I read something the other day that’s been echoing in my mind ever since:
“You’ll never feel ready because ready isn’t a feeling, it’s a decision.”
It hit me because it’s true in ways I wish I’d known years ago.
For so long, I thought I had to feel ready before I could act. I waited for fear to quiet down, for certainty to show up, for my heart to stop racing. But the reality is, that moment never comes. If you wait until you feel ready, you might wait forever.
The Myth of “Feeling Ready”
We confuse readiness with confidence. We think it means clarity, calmness, and certainty. But readiness doesn’t look like that.
It looks like walking into a police station, shaking from head to toe, and making a statement about abuse and rape. Every cell in my body screamed don’t do this—but I did it anyway, because truth and safety mattered more than fear.
It looks like standing up in court to fight for my daughter’s right to fly on a humanitarian trip her father refused to consent to—not because it was unsafe, but because he could say no. I wasn’t calm or fearless that day. My voice shook, my hands trembled. But I stood, I spoke, and the judge listened.
Readiness is messy. It feels terrifying. And yet—it’s powerful.
Because readiness isn’t about eliminating fear, it’s about choosing to move forward with fear in your pocket.
“Courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.” — Nelson Mandela
Decision Over Emotion
Every major step I’ve taken—leaving abuse, speaking out, advocating for my kids, rebuilding my life—I never felt ready for any of it.
I wasn’t calm or confident. I wasn’t collected. Half the time I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and wondering how I would make it through the next hour, never mind the next year.
But I decided.
I decided my children deserved safety.
I decided I deserved peace.
I decided that fear wasn’t going to write the ending of my story.
And that’s the difference: ready isn’t a feeling, it’s a decision.
“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.” — Eleanor Roosevelt
The Small Decisions That Change Everything
Sometimes it’s not the big leaps, but the daily choice to keep going.
- Deciding to laugh when everything feels heavy.
- Deciding to show up to therapy even when you’d rather hide.
- Deciding to answer the hard questions instead of staying silent.
- Deciding to believe—just for today—that you are worthy of something better.
Each small decision adds up. They stitch together into courage. They build momentum until suddenly, you look back and realize: you didn’t feel ready, but you lived through it, and you are freer now than you were yesterday.
“Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.” — Theodore Roosevelt
You Don’t Have to Feel Ready—You Just Have to Decide
So if you’re waiting for the “right time,” stop. If you’re waiting until the fear goes away, it won’t. If you’re waiting to feel strong enough, confident enough, sure enough—you may never start.
Instead, decide.
Decide to take the step anyway.
Decide to choose yourself.
Decide to walk toward freedom, healing, and peace—even if your knees shake while you do it.
Because that’s what bravery looks like. Not the absence of fear, but the decision to move forward anyway.
“The best way out is always through.” — Robert Frost
A Message for Survivors
If you are reading this and you are scared, please know this: you don’t have to feel ready. You don’t have to wait until the fear is gone or until life lines up perfectly.
You only need to decide—decide that you matter, decide that your safety matters, decide that your healing matters.
This past few weeks in summer I have done some new things – some -that I wasn’t necessarily ready for:
white water rafting – our raft got flipped in the Class V rapids and we all bodysurfed out of them – I say body surfed but in reality i now know what clothes in a washing machine feel like lol. I would love to travel that river again but this time on a slow 4 day expedition rather than a day of adrenaline and adventure.
cliff jumping – I doubt anyone there knew i have a fear of heights. I have been skydiving and rock-climbing and can even lead climb – or I could 20 years ago. But abseiling and coming down – even the thought of that terrifies me. Such a rush to jump off cliffs into a river. I think the scary factor here actually improves how excited you feel when you jump.
paddleboarding – This is not a scary one but it was still a first. Still something new – and I love it. I see a lot of this in my summer next year.
Drinking a glass of wine on a date with a man – For most people, ordering a glass of wine on a date is casual. It’s small talk, clinking glasses, the start of something lighthearted. For me, it’s a decision layered with grief, trauma, and memory.
So when someone new sits across from me at a table and asks, “Do you want a drink?”, they’re not really asking me about wine. They’re asking me to put my safety, my history, and my trust on the line.
Why I Choose Caution
A glass of wine may relax someone else; for me, it reopens a door to one of the darkest nights of my life. It’s not about paranoia. It’s about remembering that my body was once turned against me. That alcohol was once weaponized, not shared. I am on meds where i cannot drink much or they react with alcohol causing some memory loss and has similar effects to GHB. My ex husband knew this knew this and used alcohol to sexually assault me, thinking I would forget or be too impaired to piece together what happened. But unfortunately for him, I do remember. and in four months he faces trial for that as well as other charges.
The last time I had a drink, it was at my dad’s funeral — a glass raised in mourning, in love, in loss. I didn’t know if I would ever choose to drink again. And when I did, it was on my terms, in a moment that felt safe, not one pressured or expected.
This was a huge one for me because it was a massive leap in trust and faith
Because that’s what healing is: reclaiming choice. Reclaiming control. Refusing to let what was once used to harm me hold power over me forever.
A glass of wine isn’t just a glass of wine. For me, it’s a reminder that every choice I make now belongs to me — and me alone.
And once you make that decision, even the smallest step forward is a victory.
You are braver than you believe. And you don’t need permission to begin.
“Still I rise.” — Maya Angelou
