When life suddenly falls apart, it can feel impossible to find courage. A reflection on starting over, steadying yourself, and rebuilding when everything changes.
“Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway.”
—John Wayne
When Life Suddenly Falls Apart
Dear Jennifer,
I’m a cliché, and I never thought it would happen to me. My husband and I were middle school sweethearts and have two incredible kids who are now in college. After we dropped our daughter off at school, he told me he wants a divorce. I had no idea he was unhappy and thought we were equally committed to our relationship. It turns out he had been in a long-term relationship with a woman not much older than our son, and she is a lot more fun, beautiful, and charming than I am.
Now I’m 52, single for the first time since I was 14, trying to figure out a new career path after 30 years of being a stay-at-home wife and mom while also trying to keep my kids stable and get our house ready to sell. I’m angry, sad, and scared about how to reinvent myself.
How do I find the courage to move on when my life was pulled out from underneath me?
—Still Finding My Feet
When Courage Feels Impossible
Dear Still Finding My Feet,
Let me begin by sending you compassion—and wishes for deep self-compassion. Your situation sounds incredibly painful and disorienting. I have no doubt that someday you will find yourself living a life that brings you joy and fulfillment again, but it likely feels like that moment is far beyond your reach right now.
Your letter inspired me to reflect on how we find courage when life suddenly shifts beneath our feet. I have been there, fellow traveler.
Let me tell you a story.
My sons are high school sophomores and are taking a class called Entrepreneurship as part of a four-year business track. Last fall, on day one of the course, Giovanni and I exchanged the following text conversation over lunch.
8/21/25, 12:17 PM
G: Mom I think I’m going to try to get out of entrepreneurship. The whole class is about presenting.
Me (after a very deep breath): Okay. I trust your judgment and ability to figure it out. There may be people at the library who can help you with the change. Or go find your advisor.
4:33 PM
Me: What did you decide on the schedule change?
G: Maybe might help my anxiety.
Me: To transfer or stay in?
G: To stay.
Me: Makes sense. What changed your mind?
G: Might help with my anxiety.
Me: I like being your mom, Giovanni.
About six weeks later, Giovanni came home and told me about an upcoming class presentation. He and two teammates needed to create a product idea, build a slide deck, design a model, and pitch it to their peers, their teacher, and three business professors from the University of Texas. Students were required to dress in business attire for the pitch.
His team’s concept was a biodegradable cup that could be personalized and decorated for special events—a small win for a struggling planet and a big win for party hosts who want to be eco-conscious without sacrificing convenience or fun.
Giovanni’s role was to create the prototype and prepare a portion of the sales pitch. We ordered corn syrup cups from Amazon. He decorated two with unique designs. He drafted his slides. We found appropriate attire for his ever-growing frame. He rehearsed repeatedly, made index cards, and worked through his presentation anxiety by overpreparing in ways that helped him feel steady.
The night before the presentation, he told me he was also making index cards for his teammates. I found that a bit odd but said, “I trust your judgment,” assuming it was another anxiety-management strategy.
It turned out to be quiet foreshadowing.
11/13/25, afternoon
Me: How did it go?
G: Good I guess. My teammates didn’t show up so I had to present alone but the UT professors and my teacher said I did really good.
Me: That sounds tough but like you made it happen for yourself! Good for you!! So proud of you!!!
G: Thank you.
What Courage Actually Looks Like
Bravery, isn’t it, Still Finding My Feet?
Different stories, different experiences—but the challenge of finding courage when your knees are knocking and your hands are shaking has a universal component.
Let’s start with a definition, dear one. The dictionary calls bravery “being courageous or showing courageous character.” That feels too vague to be helpful.
Here’s my take:
Bravery is choosing hope in the tug-of-war between a nervous system trying to keep us safe and a quiet inner voice inviting us toward a future we don’t yet trust.
And if we’re being honest, bravery is a bit of a bummer. There is nothing glamorous about being brave. It’s messy on the inside—fear and hope pulling in opposite directions while we try to maintain equilibrium. We want to be known as brave, but we don’t necessarily want to endure what it takes to earn that description.
Being brave is emotionally tangled as well. When someone calls us brave, we often feel a complicated mix of gratitude and grief. Gratitude because we know we survived—or are surviving—something challenging. Grief because the process was laced with so much emotional distress that it’s hard to feel triumphant.
We imagine bravery should feel like the weight of a marathon medal after a race well run. But often it feels more like exhaustion, vulnerability, and the shaky aftermath of holding ourselves together.
John Wayne was right—bravery is being scared to death and choosing to saddle up anyway.
That word—choose—matters.
Bravery is a moment-by-moment decision to move forward despite fear because the future might be better for the risks we take today.
It isn’t easy. And it usually isn’t a path we choose willingly.
But eventually, when enough time and distance settle in, we may run our fingers over the memory with a bit of awe. While others saw the stage performance, we survived the backstage view: the swirling thoughts, the catastrophic predictions, the physical distress, and the quiet determination that kept us from curling into a fetal position under the covers.
As I write this, I’m reminded of a portion of one of my favorite quotes about courage—one my dad kept framed in his office when I was growing up. I can still picture it: sepia tones, flowing cursive text, and Teddy Roosevelt’s steady gaze.
“It is not the critic who counts… The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena… who strives valiantly… who errs and comes up short again and again… and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.”
—Theodore Roosevelt, Speech at the Sorbonne, April 23, 1910
Powerful, isn’t it, Still Finding My Feet?
It reminds us that our job isn’t to avoid stumbling or making mistakes. Our job is to step up. To try. To show up. To enter the arena—whether we are 15 or 52—even if we’re pretty sure we are licked before we begin.
Four Ways to Find Courage When Life Falls Apart
So how do we summon courage when our nervous systems are sounding alarms and the future feels out of reach?
1. We pause and make space for fear.
• Ah, yes—my heart is racing.
• My stomach is tight.
• My breath is shallow.
Let the body narrate what is happening without judgment.
2. We breathe.
Slowly. Repeatedly.
We notice our feet on the floor, the chair beneath us, our shoulders relaxing downward. These sensations return us to the present moment.
3. We thank our inner critic for trying to protect us.
Then we turn up the volume of our wiser voice.
• Yes, this will eventually pass.
• No, this moment is not life-threatening.
• Yes, even if this goes poorly, valuable lessons may come from the experience.
Growth rarely happens in comfort.
4. And then we move forward anyway.
However shakily, we put one foot in the stirrup, pull ourselves up, sit tall in the saddle, put our shoulders back, and move forward.
When Life Puts You in the Arena
On presentation day, Giovanni came home, immediately changed out of his business attire, inhaled a large bowl of pasta, and requested unlimited iPad time. He also negotiated a holiday cup-making deal with his grandmother for $1 per cup when she called to inquire how the presentation went.
When I asked how he felt about his teammates not showing up, he shrugged and said, “It would have been nice if they let me know they weren’t coming.”
He’s right—they should have. It would have been the kind thing to do.
And you likely deserved more kindness than what you received as well, Still Finding My Feet.
Betrayal and avoidance of accountability have a way of dropping us into arenas we never volunteered to enter.
We don’t know what pressures or circumstances shaped other people’s choices, and ultimately that is theirs to navigate and explain if they choose.
What I do know is this:
Giovanni stepped into an arena he very much wanted to avoid.
He prepared for a team experience and found himself standing alone.
He felt the fear, tolerated the alarm bells, and moved forward anyway.
He was scared.
He saddled up.
He rode into battle.
He fought valiantly.
He experienced the triumph of high achievement.
And, Still Finding My Feet, it sounds like the same may be asked of you right now.
Giovanni is 15. The life lessons are coming quickly. And with that highly undesirable experience, he learned what it means to choose bravery—steadying his nervous system while saddling up, finding courage in the arena, reaching for hope, and feeling a gentle inner smile of pride when he later revisits the memories of battle.
A Small Epilogue & Reflection
A few months later, when the Entrepreneurship spring projects were announced, Giovanni made a different decision.
He chose to partner with his brother for the next project rather than return to his previous team or join a new one.
When I asked about the change, he shrugged and said something along the lines of,
“It would be more fun to do it with someone—to be part of a team and share the work.”
Courage, fellow travelers, is more than the strength we summon to survive difficult moments. It is also the wisdom that helps us walk toward a different future after learning from our past. It can mean setting self-compassionate boundaries and choosing our journey companions intentionally.
Sometimes bravery means saddling up and riding into the arena alone.
Sometimes it means choosing a partner we know will show up.
May we all sit tall in our saddles as we ride into the arena.
Ubuntu, fellow travelers.
Jennifer
For you, Angel and Giovanni. I like being your mom.
P.S. If you’ve ever noticed that quiet inner voice competing with self-doubt, you might enjoy the reflections in the recent Self-Doubt series as well.
Rest. Reflect. Reimagine.
Travel Below the Surface.
Moments that require courage often arrive when life throws an unexpected situation in our path.
Our hearts race, our stomachs tighten, and our minds fill with worst-case scenarios. In those moments, it can help to pause and create space for reflection.
Rest
Take a moment to notice your body and messages it is sending.
- Is your breathing shallow and quick or steady?
- Are your shoulders tight and raised?
- Is your heart beating quickly?
Take a few slow breaths. Lower your shoulders. Feel your feet on the ground. Courage often begins with calming our bodies and settling our nervous systems.
Reflect
Think about a situation in your life that is asking for you to summon courage.
Consider these questions:
- What fears are showing up for me in this moment?
- What hopes are quietly pulling me forward?
- What past experiences might offer wisdom about how to move forward now?
- Any past experiences that might be limiting my progress forward?
Reimagine
Now imagine how courage might show up in this situation.
Sometimes bravery means saddling up and stepping into the arena alone.
What might that look like in your life right now?
How could you make that process a bit gentler and more self-compassionate?
Sometimes it means choosing companions who will show up and share the journey.
Who might make your time in the arena feel a little less daunting—and a little more enjoyable?
Courage often begins with one small decision to move forward.
What is one small step that could help you enter the arena?
Where in your life might courage be quietly calling your name?
Remember, fellow traveler, courage rarely begins with confidence and certainty.
More often, it starts with a deep breath and a step forward on shaky legs.
Ubuntu.
© 2025 Jennifer Ayres, PhD | Still River Counseling, PLLC
Written with care for fellow travelers navigating life’s changing currents.
🌐 StillRiverCounseling.com | 📍 Austin, TX
Gentle Reminder:
The reflections shared here are intended to support insight—not replace therapy. Reading is not a substitute for therapy or professional advice that is patient-specific and does not create a therapeutic relationship.
