“What scares you?”

“Excuse me?”  Immediately, I felt defensive.  Obviously, that means sarcasm took over.  For whatever reason, I’ve always tended to mask my own insecurities and hurt feelings with jokes and sly remarks.  This was no exception.  “Snakes.  Dark parking lots.  Leaving the house with my flat iron on.”

“Steph!  I’m serious.  If you know it’s right, why are you afraid?”

I tried to explain all that ways I know it’s right and how I’m not afraid, knowing on some level that I was trying to convince myself, not them.  If we’re honest, I’m afraid to be vulnerable.  It’s true.  There, I said it.  I’m a scaredy-cat.  Vulnerability just hasn’t worked out for me in the past, so I try to avoid it like the plague.  I know it’s crazy, but if the boat’s floating just fine—I’d rather not upset it by trying to get out.

When it was all said and done, I got in my car and drove around trying to decide if I want it more than I’m afraid of it…