In the past, I tried to put on a brave face and smile after a

The words of Millie Bright are forged in the fire of struggle and renewal: “In the past, I tried to put on a brave face and smile after a defeat, but then it would backfire in training, and I'd get frustrated. Now I just embrace it, let it out, and then, two days later, I'm back in training and ready for the next game.” Here, she speaks not merely of football, but of the timeless dance between victory and defeat, between concealment and truth. For to put on a brave face is to wear a mask, and masks, though they may shield us for a moment, often weigh heavily upon the soul.

In this confession lies the wisdom of acceptance. Bright teaches us that it is better to confront sorrow than to bury it beneath false smiles. The ancients, too, knew that grief suppressed becomes a poison that seeps into the heart, while grief expressed becomes a river that clears the ground for new growth. To embrace defeat is not weakness; it is courage of the highest order. For only by meeting the darkness openly can the dawn rise without shadows.

Consider the tale of Achilles, the mighty warrior of Greece. When his beloved Patroclus fell, Achilles did not hide his anguish behind a warrior’s grin. He cried out, he wept, he raged. Only by letting it out did he find the fire to return to the battlefield. His grief did not lessen his strength; it sharpened it. In this way, Millie Bright walks the same path: she does not deny her frustration, but releases it, and through release she finds the renewal to rise again in training, ready for the next contest.

Her words also remind us of the danger of false resilience. To force a smile too soon, to pretend that wounds do not ache, is to carry hidden burdens into the future. Frustration festers, and what was small becomes great, what was temporary becomes enduring. But to grieve openly, to speak honestly, to sigh, to cry, to shout if one must—this clears the storm before it can take root. It is like the farmer who burns the weeds from his field so that the harvest may grow without hindrance.

There is a heroic rhythm in Bright’s method: two days of sorrow, then back to training. She shows us that there is balance between despair and determination. She does not drown in defeat, nor does she deny its sting. She walks the middle path: feel it, release it, then return renewed. This is a lesson for warriors, for athletes, for all who labor under the weight of ambition—sorrow is not the end, but a passageway to strength.

The origin of this wisdom is written in human nature itself. We are not made of stone; we are flesh and spirit. To deny our pain is to deny our humanity. But to honor it, even briefly, is to allow it to transform us. In every culture, rituals of mourning have existed, not to prolong sorrow, but to give it shape, to channel it so that life may move forward. Bright’s practice is her ritual: time is given to sorrow, then the cycle returns to effort and growth.

Thus the lesson is clear: do not fear to feel. Let your defeats pierce you, let your frustrations rise, but do not remain bound to them. Embrace them, then lay them down, and return to your path with fresh strength. In practice, this means granting yourself permission to falter, to pause, to breathe, but never to surrender. Take the time you need, but then rise again, for the world awaits your return.

So let these words of Millie Bright be carried into your own battles: a defeat is not the end, nor is sorrow shameful. The brave face is not always the truest face. Better to let the storm break, and then to walk into the sunlight cleansed. For the true warrior is not the one who never weeps, but the one who weeps and yet returns, renewed, for the next game.