If you asked most people why they never pursued something they’ve always dreamed of, they’d probably say it didn’t fit into their life plan.
They didn’t have time.
It was too risky.
It didn’t make sense.
It would disrupt their carefully constructed routine.
Too expensive. Too far. Too difficult.
But what they probably wouldn’t admit out loud is that they were afraid of what people would say.
Because if they tried and failed, it wouldn’t just be a private disappointment. It would be public. Talked about. Posted. Circulated. Laughed at.
And that fear—the fear of perception—can be heavy enough to put our dreams on pause, pulling us back into the comfort of the mundane.
It raises an important question—one that challenges the “logical” reasons we give ourselves for not even trying:
Are we being held back by real, physical barriers…
or by the deep-rooted fear of being seen failing?
Or, on a much simpler, more honest level:
Would we try what we’re scared to do, at the risk of failing, if no one had to know it didn’t work out?
As a society, we unequivocally support run-of-the-mill next steps. We want people to know when we ace a test. Win an award. Choose a college. Accept a promotion. Get a ring, have a wedding, start a family.
We want all eyes on us when we know they’ll be filled with pride.
But what about when we want to break out of the box? Color outside the lines? Do something no one else is doing—just because the idea of it ignites a wildfire of passion in our otherwise autopilot, do-what-makes-sense brains.
Pick up a sport we haven’t played since childhood.
Try an instrument.
Take voice lessons.
Sign up for a dance class as an adult.
Start a business from scratch—backed by thousands in loans and blind optimism, with the chance of losing it all.
Join a club alone or try to start one ourselves.
So many of us have big ambitions, concrete plans, and fully visualized roadmaps—but never act on them because we can’t handle the risk or the uncertainty.
The potential for disappointment when all we’ve ever known is achievement.
When we’ve never been granted permission to mess up.
When we’ve been taught failure is something to avoid at all costs—rather than a lesson and a stepping stone to greatness.
We stay idle, wondering what could’ve been, justifying our inaction under the guise of safety.
And when I say “we,” I’m really talking about myself—who let the fear of failing prevent me from starting this blog… for nearly a decade.
I worried my writing wasn’t good enough. That it was a “weird” hobby—that I’d look like a try-hard, no one would subscribe, and my work would get lost in the abyss of writers trying to make a name for themselves.
And if I ever did start, I told myself I’d use a pseudonym—so I’d never have to admit publicly that I even tried.
But even if no one else knew, I’d still wallow in the internal disappointment. I’d get ice cream as a temporary bandage, mask the embarrassment, and stay on the clearly lit path—leaving my creative ideas in the dark.
As I’ve written new articles, connected with the Substack community, and had strangers choose to engage with my work—not just friends and family who might’ve followed along out of obligation—I’ve realized this is so much bigger than just a hobby.
Comments like, “Thank you for writing this—it’ll help me get through my hardest days,” remind me why I started publishing—and how important it was to overcome the fear that once held me back from picking up my pen (or mouse) and being vulnerable.
I’ve seen the impact of posting pieces people sit with, return to, reflect on, and draw inspiration from.
I’m glad they know who wrote it.
Because yes, failing is scary—but isn’t it scarier to bottle up your potential?
To never be sure what could’ve happened?
To never learn—good or bad—from the attempt?
To never know whose life you might change, just by choosing to change your own?
In moments when it feels hard, unmotivating, or scary to take the risk, use people’s doubt as a propeller—not an anchor.
The moment you stop caring who sees you try is the moment the risk becomes worth it.
This was written by our contributing writer, Gabrielle Kesh.
Image Source: Pexels, Gihan Bandara
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