bản lĩnh/dignified courage
- Dang Nguyen
- May 27
- 4 min read

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be người có bản lĩnh.
In Vietnamese, người có bản lĩnh means someone with real substance—someone who holds steady through a storm, doesn’t fold under pressure, and carries themselves with inner clarity and quiet authority.
Bản lĩnh is often translated as fortitude, grit, or moral backbone—but none of those quite capture its full weight. It’s not just resilience, but a kind of dignified courage: the ability to face complexity, act with integrity under pressure, and lead without fanfare. It’s a strength shaped by experience, not performance.
It’s one of those words that remind you that you have a mother tongue—and when the ground gives way, it’s your mother tongue that binds you back to yourself.
Bản lĩnh isn’t just about resilience—it’s about the deep-rooted capacity to lead yourself and others, especially in the face of adversity.
Unlike mere bravery (dũng cảm) or endurance (kiên trì), bản lĩnh connotes a principled, embodied courage—a soul-deep steadiness grounded in moral and intellectual clarity. It commands respect not through volume or spectacle, but through presence and substance. It’s not about flair; it’s about the core that holds through fire.
How could such a concept come about?
Bản (本) – root, origin, foundation
Lĩnh (領) – to lead, to command, to govern; also used in contexts meaning domain or area of mastery
Etymologically, bản lĩnh can be read as the foundation of command, or the root of leadership—an inner base of strength that enables mastery, direction, and authority. Not just sharpness, but a rooted clarity that feels unshakeable—even when quiet. Not just strength, but depth. Someone with bản lĩnh doesn’t crumble under pressure—they drive forward, even when the road is rough. There’s willpower, direction, and self-mastery at play.
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bell hooks’ All About Love came to me by way of Little Simz on Chicken Shop Date. I’m serious. That’s how I ended up with a copy in my hands, finally sitting down to read it.
I’ve been a fan of Simz for a long time—but that’s not the point. The point is: she handed me this book when I needed it most. Can an algorithm do that? I don’t know. Maybe it’s not about precision, but timing—when something lands exactly when it’s meant to. You know what I mean?
All About Love is the kind of book that unsettles you back into being a student. A student of love. How do you show up for love, even when it’s hard? Even when the signals are scrambled, when the rules aren’t clear, when what you want to give and what the other person needs don’t always line up?
It’s easy to think love is something that just happens—an instinct, a feeling, a vibe. But bell hooks makes it plain: love is a practice. Love is a choice you make over and over, and it demands courage. Not the flashy kind. The kind that stays. That listens. That apologises when it’s wrong. That tries again, even when it’s tired.
“A love ethic presupposes that everyone has the right to be free, to live fully and well… We do this by choosing to work with individuals we admire and respect; by committing to give our all to relationships; by embracing a global vision wherein we see our lives and our fate as intimately connected to those of everyone else on the planet.”
What happens when soul love touches you? The kind that leaves you speaking beautifully to yourself. The kind that steadies your hand when the temptation is to fold.
Soul love is not always soft. Sometimes it arrives as a reminder: You have to hold your own line. You have to carry your own weight. It demands bản lĩnh—to stay with the discomfort, to tell the truth, to say no when you need to, to forgive when you’re ready, to protect your ground.
Soul love wants you whole, even when it hollows you out. It tests you. It asks you to become more than you were before.
Soul love doesn’t make you fearless; rather, it’s about knowing exactly where the fear lives and refusing to let it dictate your choices. You don’t rush to explain; you move with intention.
You carry soul love in silences, discernment, and the relentless commitment to see through noise and still hold shape. Distance is not coldness but sovereignty. Sovereignty defines rather than demands space—space for those who can stand in its presence without trying to shrink it.
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When I told MBJ about Berkeley, he wrote, and I quote, that it felt like a grenade going off in his coffee. The imagery is so precise, so delightfully deranged, I met it with great delight—despite having caused him much distress. He was too sensible to ask about the nature of the pivot, but I think, deep down, he knew it must have been soul love.
What is soul love, anyway? It’s not the fairytale. It’s not the neat ending, the perfectly aligned timing, the soft place to land. It’s the thing that breaks you open and holds you steady. It’s the force that changes the shape of your life—not always cleanly, not always kindly—but necessarily.
Soul love shows up as a series of choices. You don’t chase it; you build for it. You don’t beg it to stay; you make your presence a place it can’t help but circle back to. It’s not a transaction. It’s a frequency. You either meet it or you don’t.
That’s why, when MBJ heard about Berkeley, he felt the blast. Because a shift like that isn’t just a move—it’s a reconfiguration. It’s a declaration: I’m not who you thought I was. I’m becoming someone else.
And when you carry soul love, you don’t ask for permission to make that leap. You just do it. Comfort has never been the point; becoming is.
Anyway, for easy reference, here’s a list of phrases from literary to colloquial for how you can deploy bản lĩnh in your life:
· Soul-steady
· Iron in the spirit
· Rooted resolve
· Fire beneath stillness
· The weight of presence
· Moral fortitude
· Courage under conviction
· Principled resilience
· Innate command
· Internalised authority
· Has their shit together
· Unshakable under pressure
· Tough but fair
· Solid through and through
· Built different