent so much energy trying to avoid rejection that I wasn’t even showing up to see if rejection was required.

In that dimly lit Austin studio, with Paulo spinning me in circles until I was both dizzy and mortified, I began to make peace with a bitter truth: Rejection is going to show up whether we like it or not. But avoiding it? That’s like hiding under the dining table during a thunderstorm while the rest of the neighborhood dances in the rain.

What Eased the Sting of Rejection

Getting over the crippling fear of rejection doesn’t happen in a montage set to Eye of the Tiger. It’s less cinematic. More…messy. But I’ve learned a few practical ways to take the sting down a notch and keep showing up:

  1. Reframe the “No”
    For the longest time, rejection felt like a personal failure. But what if a “no” simply means your energy is meant elsewhere? One of my best friends likes to say, “Rejection is redirection.” Honestly, the idea is corny—but it’s corny and accurate. Every “no” just cleared the way for better matches, better jobs, better connections.

  2. Detach Your Worth
    Here’s the kicker: A rejection doesn’t define you. Their “no thank you” doesn’t rewrite your value as a person. So what if your karaoke rendition of Britney Spears didn’t bring the crowd to their feet? You’re still amazing. Probably in ways they can’t begin to comprehend.

  3. Put Rejection on Repeat
    I hate to say it, but you have to practice. My first experiences standing up to rejection reminded me of doing planks at the gym. Awkward. Impossible. Mostly just sweaty. But the more I pushed my “Let’s see what happens” muscles, the easier it became to risk the “no.”

  4. Laugh—a Lot
    If you bomb a first date and accidentally spill wine all over your shirt? Laugh. If you trip over your words in an important meeting? Laugh harder. A little self-deprecating humor takes the edge off. Rejection makes for good cocktail-hour stories, trust me.

Dancing Through Life, Rejections and All

Nowadays, rejection still happens (obviously). But rather than letting it paralyze me, I let myself feel the brief sting, take a deep breath, and keep going. Sometimes, life says, “Sorry, not this time.” That’s okay. There’s always another time, another moment, another opportunity waiting just beyond the current one.

And let me tell you, those “yes” moments? They shine a thousand times brighter when you’ve weathered a few “no’s” to get there. Last year, I finally belted out Oklahoma! songs at karaoke night—this time, with zero fear of judgment and a supportive crowd that clapped way too enthusiastically.

Turns out fear can only hold center stage if you let it. For me, it’s off-stage now, sulking in cowboy boots while I’m out here twirling in the spotlight, figuring it all out, one cha-cha at a time.