The Quiet Courage of Staying

The courage no one sees.

There is a kind of courage no one applauds.

It doesn’t show up in highlight reels or before-and-after photos.

It doesn’t come with shiny milestones or dramatic transformations.

It is the courage of staying.

This is the quiet courage of staying — the kind of bravery that doesn’t announce itself but changes everything from the inside out.

Staying when the old patterns start whispering again.

Staying when you are tired of starting over.

Staying when the part of you that learned to survive by numbing out, shutting down, or reaching for sugar, scrolling, or distraction is begging for relief.

Staying when you want to disappear — but you don’t.

Lately, I’ve been noticing how deeply ingrained some of our survival strategies are.

They didn’t arrive by accident.

They arrived because, at some point, they worked.

They kept us safe.

They kept us functioning.

They kept us alive.

And now, years later, they sometimes feel like the very things holding us back.

That doesn’t make them bad.

It makes them tired.

When I find myself reaching for something that doesn’t actually nourish me — food, busyness, numbing, over-giving — I’m trying something new.

Instead of shaming myself, I pause and ask:

What is trying to be protected right now?

Often it isn’t willpower that’s missing.

It's connection.

Not to other people — although that matters too — but to the parts of us that learned very early that they were alone.

There is a quiet grief in realizing how long some parts have been carrying things by themselves.

So this season, instead of setting grand intentions or demanding change, I’m practicing something far simpler:

I stay.

I stay with the discomfort.

I stay with the urge.

I stay with the part that doesn’t trust yet.

I stay long enough for my nervous system to realize… I’m still here.

No fixing.

No forcing.

No rushing.

Just presence.

If you are reading this and feeling discouraged, exhausted, or disappointed in yourself — please know this:

You are not broken.

You are responding exactly as someone would who learned to survive without consistent safety.

And the fact that you are still here — still trying, still reflecting, still hoping — that is not weakness.

That is resilience in its quietest, bravest form.

Today, you don’t have to become anything new.

Just stay.

And let that be enough.