Stop being a coward

All you have to do is pretend

I started getting back problems at 26 years old, and they’ve never really gone away.

The pain in my spine is infuriating and exhausting, but it reminds me that I have one. Sometimes I have to hold on to the bed frame and twist myself out of knots, I have to take a deep breath before trying to get out of bed. I know my back will make it feel impossible. I think about everything I’ve put it through over the years. No wonder it screams at me everyday. For real though, I do have sciatica and I also hold a lot of emotional pain in my back. I’ve done a lot with my spine and maybe it resents me for it.

I don’t think everyone can say the same thing. Having a spine, at least figuratively, can be hard to come by. Actions speak louder than words but I think the best of us will use both, even when we’re afraid to. The willingness to do so and act with some semblance of integrity seems to get rarer by the day. I’m a little bit bitter about it these days, because all I’ve ever wanted is for people to show up for me in the same way I do for them.

I think about all the things without a spine and how I’ve come across a few of them over the years.

Some of them have been men, some have been my best friends and twin flames. I guess there’s been the odd co-worker or two, maybe a jumpy family member here or there. I was once infatuated with a man who was older than me but was so afraid of human connection he would flinch when given it. He’d apologise and it would happen again and I’d feel unwanted and he’d feel guilty, but he was still safe (which was all that mattered to him). So his guilt would fade. Cowards get to stay safe for a little while but the reality is that he got to feel safe because I let him, because I couldn’t bear to see the boyish fear that made him fidget and avoid what was in front of him.

Even now, I think he’d agree he had maybe 2.5% bravery. So I overcompensated, I did all of the brave things, took on all the fights and fixing. I was the last man standing.

I took all the damage and in the end, he was just as unsafe for me as any bad man has ever been. He wasn’t a bad guy, just an inconsiderate one. A little bit selfish, kind of blunt and a complete contrarian but knew he was a coward. I’ll give him his credit for self awareness.

He was just one of the many people I’ve loved who have been too afraid to try. They’re always so afraid of bravery that they don’t even try to steal mine, it’s easier to be quiet and comfortable than to borrow someone else's spine.

So many things in this world exist without one.

Some of them hide too. There are jellyfish and bumblebees, spiders and butterflies. You have to really look for them sometimes, because they’re hiding out in oceans and gardens, in wildflowers and webs. They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.

I’ve loved and cared for enough cowards to know that it’s never personal, but it always feels like it is. Cowards prioritise their safety nets and comfort blankets, and it’s such an instinctive behaviour that they don’t even think about the consequences. Which is deeply ironic, considering most cowardice stems from the fear of punishment. Or trauma, but this isn’t about that. Fear from trauma is something I understand, and most people I know who are traumatised have fought tooth and nail to push through the fear. We just hate to let the trauma win, even though sometimes it does.

Being brave isn’t something we’re born with. We arrive in this world screaming, and some of us have never stopped. The state of the world is terrifying and courage is in short supply because people think they either have it or they don’t. The truth is, every single one of us is faking it. It is not a trait, but a deliberate act that takes time to get right. You have to practice it, work at it and pretend to be good at it until you are.

I know too many cowards, but I try to be patient even though I know the truth.

Cowards are selfish about survival. Their own instincts injure the people who love them, but they do it anyway.

Cowardice does not make someone a bad person, or even a weak one for that matter. However, it can absolutely make them a bad friend or an unreliable partner. If you’ve ever been let down and hated the feeling, I’d recommend setting low expectations for those people in your life.

I rarely confront a coward, because fear is debilitating and I put their feelings first. Maybe I should do it one day, because they never really considered mine.

Do you protect your heart like the rest of the cowardly lions that run for their lives? You look so tough but you sprint from danger, reacting to fear like a newborn fawn. You spook so easily, and I can tell when it happens even when you’re deliberately holding your face a certain way. I can tell by your hands and your breath, I can tell by the way your eyes disconnect from the world for a second. Most cowards have a similar tell.

I try to be patient, but everyone seems to think I’m not afraid and that frustrates me. They think it comes easier for me than it does for them. I am afraid. I don’t feel safe at home or work or in my body, but when it comes to speaking up for myself or others I will always do what’s right. I’ll ask for forgiveness later, or maybe I won’t.

If I’m on your side, shouldn’t you be on mine?

I’ve bent and broken this back of mine more times than I can count, often on behalf of other people. I’ve got their back, but I am still always so startled when they don’t have mine.

I’ve sustained so many aches and pains from carrying the clouds. I’ve collected so many creaks in my bones. I’ve stretched out my spine and cracked it to relieve it of all the stress it holds. I’ve laid down on cold ground to straighten it out, usually on dark wooden floors. I’ve rolled my neck and lifted my knees to my chest, and I’ve done all the things one should do to keep their back in tact. None of it matters, because none of that helps the emotional strain. It just eases the physical pains caused by many years of bar jobs and bad office chairs.

It’s hard not to take it all personally. I go out on limbs and present myself on a platter like a sacrificial lamb. I launch ships and dodge bullets, sometimes without thinking all that much about it. I do it all for people I love, and sometimes for myself. Someone has to do it. I’m an eldest daughter so that someone is usually me.

Running away from danger is survival and I’ll admit, sometimes it’s smart. Sometimes running is the bravest thing to do, like in bad relationships or exploitative jobs. Other times, it’s the laziest thing you could possibly do, at least if you want to keep someone in your life. If someone fights your battle for you, the least you can do is show up for them too.

Some people flee the fight, thinking it will set them free. I’ll say it as gently as I can. You’re not free, you’re just fast.

Go ahead, save your own skin. I guess that’s smart, putting on your own oxygen mask first and all that. When you turn around and no one’s running after you, you’ll breathe easy. You might run from facing me, or run from witnessing whatever punishment waits for me instead of you. I took your place, you know. You don’t want to talk about it. I don’t make you.

Everybody keeps harping on about not giving yourself away to people who wouldn’t defend you in a room you’re not in, but I’ve always done it anyway. It’s in my nature, and it’s not always a good thing.

Will you stick around to see them push me from the gallows, or would you leave me there alone too?

Maybe you’ll whistle as you leave, and pretend you didn’t see a thing. It’s better to be safe, it’s better to forget. Fools don’t get into trouble, they just walk around blind.

You’ll turn away and pretend you don’t hear the cracks in my chest and the rage in my throat. You can’t watch so you look away, there’s guilt in these gallows after all.

Maybe you’re just tired.

But no, this isn’t fatigue. I’ve seen that before and I’ve felt it too. I know what it looks like when someone has lost their fight. This is something else. This is when someone had no fight to begin with.

Please take some of mine, I promise you can have it as long as you promise to use it. I’ll help you get out of this alive.

I know it’s scary.

We’re not strangers, fear has been sitting on my shoulder for most of my life and I know it well. It’s forced its hands around my neck and dug its thumbs into my throat more times than I can count. It’s strangled the life out of me and people and love.

I am one of the most scared people I have ever met. And yet, I have managed to always show up for other people. Sometimes it takes a little longer to be braver on my own behalf, and I give myself pep talks in the shower. But if you’re someone I love, I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect you. In those moments, I throw everything else away.

Over the years people have asked me how I do it. After all I’ve been through, maybe I should be quiet. I’ve seen so much.

The thing is, I am quiet. I am noisy and I am not. I am always trying, even when I am afraid. It’s all just play pretend, because it has to be. I get carried away and steal bravery from the heat of the moment, I feel what I feel and I let my mouth do the rest. I feel the burn in my stomach and the acid in my chest, and I do whatever I need to do.

Being brave doesn’t leave me pumped with adrenaline or satisfied and full. It makes me tired, and I drift into worlds without wars.

I still do it.

I speak up and I defend, I fight and protect. I stand up when my legs go dead. I step forward when everything in my body demands I stay still. It’s really fucking annoying when other people don’t try. But I try to be patient.

None of us are friends with fear, we all just grin and bear it.

A lot of life is unpleasant, but we have to sit in it anyway. We tolerate the uncomfortable and endure the awkward. There are consequences to everything, even running away. Cowardly people are afraid of punishment, but the punishment comes for them anyway. Every betrayal and silence comes at a cost. That comfort blanket of yours needs paying for one day.

They think I don’t know what it’s like to be afraid of consequences, despite the anxiety that keeps me awake for days, betrays my skin and makes me pick around my nails. Of course I’m afraid, I’ve never been anything else.

I think about all of the things that don’t have a spine.

I think about how quickly some people have disappeared at my time of need. They escape through open windows and crawl under the floorboards. They never go too far away, because they’re almost as afraid of losing me as they are of showing up for me. I try to be patient.

You scuttle away while there’s still time, and you creep behind walls in the dead of the night.

You’re just a spider and the rumours might just be true.

Confronting a coward is not a fair fight, so I let this one go for now. They tell me not to fear you and I nod because I know it’s true. You’re just a spider. You’re more afraid of me than I ever have been of you.