The Quiet Scaffolding of Courage
A Mother's Day Truth
I've been called brave quite a few times these past weeks. Suing the President of the United States wasn't on my bingo card for 2025, but sometimes the moment finds you standing at a crossroads where silence feels like betrayal.
But the lawsuit is just one visible moment. A single deep breath, shoulders squared, spine straightened kind of courage. What people don't see is how we arrive at these moments—the thousand invisible acts of bravery that build the foundation for the courage that others eventually witness.
It's in these smaller moments that we discover who we are:
The day I handed back an engagement ring, walking away from safety toward an undefined future, trusting that what was meant for me would find me when I was ready to receive it.
The moment I lay on that operating table, arms outstretched, knowing doctors had warned that Brady might not survive his first breath—surrendering to a hope I couldn't articulate but refused to abandon.
The pause before I pushed open my grandmother's hospital door after her stroke, knowing I needed to memorize her as she was — before seeing her as she would be from that moment forward.
The weight of that last box loaded into the U-Haul, looking back at my hometown, at everything and everyone I'd ever known, choosing love and possibility over certainty and comfort.
The tremor in my voice when I finally called the reproductive medicine office, holding Bryan's hand as we pursued our last hope (IVF) for a second child, never imagining we'd be blessed with twins.
The knot in my stomach as I authorized the transfer of my entire business account, investing everything I had in products I believed in but couldn't be certain would sell, the ultimate entrepreneurial leap of faith.
The fragile strength it took to press my lips to my child's forehead before surgery, whispering "it'll all be okay"—words I desperately needed him to believe while my own heart ached with uncertainty.
The hesitation at my friend's doorstep after her world collapsed, empty-handed except for my presence, with no words prepared but showing up anyway because sometimes witnessing another's pain is the only offering we can make.
The repeated choice to visit my grandmother with Alzheimer's, even when she no longer recognized me, when each visit shattered something in me though it brought her fleeting joy.
These moments… quiet, often witnessed by no one… are where courage is cultivated. They're the invisible scaffolding that allows us to stand tall when life demands capital-B Bravery in full view of the world.
The lawsuit makes headlines. But it's these small, sacred moments of choosing courage when no one is watching that truly define us. They're what prepare us for the battles we never saw coming.
Looking ahead, I can feel my courage being gathered for an entirely new season of motherhood. A season where bravery looks different but runs deeper. Brady stands at the threshold of high school now, his childhood years behind us. In less than a year, I'll be sitting in the passenger seat, watching his hands grip the wheel for the first time. Tyler and Caroline are finishing elementary school, their little-kid softness giving way to the first hints of who they'll become.
The journey ahead feels both exciting and terrifying. High school hallways. College applications. Driver's licenses. First loves and heartbreaks. The slow, necessary loosening of my maternal grip. (Ugh, I can feel my heart being ripped out of my chest). There are moments I wonder: Do I have what it takes for this next chapter?
Then I remember those earlier moments of courage… all those times I was afraid but moved forward anyway. All those times I couldn't guarantee outcomes but had to trust the journey. And I know that yes, we have exactly what we need for whatever comes next.
As Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde writes in How We Learn to Be Brave, the most transformative moments in our lives are often the ones where we feel least prepared. Her book came to me at exactly the moment I needed its wisdom. You may remember Bishop Budde as the Episcopal leader who, during President Trump's second inauguration, gently but firmly addressed him directly in her prayer service. With quiet strength, she implored him to show mercy to those who were afraid, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. Her courage in that moment was the visible manifestation of a lifetime spent cultivating bravery in smaller, unseen ways, much like the courage we develop as mothers.
She reminds us that "courage is a journey rather than a destination" and that we build our capacity for bravery through small, often unseen choices that prepare us for larger challenges. What comforts me most is Bishop Budde's insight that true courage isn't about fearlessness—it's about acknowledging our fears while refusing to be governed by them.
Think about that for a moment. How often do we believe we aren't brave enough because we feel afraid? How many times have we mistaken the absence of fear for courage, when true bravery exists precisely because fear is present?
When I watch Brady growing taller by the day, I'm afraid. When I think about the twins navigating middle school social dynamics, I'm afraid. When I contemplate college applications and young adult decisions, I'm afraid. But Bishop Budde reminds us that courage doesn't require these fears to disappear—it simply asks us to move forward alongside them.
"We all have the capacity to live within a narrative of great adventure," Budde writes, "no matter our life circumstances." This truth resonates deeply within me. Whether you're a mother watching your teenager learn to drive, a business owner facing uncertainty, or someone navigating relationship challenges… your story isn't diminished by your fears. It's actually enriched by how you continue despite them.
I see this lived out in so many mothers I know. The single mom who's terrified about making ends meet but shows up with creativity and determination each day. The mother of a child with special needs who advocates fiercely despite her exhaustion. The woman caring for aging parents while raising young children, moving through impossible days with grace I can hardly fathom.
We're all afraid sometimes. We all wonder if we have what it takes. But courage isn't the absence of these questions—it's the willingness to keep living our story even when we don't have all the answers. To keep loving, keep trying, keep showing up when the easier path would be to retreat.
This Mother's Day, as I stand between what was and what will be, I'm holding tight to this truth: motherhood has never been about perfecting courage, but practicing it. With each school drop-off, each first date, each college visit on the horizon, I'll remember those earlier acts of bravery that got us here. The same hands that once steadied wobbly first steps will find the strength to open car doors and eventually, front doors—watching my children walk ever further into their own stories. Because that's the beautiful paradox at the heart of a mother's courage: our greatest act of bravery isn't standing between our children and the world, but gradually, lovingly, stepping aside.
I'd love to hear from you: What everyday act of courage have you faced recently? Whether it's watching your child take a new step toward independence, having a difficult conversation, or simply showing up when it would be easier to retreat—share your own ordinary brave moments in the comments below. These unseen acts of courage deserve to be witnessed, too.
This is beautiful and so true. I’m finding the courage it takes to partner very adult children who don’t need parenting anymore but who I very much still want to parent. That balance between holding on and letting go never goes away.
This entire piece has inspired like ten poems. Thank you. Love you. 🫶🏼