My Honest Journey Through the Fear of Trying

There’s a dream that lives inside me, a big one, about building something meaningful in the Tanzanian skincare world. It's an exciting, vibrant vision, full of incredible possibility. But if I’m being completely honest, that excitement often finds itself locked in a silent battle with a powerful undertow of fear. It’s the knot in my stomach that comes with the fear of trying, the apprehension of truly putting myself out there, and, perhaps most acutely, the relentless dread of failing.
Lately, it feels like I’m constantly surrounded by it, not just from my own inner critic, which can be brutally persuasive, but sometimes, even from those I care about. You know the kind of conversations: the well meaning questions that slowly, almost imperceptibly, begin to morph into outright doubts. It starts subtly, "Are you sure about this?" and then escalates to questions like, "Don't you think your dream is too big? Tanzania is a tough market." or "Don't you think that's hard? So many others have tried and failed." before culminating in the most deflating phrases: "I don't think that will succeed. You should stick to what's safe." And then, inevitably, comes the reminder, "It's too risky.
What if all your hard work just... disappears?" It’s an exhausting battle, this constant push against those echoes, both the ones in my head and the ones spoken aloud. If you're feeling that same struggle, if those same doubts are echoing in your own mind or from your own circle, please know this with absolute certainty: you are definitely not alone. This is a deeply human experience.

This fear isn't just an abstract concept; it’s profoundly personal. For me, the dread of trying often boils down to a profound concern about wasted effort. The thought of pouring every ounce of my time, my precious energy, and my entire heart into something, only for it to fall flat, for it to not catch hold that's a prospect that can feel truly paralyzing. It isn’t just the sting of disappointment, which is real enough, but more profoundly, it’s the thought of looking back and thinking, "I gave everything to that, and it amounted to nothing." It’s a fear that suggests the investment itself might be meaningless, a feeling of profound futility.

Then there’s the apprehension of putting myself out there. When we start talking about our dreams publicly, when we share our early research findings, our nascent ideas, or even just the passionate "why" behind what we're doing, we inherently open ourselves up. We become vulnerable. We open ourselves to potential criticism, to judgment from those who simply don't see our vision, or even to the quiet, cutting sting of indifference. It’s an incredibly exposed feeling, like stepping onto a vast, brightly lit stage without knowing if the audience will applaud, dismiss you with a yawn, or worse, challenge you directly. That vulnerability can be terrifying, because it’s no longer just about the internal battle; it’s about inviting the world to witness your raw attempt.

And then, the biggest one of all: the fear of failure. We’ve been conditioned from an early age, in so many subtle ways, to view failure as a definitive end-state, a public mark of inadequacy, a sign that we weren’t good enough or smart enough. But lately, I’ve been actively trying to wrestle with that deeply ingrained idea, to challenge it, to see it from a completely different perspective. Because if failure is truly a final, insurmountable destination, then the act of trying itself becomes nothing more than a guaranteed path to pain and public scrutiny. And that particular mindset, that deeply ingrained belief, has the power to stop everything before it even begins. It acts as an invisible, self-imposed barrier to all growth and all potential.

So, how am I trying to navigate this messy, often terrifying, and profoundly personal landscape? It’s important to acknowledge that this isn't a straight path, a simple formula, and I certainly don't have all the perfect answers neatly packaged. It's a continuous, evolving process of learning and adapting, but here are some of the ways I'm actively working through it, day by day, step by difficult step. One of the first things I'm learning to do is acknowledge the fear, but consciously choose not to let it lead. The fear is undeniably real; I feel it in the pit of my stomach, my mind races with worst-case scenarios, and sometimes my breath catches. Instead of trying to suppress it entirely, or waiting for it to miraculously vanish before I take action, I'm learning to say, "Okay, fear, you’re here. I recognize you. I hear your concerns. But I'm still going to move forward." It’s a powerful shift, like letting a nervous, anxious passenger ride along in the car, but keeping my hands firmly, intentionally, on the steering wheel, driving in the direction I choose.

Another vital tool in my navigation kit is focusing intensely on my "why". When the doubts get especially loud, particularly those external voices chiming in with "too big" or "too hard," I deliberately bring my attention back to the core purpose behind Maris. Why am I truly doing this? Because I genuinely believe in bringing trust, efficacy, and genuine sustainability to Tanzanian skincare. I believe profoundly in the transformative power of deep, authentic understanding of our market and our people. This deeply rooted "why" is so much bigger than my own personal fears; it’s larger than any potential setback or perceived failure. It acts as my unshakeable anchor when the external winds pick up and the internal storms rage.

I’m also working hard on a significant shift in my perspective: celebrating effort, not just outcomes. This has been a huge and ongoing journey for me. Instead of solely valuing the perfect, flawless final result, I’m consciously learning to celebrate the very act of trying itself, the courage of the attempt. Did I send that intimidating email? Did I manage to share that initial, potentially imperfect, research finding? Did I consciously push past the overwhelming urge to procrastinate and simply start? These seemingly small actions are, in themselves, powerful wins. Every single time I take a step forward, regardless of the immediate, tangible outcome, I'm actively building and strengthening my courage muscle. It’s about cultivating a deep sense of pride in the journey itself, in the bravery of showing up, rather than exclusively fixating on the destination.

Furthermore, I'm actively working on finding my inner cheerleader and learning to trust the right external ones. It’s incredibly easy to be overly harsh on ourselves, to allow that inner critic to dominate. So, I’m actively practicing self-compassion, making a conscious effort to talk to myself with the same kindness and encouragement I would offer a dear friend who’s struggling with similar doubts. And when it comes to friends and their opinions, I’m learning to gently, but firmly, filter. The ones who instantly lead with "what if you fail?" or "I don't think that will succeed..." might be well-meaning, driven by their own protective instincts, but they are often unconsciously projecting their own fears and limitations. I’m consciously seeking out and leaning into those who ask, "What if you succeed?" or "How can I help you take that very next step?" Their unwavering belief and supportive energy can be incredibly grounding, acting as a powerful counterbalance to the negativity.

Perhaps the hardest, yet most transformative, part of this journey is re-scripting what "failure" truly means for me. When something doesn't go exactly as planned, when an idea doesn't land or an effort falls short, my first instinct is still to experience that gut-wrenching feeling of being a failure. But I'm consciously, actively, and relentlessly re-scripting that narrative. Now, I try to ask myself: "Okay, this didn't work in the way I expected. What precisely did I learn from this? What new insight does this give me about the market, about my approach, or even about myself?" It’s a deliberate reframe from the devastating "I failed" to the empowering "I learned." It's an ongoing practice, not a one-time fix, but its power to shift perspective and maintain momentum is truly immense. Every setback, in this new light, becomes just another data point, another piece of crucial information guiding me closer to where I truly need to be.

Your dreams, just like mine, are profoundly worth protecting. They are worth the discomfort that comes with growth, the vulnerability of true creation, and yes, even the very real possibility of not getting it "right" on the first, second, or even tenth attempt. The fear, I’ve come to understand, will likely always be a quiet, constant companion on this entrepreneurial and personal journey. But it is precisely in acknowledging that fear, understanding our deeper "why," celebrating every single brave step taken, and fundamentally reframing what failure truly means, that we can collectively choose to step out of the shadows. It's how we can build the incredible futures we envision, not just for ourselves, but for our communities and our world.