Take care, be cautious

Fear is a funny thing. There's so many nuances of it, sometimes it's hard to spot. I don't have much experience with outright terror, but I've come to realize that over the years, fear has crept up on me, eating away all the things I loved before. Thinking I was protecting myself, I surrendered much of what had previously given me joy, never realizing that I was building a prison for myself, drawing the walls close around me like a protecting blanket.

Until one person unsuspectingly told me I was cautious. I was flabberghasted. Cautious? Me? What? It bothered me, but for a while, I couldn't see it. And then I caught myself, being cautious. Not going up to talk to those strangers. Not dancing in the street. Not argueing my point. Not diving in to projects head first. Not daring to believe I'll succeed at whatever I set my mind to.
And I started to hear the little voice in my head, telling me not to risk it. Telling me not to dare. Telling me all the very plausible reasons why it wouldn't work, why it wasn't a good idea.
I almost laughed out loud when I realized. I had become cautious. I had become scared.

Fear, I see you creep like morning frost in early spring.
You can't have me.