I’ve accomplished so much throughout my life. I recognize that, even as I feel inadequate to the achievements of others.
I would say I’m most proud of graduating from UofT. That was the greatest challenge I’ve ever had to face, and yet I finished the race.
I would say I’m most brave when I let myself be vulnerable, let myself feel my emotions, and let myself face death and almost choose it – only to pull myself back and choose to stay.
But that’s not me at my most brave. That’s not me when I’m most proud.
It’s when I can act and whatever I can, even something small but impactful to help someone’s lives. It’s when I can create a comfortable space for someone to open up to me about their dark, shameful secrets – things that no one else knows. It means people recognize my empathy and compassion. They recognize who I am and what I stand for and they accept me for it.
I had two such moments in the past few weeks under quarantine. It’s been difficult living in these trying times, and I thought I was thriving. I was enjoying myself, playing games, watching movies, cooking, biking. But not everyone appreciates the effort you put in each day to face your emotions and live.
And throughout all of this, I haven’t told a single person about these moments. These small acts are my secrets. I hold them close to my heart and I am strengthened by them. They make me feel as if I matter. I don’t want to tell even those closest to me. I don’t want them to look up to me like a hero. I don’t want them to be proud of me. I want to be proud of myself. I want to be brave myself.
But I do want to be recognized. Not because of what good I do. But because of who I am and what I stand for. I don’t want to tell someone for them to recognize me. I want my actions to speak for themselves.