When was the last time you were brave? I’m not talking about scaling Mt. Everest or sailing solo around the world. I mean real courage. The kind that scares you shitless, but you still keep going. That fearlessness that comes from within that you didn’t even know you possessed until you heard yourself roar.
Real bravery is showing up.
It is admitting imperfection, but willing to stumble and learn from every mistake made..
It is embracing the extra pounds, the wrinkles, the acne, the gray hair. It is loving every inch, every flaw, every extra curve.
It is singing off key, painting outside the lines, writing terrible poetry. It is the attempt that matters.
It is loving wholeheartedly, even when difficult. It is knowing love isn’t perfect or clean or sanitary. It is often messy and full of heartache, but always always always worth it.
It is owning your story. Not that flawless Instagram selfie with gorgeous hair and kissable lips. It’s smudged lipstick, ragged nails, a stained shirt. Your raw, real truth is way more compelling than plastic “perfection."
It is being afraid, but still taking those steps into the abyss, whether it is friendship, marriage, parenthood, divorce, or anything else that weakens your knees, breaks your heart, and fills your soul.
That’s real bravery.
That’s true courage.
That is your story.
“Jump, and you will find out how to unfold your wings as you fall.” - Ray Bradbury