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One thing you need to know about me is that I am a big chicken. A few things that strike fear in my heart: lizards, pressure cookers, disappointing people, driving in bad weather, and being rejected by pretty much anyone. Logically, I know that most of these fears are irrational. The Bible tells us not to fear hundreds of times – I’ve written those verses out, prayed over them, posted them on my mirror. But fear doesn’t respond to logic. It’s a beast I have to fight every time it rears its ugly head.

Despite my fear of using a pressure cooker, I bought an Instant Pot a few years back and managed to use it without causing an explosion. Still, every time I go to hit the release valve, I close my eyes and throw up a quick prayer that I don’t lose a finger.

Making new friends in mid-life feels a lot like using that Instant Pot. The chances of catastrophic failure are low, but every time I reach out – suggest coffee, share something personal, send that “I miss you” text – I feel that same flutter of panic. What if it blows up in my face? What if I lose something more valuable than a finger?

The thing about both pressure cookers and relationships is that they require a certain amount of trust. Trust in the manufacturer, trust in the seal, trust in the process. Trust that when you open yourself up, you won’t get burned. And just like I eventually learned to trust my Instant Pot (mostly), I’ve had to learn to trust that most people aren’t out to reject me.

But here’s the tricky part – while my Instant Pot came with an instruction manual and safety features, people don’t. There’s no manual for friendship in your forties, no pressure gauge to tell you when you’re pushing too hard or not enough. No indicator light that blinks “WARNING: THIS PERSON IS NOT EMOTIONALLY AVAILABLE” before you invest months of coffee dates and vulnerable conversations.

I’ve learned that my fear of rejection often masks itself as practicality. “They’re probably too busy.” “We’re in different life stages.” “They already have enough friends.” These sound like reasonable thoughts, but they’re really just fear wearing a sensible pantsuit. They’re excuses that keep me safely isolated, protected from the possibility of rejection but also cut off from the deep connections I crave.

Sometimes I wonder what I’m really afraid of. Is it the actual rejection – the unreturned text, the declined invitation, the slow fade of a promising friendship? Or is it the story I tell myself about what that rejection means? That I’m too much, not enough, unworthy of connection? Maybe that’s why those biblical “fear not” verses don’t quite reach this particular fear – because it’s tangled up with something deeper than fear, something that speaks to my fundamental worth.

Just like I had to face down my fear of the Instant Pot one meal at a time, building connections requires small acts of courage. Sometimes it means double-texting someone who hasn’t responded. Sometimes it means admitting you’re lonely. Sometimes it means being the one to say “I value our friendship and I’d like to be closer.” Each time I choose connection over protection, I’m building evidence against my fears. And while I may never completely conquer my fear of lizards or pressure cookers, I’m slowly learning that the reward of genuine connection is worth the risk of rejection.

Besides, I haven’t lost a finger to the Instant Pot yet, and those lizards haven’t gotten me either. Maybe that’s a sign that my fear of rejection is just as unfounded.