“Having courage does not mean that we are unafraid. Having courage and showing courage mean we face our fears.”
- Maya Angelou
Last week I loaded up the car, drove both of my daughters back to college, and hugged them goodbye in two different college locations, on two different afternoons, with the same lump in my throat both times.
This year was supposed to be easier. I suppose in a lot of ways, it was. Both of my girls are thriving. They love their schools, their friends, and their lives. While I was unpacking bins in one room, I could hear my daughter down the hall already giggling with her roommates, deep in some story I wasn't part of and didn't need to be. It warmed my weary, tired mama heart in a way I didn't expect. That sound of her being fully and happily herself somewhere I'm not might be one of the best sounds a mother can hear.
Of course there were still tears from all of us. We hugged goodbye, and I got back in the car and cried the kind of cry that is grateful and grieving at exactly the same time.
I’ve been thinking about Maya Angelou's words that courage is the most important of all the virtues, because without it, you cannot practice any of the others with any consistency. You can be kind once. Honest once. Generous once. But without courage, none of it holds up under pressure. This week had plenty of pressure to go around.
We were all being courageous last week, just not in the same way.
My daughters were walking into another year of the unknown. New roommates to settle in with, harder classes, bigger decisions, and the ordinary unknown of figuring out who they are becoming without the watchful eyes of parents. That all takes a certain kind of courage that they haven’t had to call on in the past.
My courage looked different. Mine was in the letting go. In driving away instead of staying to smooth every wrinkle on their beds. In trusting that the beautiful and confident version of them that stands in their new freedom won’t come undone.
Courage doesn't always look like moving toward something. Sometimes it looks like a mother forcing herself to put the car in reverse and leave her kiddos behind.
Courage doesn't mean the absence of fear, for any of us. It means fear doesn't get to drive. Fear can ride along. It can even cry in the passenger seat on the way home. It just doesn't get the keys.
I think life is one long negotiation between fear and hope, playing out one decision at a time. Some days hope wins, and we take the leap toward the new friend or opportunity. Other days fear wins, and we play small, stay quiet, or crawl back under the covers. Whichever one we feed determines more than where we end up. It also determines how we treat the people we love while we're getting there.
That second part is the one I keep coming back to. Because real courage, the kind that holds up under pressure, requires an anchor. That anchor is identity. My girls can walk into a new dorm room full of strangers and be fully themselves because they know, at their core, who they are. I could drive away from their building because I know I am still their mother, still needed, still significant, even when I am many miles away. When you know your worth and hold true to what you believe, you get to enter a hard moment with the freedom to act, or the freedom to let go. Both take courage. Both are love.
That's the part I want you to sit with. Courage shows up as the right kind of love at the right time, and it rarely looks the same twice. Sometimes it's tough love, the kind that says go, I believe you're ready, even if I'm not. Sometimes it's quiet love, the kind that unpacks the bins without saying much because words might break the both of you. Sometimes it's loud love, cheering from the parking lot as they walk back inside to their people. It takes courage to hug someone goodbye. It takes courage to cry in the car. It takes courage to let someone walk into their own unknown without following them.
I won't pretend to know how we heal a world that currently feels stitched together with judgment, division, and a whole lot of noise. I don't have that answer, but I have a hunch it starts with a meeting of courage and love. Courage without love turns harsh. Love without courage turns weak. Together, they turn honest. Thanks, Maya, for making that clear.
Most of us aren't handed a microphone big enough to heal the whole world, and that's alright. We can still march forth in our own little corner of it. We can bring some light into our own rooms, relationships, and even our own next goodbye.
That's not a small assignment. For me, this past week, it was the whole one.
TWO TIPS TO fOR FACING YOUR FEARS WITH COURAGE
1. NAME WHICH ONE IS DRIVING.
Next time you're facing a goodbye, a pivot, or any moment where letting go feels required, pause and ask yourself honestly: is fear driving this, or is hope? Don't judge the answer, just notice it. Awareness is the first act of courage. You can't hand fear the keys back if you never realized it was driving.
2. LET YOUR LOVE MATCH THE MOMENT.
Before you show up for someone in a hard season, whether it's a child heading into the unknown, or a friend facing one of her own, ask what kind of love this moment actually needs. Tough love. Quiet love. Loud cheering-from-the-parking-lot love. Then give that one, even if a different kind would come easier to you. Courage is choosing the love the moment requires, not just the love you're most comfortable giving.
Traci Schubert Barrett is a Nashville-based keynote speaker and founding executive of HGTV, where she helped grow a fledgling idea into a billion-dollar brand. After two decades in media, she walked away to ask a bigger question: what if there’s more than success? That question became her award-winning book, What If There’s More?: Finding Significance Beyond Success, and her Healthy Ambition™ framework, which helps leaders and entrepreneurs achieve high performance without burnout. She is co-founder and President of Navigate the Journey.
