(defined)

verb: to endure, to bear, to withstand unpleasant conditions or behavior.

noun: people who are ready to face and endure danger or pain; a warrior.

I decided I wanted to write this not because I exude bravery, although I wish I did, but because I live a life frequently consumed with fear. And while it probably seems counter intuitive that a person afraid of everything has anything meaningful to say about bravery, I think the world benefits more from a voice of genuine struggle than unrealistic expectation. That is, I think far too often the majority of people encouraging us to be brave or courageous fail to acknowledge its precursor — fear.

To most people, including myself, fear is an ugly word. It is weakness, and shame. Fear is something we try to hide, or that we attempt to bury. We expend precious energy trying to convince ourselves that we’re fearless, and others that it’s no problem of ours.

Fear is painful. I know this well.

I’ve slammed head first into pool walls because my stroke count was off. I’ve sliced open and dislocated my fingers on the lane-lines. I’ve blown out my elbow and rolled my ankle on tumbling passes. I have ripped open my already bloodied rips on bars and smacked face first into the beam. I’ve run with shin splints and blistered feet. I have left Krav with more bruises than I count, in places that I didn’t even know could bruise. I’ve had contusions up and down my arms and legs from practicing defenses. I have been slammed into the sand and reef unapologetically by the ocean one too many times. But in all my life, there is nothing that has been more painful than the crippling grip of fear.

Unchallenged, fear has the ability to keep us from doing things that we know we are fully capable of doing. Fear has the power to kill dreams, to squash hope, and to paralyze our lives.

That’s why we watch the waves roll by rather than make the drop, tell ourselves we didn’t really want the job anyways rather than submit the application, prepare our hearts for disaster rather than be expectant of joy, and put in fifty percent effort ‘just in case’ rather than fighting for something with single ounce of our being.

But here’s where I think it gets good.

Fear is also pivotal to courage. Fear is the catalyst of bravery. If we don’t get real about fear, then we never fully grasp the value, power, or meaning of what it is to be brave.

Fear is an emotion that we all experience; some of us more than others. And like all emotions, fear is a psychological response to something in our physical world. Emotions originate in our limbic system, that is the primal brain, or the part of the brain that is responsible for survival. Bravery, on the other hand, is a choice. It is a decision we get to make; a decision that stems from our frontal cortex, the area of the brain that directs complex cognitive behavior and problem solving.

Why is this so important you ask…because this literally means that the only way we can be brave and live courageously is to experience fear. More precisely, acknowledge our fears. The more we avoid thinking about or talking through the fears we have, the stronger our limbic response in an effort to protect and survive. Alternatively, the more we call out fear for what it is (an emotion) and challenge ourselves to think about what we want to see, or do, or accomplish, the greater our courage becomes.

I decided at the beginning of this year that I wanted to be a braver person. In doing so, what I have actually required of myself is to be more intentional about getting to know my fears. Not to dwell on them as a victim to my experiences and simply survive the struggle, but to make a declaration that I will stand up for my hopes and dreams, for peace of mind, and for abundant life. I don’t want to hide, or run, or avoid, or pretend anymore. I want to be ready to face the things that instinctually feel dangerous. I want to bear temporary discomfort and endure what seems scary.

I want to capture fear and choose brave.

I can do this. And so can you.