Exactly one month ago, I stood before an audience of my peers and pitched for $1,000,000. That’s a lot of zeroes to place behind someone’s idea, and the pressure was tangible. The weeks leading up to that single moment were filled with preparation, conversation, and mentoring. When the time came, all I had to do was show up, lean in, and work.
For people in positions like mine, leading companies and movements toward something bigger, you get accustomed to speaking. Honestly, talking is one of the few things I do relatively well. But “hard” is packaged uniquely for each person, and for me, it isn’t the words or the audience that disturb my peace. It’s myself.
I wish I could remember the first time I felt anxious, but the older I get, the more I realize anxiety has been an unwelcome companion for much of my life. The racing heart and dry mouth are telltale signs of a mind at war with its own will. I can see the sweaty handprints of anxiety pressed into crayon-colored memories, and I remember the rebellious teen deciding between being cool or being an individual, knowing I could never be both.
Whenever someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always knew the answer: a teacher. The one constant in my childhood was my unchanging mind, stubborn enough to follow exactly what four-year-old me had declared. But becoming a teacher was nothing like I imagined, and the defiance I had carefully stockpiled over the years, ignited whenever injustice appeared, began to simmer. It called me to do the unthinkable: change my mind.
If not a public school teacher, then what am I? Certainly not a business owner or an entrepreneur. What even is that?
As a mother, my mantra is “you can do hard things,” and when all else fails, “do it scared.” We repeat it while climbing trees or jumping into the deep end, while performing at piano recitals or getting ears pierced. I champion my children to challenge themselves, and they challenge me right back. In the quiet of their watching, I’m reminded they see when I choose easy or hard. In our house, we all face hard things. I like to say we all have to do hard things, but you get to pick your hard. So they each play an instrument and a sport. We read books, play games, win, lose, and get back up. And I am no exception.
So I pitched for $1,000,000, and the pitching wasn’t the hardest part.
Do you know what was?
Travel.
The highways. The planes. The elevators. The small, everyday things others barely notice can keep me up at night. The what-ifs. Not “what if I forget my words” or “what if I embarrass myself on stage,” but what if I grow faint, get trapped, or have a panic attack because I feel out of control.
My quick solution has always been avoidance. I take the stairs. I orchestrate every step. I map routes around traffic. I say no whenever I can so I don’t have to sit in discomfort. But lately, I’ve grown weary of managing anxiety in my own strength. I’ve been asking the Lord to trust me with more, and I can see the impact of my work expanding, requiring me to expand right alongside it.
So I began therapy. And I am proud of myself for that.
Through therapy, I’m slowly learning to heal my mind and loosen the grip of control. Maybe it started in childhood, as part of a military family moving from place to place, where I learned to cling to control because everything else was always changing. Maybe it’s just who I am, someone who likes to call the shots. But this life is too glorious, and the reward for accepting the challenge too great, to only choose the “hard” that isn’t very hard at all.
My children are watching. But more than that, I’m watching myself. And I want to look back and see that while I may not be where I want to be, I am also not where I once was.
I did not win $1,000,000, but I was selected as a winner of $250,000. That is still a lot of zeroes to place behind an idea. But I gained something far more valuable than dollars to advance my work. I gained confidence and community, a reminder that the life I am called to live is bigger than the boogeyman of my imagination, whatever form he takes.
Call it anxiety. Control. Depression. Insecurity. Perfectionism. Shame.
Silence them all by doing it anyway. Do it scared.
There are a million reasons to do a hard thing, and not all of them are monetary. What you carry with you in courage gained is far more valuable than money could ever buy.