Courage is on my mind.
I berate myself constantly for not having used it enough in my life so far.
Oh, there have been moments of glory, to be sure — childbirth, for instance — when I was clear that courage is not something you can beg for, borrow or steal. I can still vividly recall the moment of my first daughter’s head crowning below, that fire branding my future evermore with a deep sense of resolution. To become a mother, to surrender to it (because for me it has been a difficult mantle to put on, having no reliable mother image in my childhood). I was afraid, but not of the pain — I was far more afraid of the concept of mothering. Specifically, of being capable of nurturing another woman into being. If my own hands so readily lost their hold on my own needs, how in hell was I going to provide the foundation for my own woman-child? I still get a sick feeling in my stomach when I visit these thoughts. I had no compass save my intuition when I gave birth, finally, at 36. Becoming a mother made me realize just how dirty and worn my intuition was, even after years of ‘waking it up’ with magic and meditation.
Birthing became the act that finally, ultimately, made me realize that courage isn’t something you learn — or even earn — it’s something you do.
That’s the beauty of it, really — courage doesn’t need to be acquired, doesn’t ask for acceptance, doesn’t yearn for recognition; doesn’t care if you like it, love it, need it, want it. Doesn’t laugh at you for fumbling with it, or cry when you neglect it.
Courage is a finger that points from the hand of Love, a constant flowing river. It’s like a reservoir deep inside of us, and we either choose to draw from it or to meander alongside it, aimless.
Its only requirement is that you act with it – even if the act is to sit quietly and cultivate the presence of love.
Courage is constantly there, just… waiting.
Courage is a warrior of the heart.
And maybe courage is born from our collective unconscious. Because courage to me feels as if I’m plugged in to the Universe.
But then maybe it feels this way for me, because the first time I really felt it all the way, deep into my bones… was while I giving birth — which is a powerful experience of Unity. It holds the strange paradox of leaving one feeling ultimately alone, yet inexplicably connected and responsible for humankind.
People tend to want to reserve courage for those who fight, and usually in specific environments — war, for instance. But I don’t think it’s something that is reserved only for the ‘fighters’ of the world — there are too many times in my mundane duties as a mother, for instance, when I see that courage is a choice we make in the big and small moments. Courage is when you are full of fear and yet you choose to do the right thing, and it comes in all sizes, big and small. And often, Courage is born from those tiny feelings in our gut that we listen to. Our intuition. The young woman who quietly slips out the door in the dead of night towards her future. The boy who stands up against his peers. The parent who stops and takes a deep breath when to hit would be easy. The executive who blows the whistle on a company that is out of control.
Courage is there in the moments I wrap my arms around my child when my heart is filled with self-doubt (because I fear being rejected as a parent); or to take responsibility in my role as mother and tell her NO when it is necessary (because I want to be liked, I want to always be ‘nice’). It is so easy, achingly so, to use power-over with children. It terrifies me sometimes, the power that my children have unknowingly gifted me with.
What were they thinking when they called on me to be their mother, here at the River of Courage? Over the years, it has felt sometimes as if I’ve had to wash my hands over and over in this river, whether I wanted to or not.
But there are events in my life where I did not dip my hands into the river. I did not drink deep and stand up when I saw wrong being done. I did not act because of deep fears of what that courage may bring: to not be loved. To anger or even hurt someone – you? — unwittingly, and so I contorted to please you and keep you. I convinced myself no one would listen, no one cared what I carried in my cup, or where I wash my hands.
But I get it now — courage doesn’t care if others listen, or are invested in ‘my’ version of it.
Courage exists because Love needs hands.
I’m finally old enough to realize that I would rather be disliked for who I am, than loved for who I am not. (Someone said this somewhere, I’m not sure who.) And I realize that my intuition has sat quietly beside me, waiting and watching for me to pay attention, to bring it to the river — a compass always present, hidden just beneath my fears. So I pick it up, newly anointed in the blood of my children’s births, and wash it carefully in the River of Courage.
This is my year of Courage. May it be yours.
What does courage feel like to you? Where does it flow, where does it rest within? Tell me:
[ Are you walking by that river and longing to dive in? Or maybe you’re at a crossroads and looking to find it… I’d love to help you on your journey of spiritual growth. How can I support you? You can reach me here: kim@unshakablesoul.com ]
*This is a post from my old blog, a series called ‘Salvaged Letters,’ originally posted in 2012.
