The Time I Tried to Be Brave and Just... Didn't
Here’s the thing nobody wants to say out loud: sometimes, "brave" just means you try to do something that makes your anxiety scream run for the hills and then you do run for the hills. Specifically, I tried to be "Brave In Small Ways" by speaking up in my team meeting about a project I’d actually done (and done well, if I do say so myself). I’d rehearsed my point in the shower, in the car, while making coffee. I was ready. I was brave.
Then I sat down. My mouth went dry. My palms turned to ice cubes. The room got quiet. Not in a good, attentive way. In a "oh god, she’s about to implode" way. I opened my mouth. Nothing. Just a tiny, pathetic squeak. My face burned. I mumbled something about "maybe later" and stared at my coffee cup like it held the secrets of the universe. I didn’t just fail to speak up; I failed to not look like I was having a panic attack in a boardroom. The silence was loud.
Anyway, that’s my trauma response. The aftermath? I spent the rest of the day convinced I’d been fired. I drafted a 3-page email apologizing for my "incompetence" (I mean, that was brave? No. That was pathetic). I even apologized to the intern who’d just asked me for a stapler. My boss later said, "No worries, Sheila, we got it." Which was kind, but also made me feel like I’d just tripped over my own feet in front of the entire office.
What I genuinely learned? Bravery isn’t about the outcome. It’s not about succeeding at being brave. It’s about trying, even when you know you might just... not. And the real failure wasn’t the silence in the meeting. It was the hours I spent afterward, beating myself up for not being the person I thought I needed to be. I’m still learning that "small ways" don’t mean "perfect ways." Sometimes, the bravest thing is just sitting there, sweating, and whispering, "I’m scared, but I’m still here." Even if you don’t say a word.
— Sheila Bishop, laughing so I don't cry