What if I'm scared? (A very legitimate question)
Let me tell you about the time I kept a secret from my husband – not the kind involving surprise parties or clandestine cheese purchases, but an entire website concept I'd been mentally architecting for months. A website called Trustfall, which I finally confessed to him on New Year’s Eve (aka the day I wrote entry 1), like some sort of digital new year's resolution coming in hot under the wire.
The thing about starting something new is that it feels a lot like standing at the edge of a diving board, except the pool might be filled with either water or the collective judgment of everyone you've ever met since kindergarten. I was dipping my toes into the personal development space AND I was cannonballing into it while desperately hoping nobody would notice my metaphorical swim cap.
What was I so afraid of? Well, if you must know (and you must, because I'm telling you), I was terrified people would think I didn’t know what I was doing. It's the kind of fear that sits in your stomach like that questionable sushi you insisted on ordering from a gas station – persistent and entirely self-inflicted.
My fear, it turns out, is part of something with a fancy name: rejection sensitivity dysphoria (RSD), which often comes bundled with ADHD like some sort of neurodivergent two-for-one special nobody asked for. Add in a healthy dose of tall poppy syndrome (the Australian equivalent of "who does she think she is?"), and you've got yourself a perfect cocktail of self-doubt, served with a twist of childhood trauma.
But our brains are surprisingly malleable, like Play-Doh but more complex. Neuroplasticity – the brain's ability to rewire itself – works whether you're 20 or 80. Sure, at 80 it's more like trying to learn TikTok dances with arthritis, but it's still possible.
The catch? You have to actually do the scary thing. I know, I know – it's like being told the cure for your fear of skydiving is to go skydiving. But since we're here, let me offer you a roadmap for facing your fears that's slightly less terrifying than free-falling from 10,000 feet:
First, write down your goal. Say it out loud, preferably not on public transportation. This isn't just emotional foreplay – it's telling your brain, "Hey, we're actually doing this thing."
Then, create a timeline, or workback schedule. Make it realistic. If you wouldn't expect your best friend to launch a full-fledged empire in two weeks, don't expect it of yourself.
Finally, break it down into baby steps so tiny they're almost embryonic. Want to start a website? Great. First figure out if Squarespace is your soulmate or if WordPress is more your speed. Then design it. Then write something. Then panic. Then write something else. (Feel free to let ChatGPT be your personal project manager here – it's surprisingly good at breaking things down without the judgment).
Here's the fun part: play the "what if" game. What if everyone hates it? What if you become the laughingstock of the internet? What if your high school nemesis finds it and posts it in their Instagram stories with crying-laughing emojis? What‘s the worst thing that could happen?
But then... what if it works? What if you actually help people? What if this thing you're so scared of turns out to be the best decision you've ever made?
The truth is, doing the scary thing is still scary. But sometimes the scariest part isn't the doing – it's the waiting to do. So here I am, no longer waiting. Welcome to Trustfall.
