That's what they call me (courtesy of zazzle.ca)

I am not brave.  I am a big, fat chicken.  I live with a number of  fears, the combination of which probably border on anxiety-based obsessive compulsive Jewish Mother disorder

• I will not go on Roller Coasters.  I don’t like that rush of adrenaline when you’re so scared your wig is going to fly off even if you don’t wear one.  I don’t like that giddy feeling after you realize you didn’t go flying out of the rollercoaster and end up in someones lap with their diet coke straw up your nose.  I have lined up for roller coasters.  And left the line when it was my turn.  I’ve even gotten on a roller coaster only to unbelt and take off right before it started moving.  When my kids were small, I was forced to go on the Ghoster Coaster at Canada’s Wonderland, and I while I wanted to be brave for my kids, what I wanted to do was lay down and cry.  In short, Rollercoaster + Chicky = not friends.

• I don’t see scary movies or even thrillers.  I don’t understand why people pay money to be scared.  Again, I don’t like that pounding in my chest, and when I get that rush of adrenaline, I can’t decide whether I want to puke or pass out.  When I was 5, my dad took me to see The Abominable Snowman and other Monsters, and I didn’t sleep for two weeks. When I was an 21, I saw  Cape Fear with my brother. And that was the last scary movie I ever watched

• I don’t go on the subway for fear of being trapped inside.  (This point brought to you by Ativ

Some other things that brand me a wimp (or slightly insane, depending on your perspective)

• I’m afraid of going somewhere and having no one to talk to (you know standing there awkwardly while everyone else socializes), of not being able to find my car in a large parking lot, and of missing my plane because a got the day wrong. 
•  I’m scared my kids won’t get invited, I’m scared they will, I’m scared I won’t get invited, and then I’m worried I will say the wrong thing when I do (I often blurt out inappropriate things)
• I’m afraid to ski because I don’t like going really fast.  I’m very afraid to slip on ice (mostly likely because I usually do).  I’m afraid of playing ball-based sports in case the ball hits me in the head (the ball generally hits me in the head).
• When I was childbearing, I was afraid I couldn’t get pregnant. Then I was afraid I wouldn’t stop getting pregnant.  Funnily enough, I wasn’t afraid of giving birth. But I WAS afraid of being a bad mother.  Of course, I’m afraid of something happening to one of my kids (but that’s normal)

From that laundry list of neurotic fear, you can see that I’m a real-life scaredy cat.  There’s no doubt about it. So, am I ever brave?  On occasion.  For example, today I think I was very brave.

That’s because, today was the first time I went to a funeral since my Daddy’s.  I was really afraid. Of how I would feel, how I would react.  My friend’s father passed away and I wanted to be there for her.  So I went.  And, you know what?  It was hard.  But it was ok. And I’m glad I went. 

But, I can guarantee that I will not be buying tickets for Scream 5 anytime soon. Nobody changes THAT fast.

What have you done that’s brave?