Small Courage

Small Acts of Courage: Everyday Bravery That Builds Confidence (The Real-World Kind)

My hands are calloused from wiring houses, but they still shake when I ask for help. Not because I’m weak—because I’ve spent the last twelve years learning that courage isn’t some big, shiny thing you buy at the store. It’s the quiet click of a light switch when you’re too tired to move, the shaky voice saying "I need help" to your neighbor after the furnace dies at 2 a.m., the way you look your kid in the eye and say "I don’t know how to fix this, but we’ll figure it out together." That’s the stuff that builds confidence. Not the grand speeches. The real stuff.

Look, I’m no expert. I’m just a guy who lost his wife when our youngest was two. I raised three kids alone while fixing broken wires and broken hearts. I started writing this blog because I needed to figure out how to keep showing up when I felt like crawling under the covers forever. And what I learned? Courage isn’t the absence of fear—it’s the decision to do the next thing anyway. It’s not about being fearless. It’s about being fearful but doing it anyway. And it grows in the tiny, ordinary moments.

Why This Matters When You’re Broken

Let’s be real: When your world shatters (like mine did when Sarah died), "courage" sounds like a luxury you can’t afford. You’re drowning in laundry, school meetings, and the crushing weight of "I should be doing more." You think, I can’t even get out of bed, how am I supposed to be brave?

Here’s the thing: Bravery isn’t a switch you flip. It’s a muscle you rebuild one tiny rep at a time. After Sarah died, I couldn’t even make eye contact with my kids when they asked about her. But I could say "Hey, want to watch cartoons while I make pancakes?" That was my first brave act. Not big. Not heroic. Just showing up. And that’s how it starts.

My story: One Tuesday, my daughter Maya (then 8) came home with a note from school: "Maya needs to talk to a counselor." My stomach dropped. I wanted to hide. But I called the school that afternoon instead of waiting until I "felt ready." My hands were slick as a fish, but I dialed. That’s courage. Not because it was easy. Because I did it anyway.

10 Small Brave Acts (With Real Stories, Not Just Ideas)

Let’s get specific. These aren’t abstract concepts. These are the moments I’ve lived through.

• Speak up in a meeting (even with one sentence).

   My story: I work with a crew of guys who’ve been in the trade 30 years. I’d sit quiet in meetings, thinking my voice didn’t matter. Then I had a moment when a new guy was getting blamed for a mistake I saw. My throat felt tight. Just say it, I told myself. "Actually, I saw the wire was loose before he started." Silence. Then the boss nodded. "Good catch, Jimmy." It wasn’t a big deal to them. But it was to me. I spoke up. That’s the start.  
   Your turn: Next time you’re in a group, say one thing. "I agree with X" or "Can you clarify that?" No more. Just one sentence.  

• Ask for help when you’re stuck.

   My story: My oldest son, Ben, was struggling with algebra. I’d stare at the textbook for hours, pretending I knew it. One night, I called my buddy Dave, who’s a math teacher. "I don’t get this," I said. My voice cracked. "Can you help me explain it to Ben?" Dave didn’t laugh. He said, "Yeah, man. I got you." That’s the real courage: admitting you don’t know.  
   Your turn: Text a friend: "Hey, I’m stuck on [thing]. Can you give me one tip?" Don’t overthink it. Just ask.  

• Try something new (a class, a recipe, a hobby).

   My story: I’d never cooked a meal that wasn’t frozen. After Sarah died, I tried making spaghetti. Burned it. Smelled like smoke for hours. But I tried again. Now I make it for the kids every Tuesday. It’s not fancy. It’s mine.  
   Your turn: Pick one thing you’ve avoided. Bake a cookie. Learn a new song on the guitar. Do it badly. You’ll be surprised how good it feels to try.  

• Say "no" to something that doesn’t align with your values.

   My story: My boss asked me to work a weekend shift. I’d been working 60-hour weeks. I said, "No, I can’t. My daughter has a school play." I expected to get yelled at. Instead, he said, "Fair enough. I’ll find someone else." I said no. And I didn’t die.  
   Your turn: Next time someone asks for something that drains you, say "No, I can’t." It’s not rude. It’s necessary.  

• Apologize sincerely when you’ve made a mistake.

   My story: I snapped at my youngest, Zoe, for spilling milk. I said, "You’re so clumsy!" Later, I realized I was stressed about work. I knelt down and said, "Zoe, I’m sorry I yelled. I was tired, but that wasn’t okay." She hugged me. That was the brave part—not the apology, but admitting I was wrong.  
   Your turn: If you messed up with someone, say "I’m sorry I [specific thing]. I’ll do better." No excuses. Just the truth.  

• Initiate a conversation with someone new.

   My story: At the grocery store, I saw a guy with the same coffee mug as my wife’s. I said, "That’s a cool mug. Did you get it at the coffee shop downtown?" He smiled. "Yeah, my wife got it for me." We talked for 10 minutes. It was just a mug. But it broke the ice.  
   Your turn: Smile at a stranger. Say "Nice day, isn’t it?" It’s not about making a friend. It’s about starting.  

• Share your opinion respectfully in a group.

   My story: At a PTA meeting, everyone agreed on a new policy. I said, "I see it differently. What if we tried [idea]?" I was shaking. But I said it. And no one yelled.  
   Your turn: In a group, say "I see it a little differently..." and stop. Don’t defend it. Just say it.  

• Take a short walk alone to recharge (defying social pressure).

   My story: I’d feel guilty taking a walk while the kids were home. One day, I just left the house for 15 minutes. Sat on a bench. Breathed. Felt human again. That was the brave part—not the walk, but the guilt I let go of.  
   Your turn: Step outside for 5 minutes. No phone. Just breathe. You don’t need permission.  

• Admit you don’t know something instead of pretending.

   My story: At a work site, a new guy asked me about a circuit. I didn’t know. I said, "I’m not sure. Let me check the manual." He nodded. No shame. Just honesty.  
   Your turn: Next time you’re unsure, say "I don’t know, but I’ll find out." It’s okay not to have all the answers.  

• Compliment a stranger genuinely.

   My story: I saw a woman struggling with groceries. I said, "You’ve got a great bag. It’s holding up well." She smiled. "Thanks!" It was tiny. But it made me feel better.  
   Your turn: Notice something real. "Your shirt is cool." "You have a great smile." Keep it simple.  

The Compound Effect: How It Actually Works (No Fluff)

This isn’t about "positive thinking." It’s about action. When you do one small brave thing, something shifts inside you. You start noticing: "I did that." And the next time, it’s a little easier.

My story: After I started speaking up at work, I noticed I was speaking up with my kids too. "I don’t want to go to bed yet," I’d say to Ben instead of yelling "Just go to bed!" It felt weird at first. But it worked. Now he talks to me. That’s the compound effect. One small act led to another.

Here’s the key: You don’t have to do it perfectly. You just have to do it. - Mistake to avoid: Thinking you need to be "brave" all at once. You don’t. Start with one thing. - Mistake to avoid: Comparing yourself to others. Your courage is yours. It doesn’t need to look like anyone else’s. - Mistake to avoid: Giving up after one try. I tried to compliment a stranger once and got a weird look. I didn’t quit. I tried again the next day.

When It Feels Impossible (The Hard Days)

Some days, just getting out of bed feels like climbing a mountain. That’s okay. On those days, bravery is just breathing.

My story: After Sarah died, I’d sit in the dark for hours. One morning, I didn’t even get out of bed. But I whispered to myself, "Just get to the bathroom." I did it. That was the brave part. Not the big thing. The tiny thing.

Your turn: On a hard day, pick the smallest possible act: - Open the window for 30 seconds. - Say "Good morning" to your kid. - Text one word: "Hey." You don’t need to fix everything. You just need to do the next thing.

Start Today (Not Tomorrow)

You don’t need a grand plan. You need one small step.

Here’s what I did today: I asked my daughter, "What’s one thing you’re proud of this week?" She said, "I helped Mrs. Jones with her garden." I said, "That’s awesome." It was tiny. But it felt like courage.

Your step: Ask one question today. - In a meeting: "Could you clarify that point?" - To a friend: "How did you handle that?" - To a stranger: "Where’s the best coffee shop around?"

Do it with a calm breath. Not perfection. Just doing.

You’ve already chosen courage by reading this. Now, act. Your confidence isn’t built in a day. It’s built in the next thing you do.

— Jimmy Hawkins, just a dad figuring it out