Superman Isn't Brave: A "This I Believe" Essay

Ironically, some of the scariest experiences of my life took place in an airport in Florida on two different occasions. And no, they had nothing to do with my irrational fear of heights or the terrifying notion of the giant metal box I was trapped in plunging out of the sky. I mean the time I accidentally brought a kitchen knife into my carry on, or the time I accidentally kidnapped someone’s infant. In my defense, I still have no clue how the knife ended up in my bag. And I know, I know, it wasn’t a good idea to stand near a toddler as said toddler failed to lift her baby brother into the stroller beside her. Nor was it a good idea to turn towards the terrible wailing sound and accept the child when the little girl handed him to me. I guess I instinctively held the kid, but I swear I never set out to take the kid. It was almost as if his sister held him out to me like she was saying “tag, you’re it.” I’m sure the baby was absolutely frightened by the random stranger holding him, and the mother was frightened by me running to her and getting rid of him like a hot potato, and I sure as hell was frightened by the idea of being detained by airport security. So I’m telling these ridiculous tales of woe to show you that I’m no stranger to fear and also an attempted kidnapper. Plus, I needed to get your attention. Do I have it?

I have generalized anxiety disorder with panic attacks, which is the long-winded, clinical way of saying my fight-or-flight response is overzealous and likes to go off at any time. Whenever I’m freaked out, my hands sweat enough to fill the Nile river, and my lungs decide to ring themselves out for kicks. Not gonna lie, I’m a little shocked to say my heart hasn’t burst out of my chest like something out of an Alien movie. The point is, I get scared a lot. Sometimes it’s over legitimate things, and I have every reason to pee my pants, and other times, it’s not legitimate. I’m scared for no reason and can’t help myself.

I live in a society where every main character in the books I read or the movies I watch is “fearless” and “strong”. There’s this intrinsic link between being fearless and being a symbol of strength as if one can’t exist without the other. I’ve always associated anxiety with weakness, emotion with vulnerability. It took me a long time to realize that I’m not weak because I’m not fearless. In some ways, I’m stronger because of it.

In our society, we treat mental illness in one of two ways: it’s either seen as a burden or romanticized as if it’s a beautiful thing to be broken. The problem is we don’t show mental illness for what it is. Mental illness is a battle fought by a single soldier, and it takes incredible strength to overcome it.

When you have anxiety, or when you’re just a timid person, you’re constantly forced to do the things that scare you, even if everything inside you is screaming at you to turn back, to cower. Courage isn’t the absence of fear, at least not in practice. It’s showing what terrifies you the middle finger and saying “you can’t stop me!”

I’m a tough kid, and I’ve seen a lot of horrible things and somehow I’m still here. I’m not a superhero, I never will be, but I saved myself at the end of the day, and that’s enough.

Here’s why I believe Superman isn’t brave. He’s invincible. He knows he can’t be hurt. Mild-mannered Clark Kent is still in there when he faces Doomsday, probably scared out of his wits. But he does it anyway because he knows he’ll be okay in the end. In some ways, I’m kind of like that too. When I face down the monster, I use every superpower I have, because I know I’ll make it out alive.

So, this I believe— Superman isn’t brave. You don’t have to be fearless to be strong.