What Makes Us Courageous?
Tuesday’s question was:
What story proves you were braver than you realized?
And immediately I remembered something a woman said to me years ago.
She looked at me and said,
“You know what I hear when I listen to you? Courage. You are courage.”
I appreciated her words, but honestly, I didn’t think much about it.
Because from my perspective, I wasn’t courageous.
I had simply done what needed to be done.
I’ve had to set boundaries I never imagined I would set.
I’ve had to say, “I don’t know.”
I’ve had to ask for help.
I’ve had to soften when hardness felt safer.
I’ve had to love again after being beaten and bankrupted.
I’ve had to admit I was wrong.
I’ve had to say, “I’m sorry.”
I’ve had to begin again more times than I can count.
None of that felt courageous.
It felt necessary.
When I stopped drinking, I didn’t see it as losing something.
I saw it as an opportunity, an unexpected gift.
I had been drinking since I was thirteen years old.
Imagine what I might become without alcohol.
I was excited.
Terrified, perhaps.
But excited.
What I didn’t know then was that I would eventually have to leave an abusive relationship.
There were days when I truly wondered if I would survive.
I didn’t know there would come a moment when life would unexpectedly hand me an opening, and I would have to decide whether I was willing to walk through it.
And when that opening came, I changed the locks.
I drew a line in the sand.
And somehow, miraculously, I became free.
Looking back, maybe that was courage.
But even then, I don’t remember feeling brave.
I remember feeling determined.
Determined to become the woman I wanted to be.
Determined not to let someone else decide who I would become.
This weekend, I attended the blessing of a friend’s business.
She serves women who are newly sober, women who are afraid of what life might look like without alcohol.
Many fear losing friends.
Losing connection.
Losing the life they’ve always known.
And I understand that fear.
Because I had those questions too.
But somewhere deep inside, I believed that if alcohol wasn’t part of my future, then perhaps there were people, experiences, and joys waiting that I simply hadn’t discovered yet.
And there were.
Some of them stayed for a season.
Some stayed much longer.
And eventually, I outgrew even the places that first helped me heal.
Because life asks us to keep growing.
At the blessing, my friend went around the room, sharing what she saw in each person.
Then she looked at me.
Locked eyes with me.
And she said,
“Teresa is overflowing with courage. If you need courage, hold out your cup and catch whatever drops spill over from her.”
Everyone laughed.
I laughed too.
But later, driving home, I kept wondering.
Do I really have courage?
Because I don’t think of myself as fearless.
And I don’t think courage is the absence of fear.
Maybe courage is simply desire.
Maybe courage is loving who you might become enough to keep moving toward her.
Maybe courage doesn’t always feel like bravery.
Maybe bravery is what others see.
Maybe courage is what we choose.
And perhaps necessity sits somewhere in between.
Maybe sometimes it feels like determination.
Maybe it feels like putting one foot in front of the other.
Maybe it feels like asking for help.
Maybe it feels like saying, “I was wrong.”
Maybe it feels like changing the locks.
Maybe it feels like beginning again.
Because when you’re living it, you aren’t thinking about being brave.
You’re thinking about getting through the day.
Protecting your peace.
Keeping your word.
Taking the next step.
Because from the inside, it just feels like living.
Only later, when someone lovingly holds up a mirror, do you realize that what felt ordinary to you required something extraordinary.
Maybe what we call survival…
Everyone else calls courage.
