The first time I was called brave I was taken aback and then extremely flattered. 
I’ve never viewed myself as brave. That was a title I’ve never worn before, at least in my head. 
Brave always felt like a choice. I never felt like I had one. But I guess survival is a choice. 

I have always been brave enough to try things on my own. A restaurant. A concert, a bar, a move across the country. But the alternative was to sit alone in my room… that’s not much of a choice.
Sometimes I still chose that though. It’s safe it’s quiet it’s peaceful.
But you know what’s brave? 

Being vulnerable, telling people how you feel, asking for what you need. That’s brave to me. That’s not something I’ve ever been. People mistake my reckless disregard for myself and my safety as brave. Really I’ve just spent most of my life not caring enough about the outcome should something bad happen to me.

I care about myself because others care about me, and I care about others. 

Ain’t that some shit.