It isn’t the headlong rush into battle, or the certainty of purpose bestowed to the devout. No matter what they say, no person always possesses it. It isn’t the mark of a good person, or a sign of true character, or an iron will.
It is never easy.
It lives in the space where you come closest to giving up hope, when you think you cannot possibly tolerate what is to come. It feels exactly like losing.

You’ll know it in the cascade toward surrender, feeling terror and the choice to act tearing you apart inside. When what you face is too much to handle.