My daughter is fearless. She’s climbed trees two stories high hanging over a three story drop (that’s five stories if you’re counting). She dove off a swim block in a competitive swim meet at the ripe old age of five. And she has climbed circus silks far above my head twisting herself in and flipped over in an elegant inversion before righting her self and sliding to the ground with a flourish and grin.
My girl’s a study in bravery. Except when she’s not.
Watching her struggle with insecurity around other people and with some things that really matter, hurts my heart. I see the potential in her. I see what she could be, what she could achieve, but she’s too afraid to try.
And I recently realized how often I do the same. I’m afraid to try. To risk.