Week 13: I'm Not Brave

Rediscover Yourself - Weeks 1-13

It's time for a reinvention! You’ll bust one limiting belief every week and re-write your empowering narrative. I’ll provide reflection prompts and fun, doable action steps to keep you moving forward. Use 2025 to reclaim the starring role in your own life story. You’ll be more confident, more curious, and more ready than ever to embrace what’s next.

It’s like Glinda said, “You’ve had the power all along, my dear. You just had to learn it for yourself”

Desperate for change? Yearning for adventure? You have everything you need to live the life of your dreams within you. You just need a little nudge, that’s all!

I used to think bravery meant jumping out of airplanes or hurtling upside-down on rollercoasters. Since I have never done either of those things (and you would have to drug me stupid to get me on any rollercoaster, let alone one that dangles me upside down), I assumed I was just a scaredy cat. A chicken.

I'm afraid of so many things—spiders for one. House spiders are the devil. As a kid in England, I once woke up at night to see a giant hairy-legged beast parked in front of my face. Sitting on my bedroom wall like it paid rent. The way they move (the sudden scuttle, the eerie stillness) makes my skin crawl. But, I'm also afraid of more serious things. I'm afraid of failure. I'm afraid of disappointing people. I'm afraid my daughter will be sad (which makes me sad through osmosis).

But as afraid as I am, I know I can also be brave. And when I left my safe, comfortable, high-paying job to start a business (without any knowledge of what being an entrepreneur might look like, which was probably for the best), I discovered that bravery looks different for everyone.

Bravery doesn’t mean ignoring fear; it means acknowledging it, and I fully acknowledge that I was terrified. But unlike a bungee jump where you place your life in the hands of an overenthusiastic teenager and a rubber band, I didn’t leap blindly into my entrepreneurial career. Before leaving my cushy, stressful job, I calculated exactly how long I could sustain myself without an income (I'm an excellent driver saver, so I had a cushion to soften a possible hard landing). I set clear milestones and crafted multiple backup plans. My courage wasn't reckless like a bungee jump. It was rooted in process, preparation, and thoughtful risk assessment.

I won't get on a rollercoaster or skydive, because those things don’t offer me growth or joy. I don't enjoy feeling the absolute conviction that I am going to die. I don't enjoy the physical sensations, like my intestines are trying to exit my body through my belly button, or the inability to intake oxygen. Those things are just scary for the sake of being scary.