Once upon a time there was a woman named Kim who had a perfectly reasonable and somewhat intense fear of raccoons. She was mocked by friends who believed her fear to be unfounded because raccoons have sweet little faces and their tiny hands aren’t at all creepy.
Yet the fear persisted.
Kim camped. In fact, she kind of loved camping but that meant she had to confront her raccoon hysteria often. She couldn’t overcome her fear but she instead adapted to it so she could live her life: she always knew where she could grab something to beat a prowling raccoon to death. You know, if necessary.
Sometimes other people would do things that might attract a raccoon to stalk and kill Kim, like throwing food scraps on the ground. Whenever this would happen, Kim’s heart would race because she could envision their little hands grabbing her pants leg and dragging her to death by gnawing.
Did Kim scream at her friends, “You are so selfish! How dare you not consider me and my fears?”
Did Kim yell, “If you feed that raccoon, it’s going to go into those woods and create more and more raccoons and before you know it, we’ll all be gnawed to death!”? Or maybe, “I’m trying to save you people! If you’ll listen to me, no one will get rabies.”
Nope. Kim picked up the food scraps and moved on with her damn life.