How To Face Your Fears Nude

De: Jazmyn Waller

Narrado por: Virtual Voice

Okay, now before you get all weird on me, let’s set one thing straight—I didn’t plan on getting naked. Not spiritually. Not emotionally. And Lord knows not physically, although that part accidentally happened during a camping trip with a broken tent zipper and one very surprised park ranger. We’ll get there.

I’m not one of those “born brave” people. You know the kind. They skydive on Tuesdays, say what they mean in job interviews, and actually call customer service instead of quietly suffering through the wrong pizza order like me. I’ve always been the kind of gal who overthinks everything. Like, I once rehearsed a voicemail seventeen times and then ended up hanging up when the beep came. What exactly was I afraid of? The beep? A ghost on the other end judging my tone? Who knows. Fear is ridiculous like that—it shows up wearing all kinds of disguises, like your Aunt Patty in a bad wig, pretending to be helpful but really just stirring the pot.

Anyway, it wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized I’d been living my whole dang life in this state of chronic half-hiding. Like I was always one “you’re not qualified” or “you’re too much” away from crawling under the table and living there forever with snacks and Netflix. I didn’t speak up in meetings. I didn’t tell people I loved them until I was sure they wouldn't run. I didn’t dance at weddings unless the chicken dance was involved, because somehow that felt like less pressure than real joy. And God forbid someone suggest karaoke. I’d rather wrestle a raccoon in a port-a-potty.

But then something shifted. It didn’t come in the form of a lightning bolt or Oprah handing me life advice in a dream (though if that’s an option, I’m open). It was more like a slow, awkward undressing. Not the sexy kind. The “did I just rip my shirt getting out of this sweater?” kind. The “why is this sports bra a tourniquet now?” kind. That kind of raw. That kind of vulnerable. That kind of naked.

Then I decided to try something wild: I started doing things while still scared. I stopped waiting to be ready or impressive or smooth. I let the fear come along for the ride, like a weird cousin in the backseat. And here’s the secret: fear gets real quiet when it’s not in control. It doesn’t go away—it just learns to shut up when you ignore it long enough.

Also? Laughter helps. A lot. I mean, have you ever tried to stay scared while also belly-laughing? It’s impossible. That’s like trying to cry while eating cake. Your body gets confused. Laughter takes fear and turns it into something manageable, like a weirdly shaped potato you can still make fries out of.

And let’s not forget—half the time, the people we’re scared will judge us are too busy worrying about their own nonsense. I once panicked about wearing a bright yellow dress to a party because I thought it made my hips look like furniture. Meanwhile, everyone else was worried about whether their breath smelled like garlic dip. Nobody’s paying attention. We’re all main characters in our own personal sitcoms. Half the time, they didn’t even notice when I split my pants at that barbecue. Once. Just once. And even then, only one person laughed—and to be fair, I was already laughing, so it didn’t count.

Let ’em. Laugh with ‘em. And then keep going.

Because once you start facing your fears a little more exposed—emotionally, yes, and occasionally with your butt involved—you start to realize something wild: you’ve been brave all along.

Just needed to get a little naked to see it.