It takes Guts

Courage is such a grandiose word. It conjures up images of great bravery and heroic exploits, tales that have been passed from generation to generation, written down, played out on the stage or on our screens, to ignite and instill in us a will to take part in great acts. We’ve all been brought up with this from fairy tales to cartoons, the hero or less commonly the heroine winning through. So courage appears as a big gesture, the rescuing of a child from a burning building, fighting an “enemy” or protecting the fair weak maid. Courage is valiant.

Courage is a grandiose word and it should be, it’s a grandiose emotion. You have to fight your fears to be courageous, courage kicks and screams inside you and weighs heavily in the pit of your stomach. However, it doesn’t always come dressed up as a once in a lifetime feat. It comes to us all often and to some everyday, wrapped up in small packages regularly delivered which take a lot of heart to open. The addict who wakes up and says “No” that day. The mother who goes through childbirth. The disabled who insist on living independently and those brave enough to admit they need help.  The minority who stand up for their rights and beliefs. The child that is bullied who walks back into school.  Those who make sacrifices for someone else’s well being.  Those prepared to show weakness. It tumbles out of us as a shaky voice or a heavy tread. Courage is the quiet internal struggle.