I am so lucky. I have just been invited today to join a Brave Group; women who have gathered to support each other in being brave in their lives. This got me thinking: What does it mean to be brave?
Bravery… Some Definitions
Definitions abound, apparently, and they are all, perhaps, true!1. “When you run into a burning building to save a friend, this is an example of bravery.” (from YourDictionary.com)
2. “Being able to confront frightening things… It also takes bravery to pet a friend’s German shepherd, especially if you are afraid of dogs. The earliest meaning of bravery was closer to bravado: ‘daring, defiance…’.” (from Vocabulary.com)3. “The quality or state of having or showing mental or moral strength to face danger, fear, or difficulty.” (from Merriam-Webster.com)All helpful, if mostly unrelateable—at least to me—although I do especially like the last part of the last definition. I have never been called on to run into a burning building. I love all dogs. So Definition #3 seems most fitting.
Examining my own life, a few decades into adulthood (Okay, actually more than a few.): I see that there’s some evidence of bravery, applying Definition #3. This is pretty inevitable, if one lives long enough—if we are talking about mental or moral strength, facing difficulty. I will bet almost any amount of money that you can find evidence of bravery in your life, too, if you’ve been on the planet awhile.
My Brave Story
My “terrible, horrible, no good, very bad” year, 2001, was the worst year ever. To be accurate, it was the only truly bad entire year I’ve ever had. I’m quite fortunate, that way. I live an uneventful-yet-never-boring, happy, very good life, overall.2001, though. That was rough.Nationally, of course, it was the worst time. The 9/11 attacks on us were the saddest and most frightening time I know of. I was no stranger to terrorism; we were stationed with the Army in Germany during the time of the Red Army Faction, the Baader-Meinhof Gang, and their attacks on U.S. soldiers and bases, through the 1980s. But this threw me. On 9/11, I turned from an optimist into a pessimist, instantly. It took a good ten years to regain my optimism.
Job Loss and Back to School
But let me start in early 2001. It began with my being down-sized (laid-off, pink-slipped, canned), along with my coworkers. It was part of a massive event, the bursting of the dot-com economic bubble. It meant the loss of my dream job, and my 401k was halved in an instant, as the company stock dropped like a stone.
I decided to take advantage of the newfound freedom to return to school and pursue a long-held dream to study counseling psychology and become a therapist. Did that. It was an auspicious new beginning.
I Lost My Face
Several months later, something happened. I woke up one day and the right side of my face was entirely paralyzed. Off to the ER we went. A stroke was ruled out, and I was diagnosed with Bell’s Palsy, a neurological “event” (not even really considered an illness and temporary in the vast majority of cases).
However, I was not one of the 80-90% for whom Bell’s completely resolves in a short time. No, I had ongoing problems, and it created additional issues over the next year. I tried keeping it in perspective, made jokes that “it wasn’t cancer,” and worked on it with physical therapy.
But, to be a counselor, I really needed my face. So much of communication is nonverbal, including facial expressions! I was pretty terrified that the paralysis, the drooping, the inability to blink, tearing up all the time, etc., would never go away. (After a year, it began to diminish and my facial muscles started to work again. Still later, nearly all the issues resolved. I did get my face back, with a lot of gratitude.)
Terror Attacks and a Deployed Husband
The 9/11 attacks came, about two months into the Bell’s experience. My soldier husband, in Special Forces, was almost immediately deployed with the first group that went. His first deployment in the 18 years we had been married.
Now the depression crept in. I was pretty good at being an Army Wife, and I was graduate counseling student, so I thought: “I know about this,” and “I can handle it.”
Well, not exactly, it turned out. So I sought my own counseling.School and antidepressants, with the counseling, were my saving grace. I had great friends. Our three dogs kept me company and sometimes made me laugh. I counted down the months that my husband would come home (It would be six months).
A Very Sick Dog
Suddenly, Bruiser, our yellow Lab rescue, was diagnosed with diabetes. It was pretty bad, fast. I tried to take it in stride and learned how to give insulin injections. Then, overnight, he went blind. The neighbor and I built a ramp for him, replacing steps, so Bruiser could safely negotiate the steep drop from deck to yard.
Bruiser adapted far better than I did. Then we decided to use my husband’s extra “combat pay” for surgery. The vet specialist was able to save one eye and restored his vision in it! To me this seemed miraculous and gave me a great boost of hope.
Our Friend Died
Then a dear friend of ours died. My brave husband wept in Afghanistan, as I told him, by phone. It was the last distressing event in a year full of them. Any one of these 2001 experiences—or even some of them spread over a longer time—would have been fairly manageable. But it was so much more than something to manage. Finally 2001 ended, and a few months later my husband returned.
Muddling Through and Not Buckling
I never thought I was brave; it never occurred to me. Brave? Really? Until today when I read some of the Brave Group members’ stories. YES, brave. That year was all about ups and downs, loss and hope: getting downsized, returning to school in midlife, a health crisis, a terror attack, spouse deployment, depression, a much-loved pet’s grave illness and recovery, and the death of a friend.
2001 was also about muddling through. Searching for and finding solutions, getting support, gaining perspective, suffering the losses, missing and fearing for my husband, and, to paraphrase a Brave Group member,
“I can’t say I did things right every day, but I tried, every single day.”
If bravery means a kind of mental toughness that is gained simply by muddling through a difficult time, and not buckling, I’ll take that. I hope this story of “my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year” has shed new light on how brave you are, too.What’s your Brave Story?
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Inspirational phrasing, “terrible, horrible, no good…” adapted from the children’s book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, by Judith Viorst.