An honest reflection on courage, IVF, career shifts, marriage to medicine, and converting to Catholicism, and why bravery is the trait I value most.

You know how easy it is to spiral into that mental checklist of everything you aren’t? I do it constantly.

• I’m not a patient enough wife.
• I’m not the friend who always shows up.
• I should be further along in my career.
• I wish I had saved more money.
• I wish I never would have dated that person.
• I wish I would have studied something different.
• And don’t even get me started on the “if only I had known in my 20s what I know now” loop.
• Why can’t my body just function how it’s supposed to.

But recently, on a walk (where most of my good thinking happens), I had this moment of clarity: I am actually really brave. Like, braver than I give myself credit for.

Everyday Courage That Doesn’t Look Flashy

When I zoom out on the last five years, courage keeps showing up in places I didn’t even notice before.

• Dating after heartbreak. After two breakups in less than two years, I still wanted marriage. So I dusted myself off, made a Hinge profile, and put myself out there again. That risk led me to Edward.
• Dating during residency. When we started dating, Edward was in his very first year of residency. I was 29, he was 30. I knew nothing about medicine or how much it would demand of us. I quickly became the girl always saying, “Sorry, he’s on call,” or “Sorry, we can’t go, he has to round.” There were stretches where I hadn’t talked to him in 36 hours, and friends would ask if we were okay. The truth is, anyone “married to medicine” knows the toxicity isn’t with your partner—it’s with the system. Showing up for this relationship after heartbreak, and learning to be secure in myself even when his schedule left little room for me, was its own act of bravery.
• Trying new things. I’d always wanted to play tennis. Instead of overthinking it, I signed up for adult tennis lessons—even though I walked in as the girl with zero skills. And yes, it was awkward, but it was also fun. It reminded me that bravery sometimes looks like being willing to be bad at something new.
• Putting myself out there creatively. I started a TikTok account for our dogs, Fredrick and Dodger. It might sound small, but sharing pieces of our life online felt vulnerable. Hitting “post” for the first time took a weird kind of courage. And honestly, so does writing this blog. Putting words on a page, knowing someone else might read them, is its own brave act.
• Moving to a new city. I uprooted my entire Midwest life to move to Denver for a year. I knew no one, but I went to fitness classes, joined a church, tried new clubs, and slowly built a circle of people.
• Changing careers. For years, I worked as a school psychologist—a role I knew well and felt comfortable in. But when the opportunity came to step into a new job at a university, I said yes. The work was similar but different, and it offered flexibility—something that mattered in this stage of life with Edward’s career. Leaving what was safe wasn’t easy, but it was the right choice for us.
• Walking through IVF. Our first round gave us only one embryo. We started a second cycle, but it was canceled when a dominant follicle grew too quickly. Right now, we’ve hit pause—choosing to focus on health, our marriage, and catching our breath before restarting later this year. Not the story I pictured, but still a story of showing up.
• Exploring faith. I grew up non-denominational Christian, but over time, the political side of church life pushed me away. For years, I tried to make a “positive energy” mindset my substitute for faith. But by early 2025, I craved something deeper—something rooted. After reading, researching, and talking with Edward, I walked into an OCIA class with 158 strangers in Denver, barely knowing the ins and outs of Catholicism. Terrifying, yes. But exactly where I needed to be.

What Courage Really Looks Like

Here’s what I’ve realized: courage doesn’t always mean running into a burning building or giving a big speech. Most of the time, it looks much quieter.

It looks like showing up to a class alone.
It looks like injecting yourself with IVF meds while still clinging to hope.
It looks like falling in love with someone who belongs to medicine as much as he belongs to you—and deciding to build a life together anyway.
It looks like leaving a steady job for a new one because you need more space to breathe.
It looks like starting a TikTok, or a blog, or trying tennis for the first time.
It looks like walking into a church you don’t fully understand, simply because your soul knows you belong there.

For me, courage means moving forward with fear and trusting God to fill the gaps. Some days my prayers are full of faith; other days, they’re just a tired “help.” Both count.

Why I’m Actually Proud

So yes, there are still plenty of areas where I want to grow. But I’ve learned to value this: I keep showing up.

And because of that bravery, I’ve found love.
I’ve discovered new passions.
I’ve built a life in a city I never expected.
I’ve pivoted careers when I needed something different.
And even in the hardest parts of my IVF journey, I’ve been reminded I’m not defined by what my body can or can’t do but by the courage it takes to keep hoping, keep trying, and keep moving forward.

I don’t know what the next five years will look like. But I know this: I won’t stop showing up, even when it takes a little courage.

And honestly, none of this is extraordinary. It’s pretty “vanilla” compared to what so many people are walking through. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe we all need to give ourselves more credit for the everyday bravery it takes to just keep showing up. Maybe we need to start talking to ourselves the way we’d talk to a good friend, with kindness, patience, and encouragement.

Because courage doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it’s just the quiet decision to keep moving, keep hoping, and keep loving, even when it’s hard.

👉 If you have read this far, what’s the trait you most value about yourself?