Bravery

“Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing we’ll ever do.” - Brene Brown

I often tell a story on stage about the time I participated in a workshop with four other people. We stood in a circle and took turns stepping into the middle of the group, allowing the others to witness us for one minute silently. After that, those on the outside wrote what they saw inside the person in big black markers on their body. 

Some walked away from the exercise with words written on their arms and chest, like “beautiful” and “powerful.” Instead, I had the word “Brave” written by three of the four people in my group. The punchline I use on stage is that, apparently, just existing as I am is an act of bravery.

In truth, the description is one I have heard my entire life, especially after surviving things like childhood trauma, coming out at an early age, enduring the loss of almost every person that I have ever truly loved, and still choosing time and again to believe that the pain of my past does not predestine my life. Ironically, the fact that I even stand up on stage and tell jokes occasionally is something that most remark is the bravest of all.

However, as Brene Brown so often teaches, there is a great difference between disclosure and vulnerability. I have no problem sharing the darkness of my past because to survive it, I had to disconnect from the felt sensation of any of it. I learned early that by speaking the truth of my life out loud, I would appear to be letting others in vulnerably when, in reality, I was simply disclosing information I had no emotional connection to.

True bravery is telling our stories in the most honest, authentic, and vulnerable way possible. It means choosing the version of the story that gives us a feeling of unease instead of the one we have no reaction to. It is admitting all of the things we believe to be unworthy and unlovable so that we can face the possibility that we fear most, which is that we are the only ones creating the stories that we are not enough and instead, all that we believe to be inadequate is what is most worthy in us.

So, this is why I created this space: to share my story in the most honest way I know how at this moment in my life and to hopefully create a safe space for others to do the same.

On Mondays, you will receive a “snapshot” of my life each week. It will be a glimpse into the lessons and themes occurring in the present through storytelling from my past. 

Those of you who choose the paid subscription will receive guest newsletters from the people who inspire me most, an archive of previous works, and the opportunity to submit your own “snapshot” to the community.

I have no idea how this will go, but I do know that I intend to begin this journey with bravery, which I haven’t done before.

If I were to share the “brave truth,” it would be that I have wanted to be a writer my entire life. It was a dream I shared with my father, who once told me that he believed I had the skill he wished he had and that I could be a published author someday. We weren’t a family that dreamed big; in fact, my parent’s only real hope was that my sister and I would not work our entire lives in restaurants as they both did. The fact that I could have the potential to be something was terrifying.

My father died when I was 30, on Father’s Day, in the hospital that I was born in. He was there for my first breath, and I was lucky enough to hold his hand for his last. When I cleaned out his house, I found a plastic bucket in his office closet filled with decades of writing. From hand to typewritten, fantasy novels to books sharing life lessons through a love of wine. It was the physical manifestation of a lifetime of dreams he never allowed himself to fully pursue. At that moment, the pressure of honoring him by following our shared dream became crippling.

It has taken me years to write from a place of truth instead of worrying about how these words will be perceived. I needed to learn what the sensation in my body felt like when something was present and alive within me instead of logically trying to put a puzzle together that fit what I felt would be deemed worthy.

I am not often fearful, but I am terrified to hit submit. I know that even a single subscriber will bring me to tears and that this matters in a way that I used to never allow myself to feel, let alone acknowledge. 

I spent most of my life terrified, doing everything I could to hide from everything I feared. In the last few years, I have learned that fear is something to run towards in order to overcome all that we previously believed ourselves capable of. 

The fact that I am afraid and that this matters means that it is the right step to take.

It is time to be brave. Please join me on this journey.

With Love,

Clayton

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