The most epic bug I've ever written resulted in a direct loss of $32,412. I have a copy of the check my previous company wrote to prove it. I didn't hold onto it to feel sorry for myself. I didn't hold onto it to force myself into a padded room of programming, scared to take risk, unable to innovate. I kept it to remind myself that bugs happen. And that their existence isn't worth one iota of anxiety.
Anxiety is never worthwhile
Seth Godin defines anxiety as, "repeatedly experiencing failure in advance". I love this definition, because it points out the paralyzing nature of anxiety. Just because you write a bug, doesn't mean you should experience it over and over again in your head.
Instead of focusing on that one time I wrote a bug that blew enough money to buy a cheap BMW, I think about the massive profits I hauled in for our clients, using some brilliant mathematics, and hard work. Seriously, we wrote algorithms that saves advertisers millions of dollars in wasted budget, and created millions of dollars in new revenue opportunities.
Stop learning from your mistakes
Stop focusing on the possibility of another epic fail. (They will happen). Stop writing so many unit tests that verify that your code isn't completely brain-dead. Analysis paralysis is real. And it's expensive.
Why do so many managers like to schedule "Post-mortem" meetings (as in "After Death") the week after a release happens? What about the "Post-partum" meeting (as in "After Birth") where you examine the patterns that worked really well?
Take risks. Write bugs. And fix them. Then figure out the parts of the cycle that rocked. And repeat.