Courage: From Relief to Presence

JASON NUTTING on why relief is temporary—and how courage, rooted in the heart, endures.

We all seek relief: less stress, fewer unknowns, a lighter weight of unmet expectations, less strain between who we are and who we think we should be. While relief may quiet things briefly, it doesn’t salve the heart. The feeling quickly fades, and the pattern returns. That’s how we stay stuck.

We keep chasing relief when what we truly long for is courage—the strength to stay, feel, and move through what arises with presence.

The Trap of Relief

Relief isn’t wrong. It’s just temporary.

That extra glass of wine, that endless scroll, that small compromise in integrity—they work, but only for a moment. They dim the intensity, but they also shrink our world.

Relief contracts awareness. It narrows our vision down to this single moment, this single feeling, this single escape route. That contraction is what makes the urge feel like an emergency, as though peace depends on satisfying it.

But in relief, we are not really present. We are reacting.

Presence, on the other hand, is not about escape. It’s about re-entering the moment with steadiness. It’s about feeling the same emotion that once hijacked us, but now from a wider lens.

Relief locks us inside the moment in a way that blinds us; presence keeps us inside the moment in a way that frees us.

The Paradox of the Moment

When we’re caught in compulsion, our attention feels as if it’s in the now. However, our awareness is actually elsewhere, replaying the past or anticipating the future.

We eat to quiet yesterday’s guilt. We drink to soften today’s pressure. We scroll to avoid tomorrow’s uncertainty.

When we turn inward and return to that sacred
center, courage arises naturally. The heart steadies
our perception, widens our vision, and reveals
options the mind could never see. Each time we
choose courage over relief, we return to the heart,
inhabiting the moment as it is.

The heart offers another way. It doesn’t rush to fix or flee—it listens. It doesn’t erase discomfort; it transforms our relationship with it. When we return to the heart, the exact moment that once felt suffocating now becomes spacious. The emotion remains, but we’re no longer inside its grip. We’re observing it from a state of presence.

That is the beginning of courage.

What Courage Really Is

Courage isn’t about fearlessness; it’s about realignment.

Relief asks, “How can I feel better right now?” Courage asks, “What choice expands me—even if it costs me my comfort?”

Relief is comfort-driven, but courage is heart-driven. Both arise from the same desire: to feel steady in the storm. Only one leads to peace.

Courage doesn’t bypass pain; it meets pain with openness. It doesn’t demand perfection; it simply refuses to abandon the truth of the moment. Courage doesn’t suppress the emotion; it softens around it. That is the power of the heart—holding what the mind tries to escape.

The Fuel of Courage

Courage endures when it’s supported, and that support is encouragement. Encouragement restores what discouragement drains. It reminds us that every time we show up—even imperfectly—we strengthen our capacity to stay. Encouragement is compassion in action: an inner, “I’m here with you. Keep going.”

Without encouragement, courage collapses into exhaustion. But with it, courage becomes a renewable energy, a flame that rises again and again.

This journey from reaction to restoration isn’t just theoretical. In Heartfulness, we experience this directly.

Meditation nourishes courage through stillness and awareness. Cleaning releases the residue of relief-seeking. Prayer opens us to grace—the highest form of encouragement there is.

The Return to the Heart

Etymologically, the word “courage” is rooted in cor, the Latin word for “heart.” To live with courage is to live from the heart. To be discouraged is, quite literally, to lose heart.

When we turn inward and return to that sacred center, courage arises naturally. The heart steadies our perception, widens our vision, and reveals options the mind could never see. Each time we choose courage over relief, we return to the heart, inhabiting the moment as it is.

When we return to the heart, the
exact moment that once felt
suffocating now becomes spacious. 
The emotion remains, but we’re
no longer inside its grip. We’re
observing it from a state of presence.

Relief whispers, “Hide.” Courage whispers, “Show up anyway.” They are two sides of the same longing—to feel safe, steady, and whole.

When we live from the heart, the need for relief dissolves. What remains is peace, not because the world around us has changed, but because we have.