The Cycle of Bravery

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At this point in my life, there are a lot of uncertainties.
A lot of hopes.
A lot of dreams hanging in the balance.
And if I’m honest… a lot of waiting in between.

One day, I’ll share it all more deeply. The full story, the ins and outs and the aches.
But for now, I’ll just share the lessons I’m learning in real time—while I’m still in it.

There’s this space between dreaming and seeing the dream become real.
It’s not talked about enough.

We often celebrate the vision, and we praise the finish line.
But that messy, stretching, vulnerable middle?
That’s where most of us live.

It begins with hope.
Hope that whispers, “This matters.”
Hope that says, “You’ve seen good things before—you’ll see them again.”
Hope that pulls you out of bed and dares you to keep believing.

But what no one tells you is that right after hope often comes fear.
Fear that maybe it won’t happen.
That the dream will die in your hands.
That all this trying, all this trusting, will lead to nothing.

Fear is heavy. It’s like a weighted jacket in the deep end of a pool.
If you let it, it will pull you all the way under.
And it’s hard to fight when you’re already tired.

But I’ve found something that keeps me kicking… something that brings me back up for air:
Friendship.

The kind of friends who don’t just cheer you on when you’re already winning,
but meet you in the depths. Some hold your hand while you sink, staying with you in the dark. And others? They dive in and pull you back toward the surface.

They remind you there’s still light. Still breath. Still beauty waiting at the top.

I imagine it like the ocean—the deeper you go, the darker it gets.
But the closer you rise, the closer you are to the light again.

Both kinds of friendships matter.
We need those who sit with us in the silence and those who speak life when we’ve forgotten how. We need the full experience—the ache and the lift. Because every part of it shapes us. It seasons us.

And here’s what I’ve learned in that in-between space:
After the fear, if you let love in, it always follows.

Sometimes I stay underwater longer than I want to. But I’m always pulled back by love.
And every time I resurface, I find hope again.

It’s a cycle—hope, fear, love—and maybe… that is the cycle of bravery.
Of being human.

If you’re in that season right now—the waiting, the unknown, the deep end—I see you. I’m with you. And I hope to be someone who helps pull you toward the light again. Not with toxic positivity. But with honesty, softness, and the reminder that you are not alone.

You’re stronger than you think.

There are things I’ve done lately that—if I saw someone else do them—I’d say,
“Damn. She’s a badass.”
So I’m learning to say that to myself, too.

Surround yourself with the kind of people who help you see love when all you feel is fear.
Who pull you up, again and again.

That’s not just community—it’s a lifeline.

There’s this quote by Fyodor Dostoevsky:
“To live without hope is to cease to live.”

And I get it. Hope is what keeps us going when nothing else makes sense.
It’s the whisper in the dark that says, “Maybe tomorrow will feel different.” It’s the breath we take after heartbreak. It’s the courage to try again when the world says don’t bother.

Hope isn’t naive. It’s bold.
It flickers even in the heaviest night.
It’s the steady light inside you that refuses to go out.

So maybe this cycle—hope, fear, love—isn’t weakness.
Maybe it’s evidence of your strength.
Your becoming.
Your bravery.

I’m here for it.
And I hope to always be a place where you can come up for air.
Where you’re reminded that light still lives in you—no matter how deep the waters feel.

We rise together. Always.

Hope. Fear. Love. Repeat. Maybe this isn’t just surviving. Maybe it’s what bravery looks like.