Listen — sometimes courage is as simple as opening your eyes in the morning. Sometimes it’s as easy as making the effort to eat your breakfast without spelling their name in your cereal, or breaking your teeth on their goodbyes. Sometimes courage is the way you fall in love with your sadness, how you let it rock you to sleep, how you feel it and face it and tell yourself every single night that you can overcome it, even if you feel like you can’t.

No, sometimes courage isn’t a big declaration, a common accomplishment. Sometimes courage is the way you slowly comb them out of your hair; sometimes courage is hearing their voice in public and not turning your head or having your stomach feel like a shaken up can of soda. Sometimes courage is smiling for your younger sister when your heart is breaking, sometimes it's telling her that love exists even on the days you simply don’t believe it does.

See, sometimes courage isn’t climbing Mount Everest or changing the world. Sometimes your mountain to climb is made up of weekdays and months, made up of pushing yourself forward even when you want to nestle into the past. Sometimes changing the world means changing your world, as gradually as you need to, as gently as you heal, because sometimes courage isn’t made up of war, and bloodshed; sometimes courage isn’t made of combat. Sometimes courage is a quiet fight, a dim softness within you, that flickers even on your darkest days, and reminds you that you are strong, that you are growing — that there is hope.