On my 26th birthday, I quietly slipped into my car and drove off to Skydive. I kept it to myself because I didn’t want anyone to dissuade me from what I felt was a good decision. I wanted to face my fear on my own terms. So, I went ahead, and after about an hour, I took the leap (and lived to tell the tale). 

The feeling that followed was indescribable. I had just achieved what many might deem impossible, or perhaps even irrational. It was a whirlwind of emotions, a moment of self-discovery. I, Britney—the same woman who dreaded rollercoasters, turbulence, and speed bumps—now found myself jumping out of a perfectly functional airplane. I couldn’t wait to share the exhilarating experience and the courage it required. 

But that’s not where my journey with courage truly began. 

Growing up, I was often seen as the one to surpass. If you’re a high achiever or surrounded by them, you understand the relentless pressure to succeed, to always come out on top. B’s weren’t acceptable when A’s were within reach and anything less than first place was deemed unacceptable. This expectation shaped the course of my life—to win at all costs so, I resolved to be the best. 

I lived with a constant fear of falling short. This led me into a cycle of perfectionism, chasing after an unattainable dream. I never wanted to appear vulnerable, tired, or unsure because I felt it wasn’t permissible. 

Until one day, I realized that the pressure was consuming me. I was spending money I didn’t have to please people I didn’t even like. I was driving myself insane trying to maintain the facade of having it all together, even though I was barely holding on. I was struggling—emotionally, mentally, and in some ways, spiritually. But nobody noticed. They couldn’t see it because I didn’t allow them to. I kept my pain hidden well. 

Then, it struck me—a moment of clarity: I had a choice. I could either remain captive to the expectations of others or create a life that felt genuine to me. I embraced the idea that I had nothing to prove to anyone. My worth wasn’t determined by others’ opinions of me. Test scores and public perceptions weren’t indicators of my character or abilities. 

I started treading a different path. I dressed for comfort, not for competition. I applied makeup out of desire, not obligation. I spoke up only when I had something valuable to contribute to the conversation, not merely because it was expected of me. I began standing up for myself more. I corrected people who misspelled my name, even after previously being corrected. I held others accountable for their treatment of me. I established firm boundaries. I stopped entertaining invasive questions. I called out mean comments disguised as “jokes.” 

Looking back, I realized that my newfound self was an embodiment of courage. Courage isn’t about the absence of fear; it’s the presence of audacity. Long before my birthday adventure, 

Courage was navigating through heartbreak. 

It was moving to China after college. 

It was overcoming academic probation in grad school. 

It was having difficult conversations. 

It was seeking therapy for the first, second, and third times. 

It was shedding tears out of fear. 

It was publicly sharing my deepest shame. 

It was facing a betrayal in a friendship. 

It was finding the strength to use my voice. 

It was standing up, even against my own family. 

It was walking away from a comfortable job. 

It was ending a relationship with a man who was beautiful but detrimental to my mental health. 

Some days, courage is jumping out of a plane. Other days, it’s bawling your eyes out and STILL doing the thing that triggered the tears. The beauty is you don’t have to choose. My hope is that you honor courage at the level it comes.