Feed the Warrior

We all have one, right? She’s in there. You feel her in the boardroom and you feel her at the PTA meeting.  She is apart of your every day.  Some of us know how to feed her while others of us (raises hand slowly) are just standing by, nervously, watching her starve to death.

I gotta be honest here and tell you that I think my warrior is on her death bed. The doctor came by and told me to just shut off the machines because it was pointless (sad face). However, being the stubborn kinda girl I am, I refuse to do so because I know how strong she can be.

My chick has been waiting. Can you imagine a wild animal tearing at the bars of its cage? Welp…that’s my girl.  She’s ruthless. She’s cut throat. And she’s hungry. She feeds off of words like “can’t” “you will never” “they are better than you”.  I killed her, I think.  I killed her because I thought as a wife and mother  I was suppose to–she’s selfish and there’s no room for selfish when you are raising a family. Everyone’s needs must come before your own…right? There is no room for ruthless and cut throat. There is only room for cupcakes, PTA meetings, late night sex, and marital forgiveness. There is no room for f-u’s and hair over diapers. There is no room for me over everyone else–that is not the balance. The balance is emptying out her to allow more room for them.  There is only room for diagnosis of death and the unplugging of the machines.

She stayed down as long as she could, but with my current circumstances being what they are she’s raring and ready to go.  The only way I know to fuel her is through sweat…and blood…and tears…literally.  I work well under physical pressure, which is exactly what I plan to do. Train for a marathon? Bring it.  Do a Tri? I eat pain for breakfast.  Lift heavy? I’m on it.  Run Disney? I’m in it. I’m ready. She’s ready. Let the games begin…

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