What are you afraid of?

I am not afraid of dogs, though I have been bitten by dogs, in my lifetime. I still have the scars, although they are fading. No, I will not show you. No, I will not tell you which dogs.

I am not afraid of cold water. I’ll jump into cold water, feet first.

I’m a little afraid of being trapped under the ice.

I am not afraid of mononucleosis, nor am I afraid of lyme disease.

I am not afraid of being burned and stung by bleach, by poison ivy, by nettles, by hot wax, by mosquitoes. I am not afraid of smoke in my lungs. I’m not afraid of mice, or rats. I am not afraid of mud or ice between my toes.

I am not afraid of growth, or of fading away to nothing, of not quite fitting into my clothes.

I am not afraid of being hungry, or thirsty.

I am not afraid of pain.

I’m not afraid of blood. I have bled every month since I was eleven. Heavily. In the early years, there was no pain medication, because pain medication was Bad For You.

I am not afraid of being perceived, of being seen, of being known.

I am not afraid of men. Men are easy to tame.

I am not afraid of women. Women are brilliant.

I’m not afraid of children. Children are honest, even when they “don’t get it.”

I’m not afraid of anyone.

I’m not afraid to grow old, to lose my sight, my hearing, my teeth, or my bones. I am not afraid to wrinkle. I am not afraid to be buried. I am not afraid to burn.

I am not afraid of dying, of going to sleep for the last time.

I’m not afraid of carrying a child.

I’m not afraid of giving birth.

I’m not afraid of mirrors.

And I’m not afraid of you.