I been thinking a lot about courage.
Those who survive trauma are often called brave, as if bravery were a by-product of suffering- a purple heart for a psychological wound.
Yesterday I rejected being called brave.
I don’t feel brave, I feel pieced together.
Then I realized bravery isn’t about surviving, bravery is about speaking out.
Surviving is easy, exposing the truth is terrifying.
Honesty leaves one vulnerable to scrutiny.
It’s rocking the boat instead of paddling along like a nice girl.
It’s calling out the perpetrators of unkindness, the ones who spend their lives blaming everyone around them for their unhappiness.
Perpetrators are self-victimizing poltroons craving attention and shifting the blame to others.
They inflict pain on others then cry victimization when called on their actions.
So yes, I am brave.
Brave enough to stand up to liars and bullies.
Truth is my weapon, and I’m not afraid to use it.