What Really Scares Me (And What Doesn’t)

 What Really Scares Me (And What Doesn’t)

By Tim Friday

People talk a lot about what they fear—things like ghosts, flying, spiders. But my fears are simpler. More grounded. Real.

I fear dog attacks.
I’ve been attacked before, more than once, without provocation. The worst part isn’t just the trauma of the bite or the shock—it’s the way people defend it. They say things like, “It must’ve sensed something,” or “Dogs only attack if provoked.” As if I deserved it. That gaslighting hurts worse than the teeth.

I fear car crashes.
I’ve already been in a few. Minor, maybe, by insurance standards, but not by mine. I know what that impact feels like. The snap of the seatbelt. The sound of metal folding in on itself. I’ve had close calls too—so close I thought, This might be it. That terror doesn’t fade. It lingers under my skin when I drive.

I fear being assaulted.
That should be a no-brainer. And yes, even men like me get assaulted. I’ve been hit, shoved, screamed at, threatened—usually on the job, by customers. People lose their temper, and I become a target. And when it happens, nobody checks on me. Nobody asks, “Are you okay?” The silence after an assault is its own kind of violence. That terrifies me—and infuriates me too.

But death?
I don’t fear death. Not really. That might sound strange, but I’ve made peace with it in a way that others haven’t. I’m not suicidal—but I wouldn’t mind not waking up one day. A quiet passing. No drama. Just stillness.

Some say it’s cowardly to want to die peacefully. I say the opposite. People who’ve suffered deeply and still wake up every day, who don’t ask for more but simply wish for a soft landing—they are not cowards. They are the bravest among us. They’ve endured so much pain that they no longer fear the end—only the return of more pain.

I’m not promoting suicide. Far from it. I’m just saying: I get it. I understand why someone would feel that way. I’ve felt it too.

What I’m sick of is the grind, the cruelty, the indifference. The way we tell people to “be strong” when what they really need is to be held, seen, understood. I don’t want pity. I want to live in a world where safety isn’t a privilege. Where men can say, “I’m scared,” without being laughed at. Where kindness isn’t rare.

So no—I don’t fear death.
I fear being alive in a world that keeps looking away.