I once asked a few friends and family members what courage meant to them. Their answers were thoughtful and honest: being brave, doing something that scares you, finding strength when things feel impossible, believing in yourself when the path ahead is uncertain, and even falling apart but choosing to get back up again.
All of those definitions resonated with me.
But one definition that has always stayed with me comes from Brené Brown, who writes that “courage is being vulnerable; having the courage to show up when you can’t control the outcome.”
When I think about courage through that lens, two moments in my life immediately come to mind—moments when Sophie and I showed each other what courage really looks like.
When Sophie was just two years old, she began showing signs of something the veterinarian called Intervertebral Disc Disease (IVDD).
Research article: https://www.vet.cornell.edu/departments-centers-and-institutes/riney-canine-health-center/canine-health-topics/intervertebral-disc-disease
Her back legs started to knuckle, meaning her toes curled under when she tried to walk. She whimpered from pain, and as a dog mom, my heart sank. I rushed her to the hospital where a neurologist confirmed what I feared: a disc had ruptured in her back, putting pressure on her spinal cord.
Sophie needed emergency back surgery.
Hearing those words was devastating. All I could think about was my little girl being in pain and facing a major operation.
Three hours later—after what felt like the longest wait of my life—the surgery was over.
When I was finally allowed to see her, Sophie was still groggy from anesthesia. She had stitches running down her back and couldn’t move her hind legs. The sight of her broke me. Tears streamed down my face as I kissed her little head.
And then Sophie did what dogs so often do.
She lifted her head and began licking my tears, as if to say, “It’s going to be okay, Mom.”
In that moment, I realized something powerful. I thought I was supposed to be the strong one—but Sophie was showing me what courage looked like.
The weeks and months that followed were not easy.
For a full month Sophie couldn’t use her back legs on her own. I walked her using a lift harness, supporting her body while she went to the bathroom or moved around the house. We did daily physical therapy and eventually started water therapy once the vet confirmed her back was healing.
What amazed me most was her determination.
Sophie never gave up. Even when she was scared—especially in the hospital—she kept trying, step by step, day by day. Her courage wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was quiet persistence.
And it inspired me more than she will ever know.
About a year after Sophie’s surgery, life tested my courage in a very different way.
At the time, I was working as a train engineer for the MTA. One afternoon, after completing a trip, I was exiting my train car when a random passenger assaulted me.
In an instant, I was punched in the face.
I remember the shock. Blood running down from my eye. The feeling of lying on the train floor wondering if I was going to make it out of there safely.
Fear can freeze you—but something inside me pushed back. Through the fear, I found the strength to get up and scream for help.
What followed was a blur of police reports, hospital visits, and trying to process the trauma. I had a head contusion and a torn cornea in my eye. But the emotional shock lingered even longer.
In the days that followed, I sat at home trying to make sense of everything that had happened.
Sophie never left my side.
She stayed close, sensing the fear and uncertainty, gently licking the cuts and bruises on my face as if she understood exactly what I needed.
About a week later, after many conversations with coworkers, I made a decision.
I decided to speak up.
I shared my story publicly about the violence transit workers face, hoping that by telling the truth about what happened, it might bring awareness and help protect others.
Friends, family, and coworkers told me that speaking out was brave. That it took courage.
You can see the story here: https://abc7ny.com/post/mta-workers-fed-up-with-violence-against-subway-bus-employees/5294766/
But if I’m being honest, courage doesn’t always feel the way people imagine it does.
Most of the time, courage simply feels like showing up when you’re scared.
At Two Tales One Journey, we often talk about the Pack. Not just the dogs who run beside us, but the people, animals, and moments that hold us up when life becomes heavy.
Courage doesn’t always look like heroic acts. Sometimes it looks like a dog learning to walk again. Sometimes it looks like a person finding the strength to stand up and speak after being hurt. And sometimes it looks like simply sitting beside someone who is struggling and reminding them they are not alone.
Dogs live by a simple truth we humans often forget:
The pack survives by staying together.
Sophie taught me that courage isn’t about being fearless. It’s about showing up for each other, even when life feels uncertain.
Step by step.
Paw by paw.
We keep moving forward together.
Because in the end, courage grows strongest when the Pack walks beside you. 🐾