Brave Enough to Love
There is an energy that builds in holding opposing truths at the same time—the tension between what feels safe and what makes us fully alive. If there is a single characteristic that determines how we navigate that tension, it is this: being brave.
Bravery is often misunderstood. We tend to associate it with bold action, decisive moments, or visible risk. But more often, bravery is quiet. Internal. It shows up not in what we conquer, but in what we are willing to feel. To be brave is to stay present when every instinct tells us to retreat. It is to resist the urge to numb, to detach, to protect ourselves at all costs. It is to remain open in a world that gives us plenty of reasons to close. And nowhere is this more true than in love.
Love is not what makes us brave. It is where our bravery is tested. I have come to see that I would rather live the full, unpredictable roller coaster of love—the soaring highs, the disorienting drops, the heartbreaks that leave you breathless—than walk a straight, controlled line of emotional safety. There is a kind of life available in detachment, but it is narrow. It is contained. It is, ultimately, less alive.
To love—deeply and honestly—is to step onto uncertain ground. It is to reveal ourselves without guarantees. To allow another person to see who we are beneath the surface and then to wait, not knowing how we will be received. That waiting is an act of courage. Because sometimes we are met with acceptance and care. And sometimes we are not. Bravery is not just in staying when things are hard. It is in leaving when we are not seen, not valued, not cherished as the unique beings we are. It is in refusing to trade authenticity for belonging.
Bravery is also in the asking. To name what we need—to speak it out loud, clearly and vulnerably—knowing the answer may be no, requires a deep kind of courage. Because if the need is not met, we are left with a difficult choice: deny something essential within us, or walk away from a relationship that cannot honor it. There is no version of that decision that does not cost us something. But bravery is not about avoiding cost. It is about choosing integrity in spite of the cost.
Kelly Corrigan speaks to this kind of courage—the bravery embedded in relationships, in showing up for one another, in choosing connection even when it feels uncertain. "Bravery," she tells is, "is the great guts to move closer to the wound." And she suggests we respond with seven words: "Tell me more. What else? Go on." Brave love allows us to simply be in that moment even when we are scared of what might happen next.
This same courage extends beyond our closest relationships and into the way we engage with the world itself. To care about a world that is broken and bleeding is a brave act. To keep showing up, to keep investing energy, to keep believing that something better can be created—even when progress is slow or invisible—is to live with your heart exposed. It is the brave action my friend Chrys takes every Saturday at noon at Central Park in Grand Haven when she invites us to join her to Stand for Peace. It means accepting that the impact of our efforts may not be immediate, or even witnessed in our lifetime. And still choosing to try.
Bravery also lives in the smallest of human moments. In starting a conversation. In making eye contact. In choosing connection over withdrawal.
I know how easy it is to stay silent. I have told myself all the same stories: they wouldn’t want to talk to me… I might bother them… this could get awkward. Those thoughts feel protective, but what they really do is limit possibility. They keep me—and the person next to me—from experiencing even a moment of genuine human connection. Bravery, sometimes, is simply interrupting that narrative.
It is choosing to believe that connection is worth the risk of rejection. That a brief exchange might matter. That we are not as separate from one another as we often assume. This is the kind of courage Nicholas Epley calls us to in his TED Talk The Simple Habit for a Happier Social Life as he reminds us that even beginning a conversation requires us to push past our own assumptions and fears.
This is the work of being brave. Not the absence of fear, but the decision that something else matters more. And in the end, perhaps the clearest expression of bravery is this:
To choose love.
To choose human connection.
To choose vulnerability.
Again and again.
Namaste,
Barbara Lee
Experi-Mentor
Barbara@MomentumCenterGH.org
