A Story of Courage and Bravery
By Kathi Callaway
A year ago, I would have sworn I was not the activist type. I didn’t make political phone calls. I didn’t attend protests. I definitely didn’t stand on street corners holding signs where someone I knew might see me. I cared deeply about what was happening in the world—but quietly, from the safety of my living room.
Then one ordinary lunch changed all of that.
I met a friend to commiserate about the state of the country under the new administration. We were frustrated, worried, and more than a little overwhelmed. At some point the conversation shifted from complaining to asking, “What can we actually do?” She mentioned the idea of starting a local chapter of Indivisible in Lake Norman. I remember thinking, That sounds important. I hope someone does that.
By the end of the meal, somehow, that someone was me.
Before I knew it, I was sitting at a table with five incredibly smart, experienced women who had been politically active for years. They talked about contacting representatives and organizing events the way I talk about planning a dinner party.
Meanwhile, I had never done any of it. Not one phone call. Not one protest. Not one letter to an elected official. The idea of any of those things made me nervous. Publicly taking a stand felt risky and uncomfortable. But I admired these women, and I trusted them, so I let them lead me forward.
I downloaded apps like 5 Calls and Resistbot. I started reaching out to my representatives. I hated it at first—my voice shook every time—but I did it anyway.
That was my first tiny step.
When the group started planning pop-up protests, I hit my limit. Standing on a street corner with a sign? Absolutely not. I was convinced that was something other people did—braver, bolder people.
Then we organized a larger protest in Cornelius. I was flying to Washington, D.C. later that day, but I went in the morning to support the group. I told myself I was just there to observe and take pictures. No sign. No participation.
What I saw surprised me.
There were far more people than I expected—neighbors, families, retirees, young adults. The atmosphere wasn’t angry or tense. It was hopeful. Joyful, even. Cars drove by honking in support. Strangers smiled at one another.
I left early to catch my flight, but I left with a new thought in my head: Next time, I’m bringing a sign.
The next protest was in Mooresville—a much more conservative area. I was nervous all over again. But this time I went anyway.
Sign in hand. Husband by my side. Two supportive friends with me.
And I loved it. Yes, there were a few rude gestures from passing cars. But far more people honked, waved, and gave thumbs-up. Instead of feeling exposed, I felt energized. Connected. Useful. That day flipped a switch in me.
I realized I was braver than I thought.
Now I do things I once believed I could never do. I participate in Bridge Brigades, standing on overpasses with signs so thousands of passing drivers can see them. I join Silent Protests, dressed in black, holding powerful messages in highly visible places.
Do I still get nervous sometimes? Absolutely. But I also know I’m not alone. I’m surrounded by people who care as much as I do—people who believe showing up matters, even when it’s uncomfortable.
And it turns out, showing up changes you.
Courage doesn’t arrive all at once. It grows—one phone call, one meeting, one small act at a time. A year ago I thought activism was for other people. Now I know it’s for anyone willing to take the next step.
All because I said yes to one lunch.