In sixth grade, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder. My doctors prescribed a medley of medications, and I took them religiously over the next four years, but the disease progressed, destroying all function in both of my kidneys. The medical context of my situation is necessary to understand where I am coming from as I write this piece, but is not what I want to write about. The more interesting side of things is not the disease itself, but how it affected my perception of bravery.
As word got out about my condition, friends and family flocked to support me; I felt so much love during that time. One of the things people would tell me all the time was how brave I was for fighting through this. This always struck me. The term bravery brings to mind firefighters, police officers, soldiers, and people willingly sacrificing themselves to protect others. I didn’t feel brave. I felt like a sick, lanky kid in a hospital bed who hadn’t showered in a week. Even today, I still believe I wasn’t brave at all for dealing with that sickness. I didn’t knowingly walk into that situation; it just happened to me. At the time, I was simply living the life that I had to live to survive. I dealt with everything that was happening to me because I had no other choice; it was do or die. I was essentially risking absolutely nothing.
I think it’s natural for people to look at anyone else’s hardships and compare them to their own. When a person sees that someone has it harder than them in life, it is easy to empathize with them and admire the way they handle it. I’m sure a lot of people telling me I was brave did so because they admired the way I was handling a situation they didn’t have to deal with. The truth is, though, that if they were in my situation, they would have to handle it the same way I did. They wouldn’t have any other options. I sacrificed nothing during the whole ordeal. It wasn’t bravery; it was self-preservation.
That isn’t to say the whole situation required no bravery on anyone’s part. Those who showed the most bravery were my parents, not me. My mom, who sacrificed so much to stay by my side during everything, to ask questions and hold my hand before surgery. She put her entire life on hold and became a full-time nurse both in and out of the hospital. My dad balanced work and hospital visits, bringing my sisters back and forth from home to the hospital, and spending sleepless nights playing board games with me. Being there for me all the time took a toll on their lives, but they never complained. It takes a lot of bravery to watch your daughter fade, physically and emotionally, in front of you, yet still hold it together. Their situations both required so much more bravery and strength than mine ever did, yet I was the one being told I was brave all the time.
Bravery is more than dealing with a tough situation. Bravery requires a sacrifice and a certain selflessness. It shouldn’t be overlooked. In fact, the term should be reserved for actual bravery.
