Being Brave

A gentle exploration of fear, procrastination, and the stories we tell ourselves to stay safe

What does it mean to be brave?

Last week I was doom scrolling on youtube shorts and came across a video of someone pointing out what I had been coming to understand... there is no real threat or danger in expressing myself honestly. Whether the response is approval or disapproval, I'm still me, nothing has really changed.
Easy, right?

Maybe for some, but for me that means unwiring my nervous system from a decades of rejection and being bullied for being different, and many other times where there was a very real potential for harm to me if I expressed myself, argued, advocated for my needs, or shared something that someone else didn't like or agree with.

As I sat with this a bit more, I was reminded of how in my 20s I relearned to express myself freely again, without holding myself back, despite the feeling of an invisible roller coaster bar against my chest whenever I had(have) the urge to speak out.

It's interesting how the purpose of both an actual roller coaster bar and this feeling of my chest and throat tightening are the same - they exist for my protection.

When I was 19, I left an abusive home only to enter an abusive relationship, and when I finally worked up the belief that I was worth more, I left that too.

But by then, I was a husk of myself and was so disconnected from my own feelings and joy that I didn't know who I was or what I wanted from life, or even what I wanted off a restaurant menu. Determined to change this, I began to experiment with lessening this degree of self restraint by training my attention on my body - using sudden tension and the impulse to stop myself from doing something as a cue to act instead of holding back.

I would suck in a quick breath and blurt out what I thought instead of hesitating, and then deal with my racing heart, gently telling my brain, "see that wasnt so bad, nothing bad happened".
I started smiling at strangers if I made eye contact (I dont recommend this...as some unhinged people might misinterpret it as flirting or something else, although it's amusing how many people will immediately look away or make a self-conscious "why are you looking at me" face).
I took a different route to work and explored unfamiliar neighborhoods,
I allowed myself to really feel the music playing over speakers in a public space and permitted my body to move the way it wanted to.
I started wearing things I wouldn't have worn before, and playing with style in an unconventional way. I dyed my hair and cut it myself. I got piercings.

You get the idea...
I taught myself slowly, and in little ways, that felt equal parts safe and scary or challenging that it was ok to take up space, that it was safe to be myself around others, and that I had just as much of a right to self expression as anyone else.

To me, being “brave” is more than a single act of courage. It’s an iterative process of choosing something else over fear. It’s a practice, a muscle, something you build with intention and repetition. It’s nuanced and layered and is so much more than just showing up.

It’s trust.

• Trusting that you will survive the scary thing.

• Trusting that you will be ok, that harm won’t come to you for being yourself.

• Trusting that things will work out (somehow).

I think we tend to get caught up in thinking that bravery has to be or look a certain way, or that there’s this magical on/off switch that says you’re either brave (in a big way) or not at all.

But I’ve found that the moments I’ve been the most brave didn't need to be big or witnessed by other people (or even noticed) to be valid.

It was the small personal victories that nobody else was even aware of, like being able to order my own coffee when I had crippling social anxiety (which was really just trauma with a sprinkle of thinly veiled and undiagnosed autism).

It was learning to speak up in conversations, and do little dances in the store when a good song came on.

It was permitting myself joy, expression, and choosing my happiness over someone else's opinion of me (or whatever I imagined they thought of me) after accumulating decades of codependence and enmeshment trauma.

...and now it's this, me spilling my guts to you (and still hoping you'll be gentle with me).

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Why are you holding me back?

(A dialogue with the parts protecting me)

"Why are you holding me back?" I asked as gently as I could manage, holding back the barking hounds of my frustration from attacking this clearly vulnerable part of me.

"I dont know" came a reply, a feeling of defeat bloomed with it and overtook my body, my shoulders rolling forward and moisture forming in my eyes.

"why are you crying?" I asked softly, trying my best to imply that crying is not a bad thing, that it's an acceptable response to experiencing hard things.

"I want to do this, I really do, I swear" the voice replied, an ache in my chest of desperation made itself known. I took a deep breath, and let it out fully before continuing.

"Then why don't you?" I prodded.

"Because it feels hard" the voice said quietly, that familiar miasma of defeat balooned up and around me like a weighted blanket, and mingled with something else...

"Is it though?" I challenged, "What about it feels hard?"

The response was the feeling of someone throwing their hands in the air in a wild gesture of exasperation as they began rattling off the reasons...
- showing up
- being my real self
- my writing not being enough or of value to someone

"what if it's not enough? what if they don't like it (me)?" they said in a voice so raw it made my heart ache.

An image began to form. I was seeing a small child, looking over at a group of kids their age doing something that looks fun, but the child is frozen, rooted to the spot, an observer in something they want but won't let themselves participate in because they're afraid of doing it wrong, afraid to ask to join, and afraid of being rejected.

I'm crouched next to the child and looking on at this group of kids with them.
"so you're afraid of being seen?" I asked quietly.

"yes" they whispered, tiny hands clutching and tugging at the edges of their coat.

I studied their face, "but it seems like you also really want to be seen..."

They returned my gaze, nodding "yes"

"what if...you're more likely to be seen as you are when you let go of worrying about how others will react?" I asked.

The child was now a teenager looking on at a group of their friends playing a game without them. They weren't invited but they also didn't ask. Years of hurt and self loathing vibrated under their skin like a current of electricity that usually came out as bursts of anger. They believed everyonw was either afraid of them or against them in some way.

Their shoulders relaxed and jaw unclenched just a little...some of the defensiveness melting away.

"What if, this desperate energy of trying to be liked and worrying about offending someone or not being enough comes through and attracts the experience you're trying to avoid? At the very least, it prevents you from being seen because you're still holding back - you're omitting, you're not bringing all of you forward and into the light. Which means nobody is really seeing the full you, only a watered down and frightened version of you that you think is most likely to be accepted."

"I hadn't thought of that... I suppose that makes sense" they said with a furrowed brow.

I felt my chest lighten.

"good, but how does that make you feel? To know that nobody will really see you unless you let yourself be seen, and without hoping to feel reaffirmed that you're enough through a lack of negative responses?"

The teenager was a young adult now, fresh out of an abusive relationship.

I could see through their eyes a world of hurt, fear, frustration, and a feeling of not belonging that manifested as tension in every strand of muscle and an alertness that left them feelings depleted.

"it seems like you're looking for signs that it's safe to show up in this way," I continued, "that it's safe to be yourself, and that you have permission to keep going - but the only one you need approval and permission from (and the reassurance that you are enough) is you"

They smiled, light returning to their eyes for the first time as they breathed in and exhaled the hopelessness that had grown in place of daydreams and the restrictions they felt obligated to follow.

They changed one last time, into the current version of me staring at a screen, in the freshness of my 30s, feeling lost in life and grieving a body that's constantly changing while reaching for dreams that keep drifting out of reach.

"only you can give yourself permission to show up," I said softly, "and only you can hold you back from doing that. You're not a child anymore, and you're not in an abusive relationship... nobody can really hurt you here. If you're only doing this to gain acceptance or something from others in response, then you are forever giving others power over how adequate you feel and whether or not it's worth it to keep showing up. Stop trying to be what you think is helpful and giving other people what you think or assume they want. You are more than what you are able to give."

The image dissipated and I felt the last of the resistance sink down and out of me, a wave of exhaustion replacing it as I held my favorite stuffie and let myself cry.

"I'm so proud of you" came a voice like an echo in my skull. I looked around, but there was no-one there.

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I like to think that when we hold space for talking to our parts, we access a deeper magic that transcends space and time - we connect to all versions of ourselves, all experiences, and all iterations of truth. Doing this process helps me to release what no longer serves me and enables me to begin telling a new story.

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A note to my fellow procrastinators

(you know, the people who set up a susbtack months ago and haven’t published something yet, or started writing only to never share it)

What's holding you back?

So what if you don't write eloquently?

So what if you don't have something witty or clever to say?

So what if you don't know how something will land with people?

WHAT IF...you do your best creating when you show up with curiosity and a desire to explore what's inside of you or something that caught your attention...

When you feel an impulse to share something interesting, something sweet, lovely, or exciting...

When sharing your struggles and hopes and what you learned from your experiences by reflecting on them.

Still hesitating? I get it.

I've been so afraid of just showing up, and it's taken a while for me to unravel why. I've spent literally years, YEARS, wanting to write in this way, and finding every reason not to, from thinking I wasn't good enough, smart enough, qualified or knowledgeable, or even prepared enough (hello research fixation mode), and constantly tweaking and changing things like my about page and blog name and how I organize my notes and whether to write on paper or my phone...

When I finally realized that I was putting off writing and tried to understand why, the process of trying to unpack my fear just became another form of procrastination, something to focus on that felt productive - that felt safe (or safer than sharing my thoughts and heart on a page).

I often envy writers who have a more broadly accepted niche and write about world topics, tech, style and anything that doesn't require them to be truly vulnerable. I've tried that, tried finding things to write about, but curating content in that way is not something that brings me joy or a sense of rightness in my body, and if there's no real interest or intrinsic investment, then I can't get my neurodivergent brain to give a damn.

But this, being real, raw, and honest? It's what I CRAVE (despite the fact that it also makes me feel like I might projectile vomit). Maybe it's because I've spent so much of my life hiding my realness, stuffing away the parts of me that were true to blend in, to be liked, and to feel safe to the point of unlocking autistic burnout and debilitating health conditions.

I crave realness because I've held myself back from expressing it, and I doubt I'm alone.

If that sounds like you, then here is some advice you didn't ask for (do what you will with it):

What feels safe to share? Start there.
What feels exciting or fun to share? Go there next.
What feels expansive and good in your body?
Keep exploring and pushing just outside the edge of your comfort zone.

Keep building up those reference points of nothing bad happening as a result of you showing up (and actually publishing, not just writing). You're still safe, you're still alive, you're still ok.

What if you can just make a commitment to yourself to show up and play - experiment, try on different things to see how it fits and feels. It may feel scary at first, but there's magic in what happens when you give yourself space to explore without expectations.

Ultimately, it’s up to you to work out how to release the fear - or whatever reasons you have - that prevents you from trusting yourself and believing that you are worthy of taking up space, and that your words, however they spill out onto the page (or screen) are enough. YOU are ENOUGH.

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Journal prompts

Whether your a fellow procrastinator, related to some piece of what I shared today, or are simply in an introspective mood, I offer the following prompts to you…

• Write “why are you holding me back?" and see what comes up. (remember to be gentle with yourself please)

• What does “being brave" mean to you?

• What are some of the points in your life that you think you were brave? (remember that the little things count just as much)

• Write a “thank you" letter to yourself, to the you who took the leap into an unknown, who made a hard choice, who advocated for your needs, who ordered a coffee without crumbling under the weight of social anxiety, who said “yes" to something that felt right, or “no" to something that didn't. Write to them, tell them how much you appreciate that moment of quiet bravery, and how you not only survived that moment, but are better off because of it (or simply were able to update your brain's map to go “see, that wasn't so bad now was it?").

  I think it's important to acknowledge the times we've been brave, even if only to remind ourselves of what we're capable of, that we can do hard things, and survive it.

Feel free to respond to this letter or email me your responses (if you feel comfortable doing so), or share on your own substack if you have one (and tag me in it so I can be alerted and read it), or simply keep it for yourself. All options are valid. <3

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Acknowledgements

Sometimes I feel that cosmic forces drop little metaphorical breadcrumbs in front of me - little pieces here and there that help guide my attention and give me clarity or reinforce the theme of something I had been contemplating. Here are some of those things...

This podcast episode

This YT short

https://youtube.com/shorts/p-afMiyLDnE?si=8SO5XGeWujBxg4m6

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PS: THANKS FOR BEING HERE WITH ME <3