Once upon a time, there was a very shy girl who hid behind anyone handy. In school, she found it hard to speak up. When her sixth-grade teacher locked the door to be alone with her after class, she went mute for two weeks. She confided in her best friend, who told her sister, who in turn told her parents. The adults decided she had to stay in that class.
She felt powerless, but then an idea sparked. She couldn't change what had happened to her, but she could stop it from happening to others. With newfound determination, she and her best friend spread a quiet warning—student to student, from her grade all the way down to kindergarten: Never be alone with this teacher.
For the first time, she felt proud of who she was. Not because she had spoken loudly, but because she had acted boldly. Yet, she still hoped no teacher would ever call on her.
Finding Strength in Resistance
In middle school, she was placed in a special music class. It was fun until she learned she would have to sing solo in front of the class the next day. She never even sang in front of her family, let alone her peers. Fear gripped her.
So, she wrote a petition. It declared that the class had too much homework for an extracurricular course. Every student signed it, and she marched it into the principal’s office. Her teacher was disappointed, even hurt. But she never had to sing. That was all she cared about then—avoiding exposure. Yet, in taking that action, she discovered something else: the power of her own voice.
A Life of Service Transforms a Life of Fear
At sixteen, she defied expectations again. Her parents told her she should be a teacher, not a nurse. “You’ll never finish school,” they said. “You’ll probably be married soon anyway.” But she ignored them. She graduated nursing school and started working on a medical-surgical unit.
Something remarkable happened. The moment she put on her nurse’s uniform, she was no longer shy. At least, not at work. In that role, she had no choice but to advocate, to instruct, to lead. Her purpose outweighed her fear. It took years of trauma—injuries inflicted by others—to break free of her shell even outside of work. But love of service became her antidote.
The Belief That Carried Her Through
That girl—now a woman—built a belief all her own:
I don’t have to like everybody, but I need to love everybody. I can judge actions, including my own, but I cannot judge a soul.
This belief carried her through everything.
She had been raped by a stranger. Held at gunpoint by another. Nearly murdered by a patient. Nearly murdered by a husband. Trauma like that can freeze a person in place. But she refused to let it define her.
Instead, she created her own healing rituals. She imagined placing her pain in a bag, setting it on a boat, and sending it out to sea, where the winds would lift it into the vast energy of the universe until it dissolved into pure light.
She practiced these little acts of release over and over again, until one day, she realized something: she could smile through almost anything. Not because life hadn’t hurt her, but because she had chosen to transform the pain into something greater.
These days, she cries mostly for others. Sometimes, she cries from the simple joy of witnessing kindness, of seeing someone share their gift with the world. Because despite everything, she is in love with life.
What about you?
- Have you ever found courage in an unexpected place?
- If you could send something painful away on a boat, what would it be?
- What belief carries you through the hardest days?
She’d love to hear your answers.
