mynamesearn

I saw an Instagram post about PinkPantheress winning a chess tournament today, and I thought that was so cool. And then the first thing I thought after that was, “I don’t know how to play chess,” and immediately after that, “I probably can’t do it.” But I caught myself. Why is that my default thought? Why do I always assume I can’t do something before I even try? So I tried changing the story in my head. What if I said, “I can do it, I just need practice”? 

Because honestly, no one’s good the first time, not unless they’re some kind of genius, and I know I’m not that, so of course I need practice. That’s normal. It’s the same with pool. I love playing pool, but I always say I suck. And maybe I do a little, but I also somehow make it look cool while losing or maybe that’s just me being full of myself. Still, I show up and I play. That has to count for something.

I remember saying this to someone once actually, not just one person. I’ve said it to a lot of people. “I’m scared all the time.” I used to say it like a fact, like it was part of who I am. Every time my friends planned a trip to an amusement park, I’d always say no. Not because I didn’t want to be with them, but because I was scared. 

I’d still go sometimes, but I wouldn’t get on any of the rides. Maybe the haunted house, that was fine. But anything with height or speed? No thanks. I always thought I was scared of everything. Scared of heights, scared of not being good at something on the first try, scared of failing or looking stupid. But maybe it’s just a human thing to be scared. And maybe I’m not actually as scared as I keep telling myself I am.

I think that’s why I started reflecting on this whole fear thing. I’ve told myself I’m scared so often that it started to feel like a fact. Like a label I just accepted and wore around with me. I didn’t even question it, it was just part of how I saw myself. “I’m scared.” I said it so much that it became a habit, something I believed without checking if it was actually true. But maybe I’m not really scared. Maybe I’ve just convinced myself I am.

Because if I really think about it, I am brave. Just… not in the way people usually mean when they say that word. I’m not brave in an obvious, loud, adrenaline-rush kind of way. I’m not into jumping off cliffs or going skydiving or putting myself in dangerous situations to prove a point. I’m not saying those things aren’t cool or that they don’t take bravery, they definitely do. It’s just not the kind of bravery I have, and that’s okay. That doesn’t mean I’m not brave. It’s the kind of brave that people don’t always notice. It’s not a loud kind of brave, and that’s okay too.

I think we all have to be different kinds of people in this world. Maybe what I’ve been calling fear is really just who I am. I already use my kind of bravery every single day, so I don’t need to jump into extreme situations or prove myself with adrenaline rushes. Life itself gives me enough challenges to face, and that’s just my reality. And honestly, that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with the people who love doing dangerous, thrilling things. That’s their kind of brave, and it’s beautiful. And there’s nothing wrong with me for having a different kind of courage. We don’t all have to be the same kind of brave to be brave at all.

I’m brave in how I protect the people I love, how I speak up for them even when my voice shakes. I’m brave in how I show up for others when they feel small, invisible, or dismissed. I’m not going to shut my mouth just because I’m scared someone might come at me for defending myself or the people I care about and if they do, then so be it. Speaking my truth is worth that risk. I don’t always know the perfect thing to say, but I will always try. I care deeply, and I take action. And that’s bravery too, isn’t it?

I’m brave in how I let myself be myself. Even when people don’t get it. Even when they think I’m too sensitive or too intense or too much. I’m not afraid to feel things, and I’m not afraid to stand up when something feels wrong. That has to count for something. I don’t need to be the strongest or the loudest to be brave. I just need to be honest. And I am.

Sometimes I wonder if I would’ve survived in another era, like the 1940s-1950s, or even way before then. Honestly? Probably not. I’d be the girl getting in trouble for talking back to a man. For being opinionated. For refusing to be quiet when something was wrong. I’d probably have gotten myself arrested for protesting. I would’ve been labeled difficult, or rebellious, or dramatic. And maybe I am all of those things. But I also know I wouldn’t have been able to stay silent. She would’ve been stubborn, loud, protective, emotional and brave. And honestly, that’s still me now. I just haven’t always seen it that way.

So maybe I’m not scared of everything after all. Maybe I just keep saying I am out of habit. Or because it’s easier than admitting I’ve been underestimating myself for years. And maybe the truth is I can do so many things. I just need practice. And honestly, practice takes bravery too. It’s not easy. It takes effort, consistency, patience and showing up even when you don’t see results right away. That’s a kind of courage I never gave myself credit for. It took me a long time to realize that, but I’m starting to see it now. 

I just need to stop waiting for permission to begin. That’s what I’m going to start telling myself instead of “I can’t.” Because I can. I really can. I just need a little more time, a little more patience, and maybe a little more belief in myself.