fear not.

I have a fear of rejection.

No, not spiders, or tight spaces, heights, or clowns.

Though all have scared me at some point in my life.

Nope, I’m terrified of good old fashioned dismissal, and it has lived with me for years. Haunting, reminding, and oftentimes prohibiting me from living life fully and without fear of getting hurt.

I’ve become so sensitive to the prospect of being spurned, that I will literally do anything and everything to avoid it.

Don’t we all?

But sometimes, this gets me into an unnecessary pickle.

In the past, I've misinterpreted and exaggerated social cues as preludes to rejection. Guy leaves me on read and I automatically assume I’m being ghosted.

Cause that’s what I’ve known, especially when it comes to men.

So when I anticipate these projections, I start to armor myself for what I expect to come. I become the warrior queen preparing for the inevitable sting of rejection.

But the truth is, my acute awareness sometimes skews reality, and I wind up hindering my ability to be present, to let things flow naturally.

I obsess over what I can’t control and it makes me anxious. I panic, ruminate, perseverate, I lose all ability to think clearly, and it has prevented me from putting myself out there, for the fear of getting heartbroken again is too much to bear.

Well, the other day, I was faced with an opportunity to change my ways, and it was this scenario that made me recognize that I even have this fear in the first place.

I was sitting at the bar, and I saw my sister upset. She was pacing with frustration, with the expression of someone trying their darnedest not to cry, and I felt this pull to console her.

I started to get up when all of a sudden, I remembered the last time I tried to empathize with a friend, which ended in a cold, brusque, and painful way (she had spurned my hug, cold shoulder and all, which really embarrassed and hurt me).

Where most folks would just brush that cold gesture off their shoulder, I have trouble forgetting about it. It sits with me and it stews. Stays there as a reminder of how gut wrenching it feels to get rejected. And do I really want to go through that again?

So I stood there at the bar, facing a crossroads.

I could either choose to follow my heart and offer warmth, support, and compassion, with the risk of getting turned away or I could stay put, which would reinforce my fear of perceived rejection, and miss out on an opportunity to make someone feel better.

What to do, what to do.

As much as the idea of getting the cold shoulder again frightened me, I chose to walk up to her anyway, arms outstretched and welcoming.

And… she hugged me back.

*sigh of relief

She normally isn’t a hugger either, so it meant the world to me that she accepted my offer of empathy, and I hope it helped heal her.

What I learned is that life is full of rejection. It’s in the chapters of the past, it will likely be woven into the fabric of one’s future, but I’m deciding how much I let it control how I feel.

Because honestly, I’m tired of constantly allowing it to consume me. It’s exhausting. This perceived and actual fear of rejection is inhibiting my ability to be kind and present, so I’m choosing to continue putting myself out there, regardless of what the outcome may be.

Ruth Gordon says,“Courage is like a muscle. We strengthen it by use.”

So, get ready for the hugs.

Look At Me Now.

The day itself was ordinary. Routine, monotonous, nothing spectacular.

But then, towards the end of the night, there was a moment. This brief moment in time where I was filled with pure joy, the highlight of this seemingly unimpressive day.

I felt high. Like insanely high. I remember my body bubbling to the brim with what felt like this happy drug and it was so unexpected, which made it all the more special.

And the best part? I can return to that very moment in time with song.

One song, in particular:

Chris Brown’s Look At Me Now.

I know. I know. Talk about a throwback. I was sixteen when this song came out.

*eyes widen

Anyhoo, when I heard this song the other night, it didn’t take me back in time to when I was sixteen (we don’t need to return there), it brought me to the present.

There I was, sitting at the bar with my family, during our weekly cocktails and conversation. We somehow got on the subject of fastest rap breaks in music, and of course this classic popped up.

I mean, Busta Rhymes back in the day?

Legend.

So, we put it on and let the music do the talking.

And when Busta started his rap, we felt it.

I mean we felt it. Bobbing our heads and motioning with our hands, we jammed hard as Busta spit his rhyme with unbelievable speed.

Our bodies danced, our faces squinted tight, and I let that joyous feeling soar as the rap played out.

Man it felt good.

So what is it about song and dance that bring about such robust feelings in me?

Well, it’s all about self-expression.

We all know music is ubiquitous in everyday life. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who “didn’t like music”, because regardless of genre, we all listen to tunes to ultimately feel something. Whether we pump up the jams to celebrate, mourn, cry, energize, heal, inspire, or simply to feel like a boss ass bitch, there’s a universality to song that connects us in an emotional way.

And dance? That’s how I express such emotions. That’s how a lot of brave and confident individuals do it, because it’s fun, it’s liberating, and the sensation of doing what feels right and good regardless of what we look like or who’s watching is exhilarating.

I mean, there’s nothing more beautiful to me than watching someone embracing their full authentic selves and not giving a damn about looking cool.

Looking cool is sooooo over-rated.

Just look at me!

Or should I say, Look At Me Now.