It’s dark out now.
I can barely see a thing.
Spent the morning fighting with myself.
Didn’t want to wake up.
Didn’t want to do these pull-ups,
these squats, push-ups, jump rope.
I knew I had to though.
So I did what I could to get up,
against my will and all, but I’m here.
Here again, doing what I said I would.
I love when I do what I say.
Not what my body says,
or what that bitching voice says.
Just do what I say no matter what.
No one can stop me now.
I found out how to stop myself—
stop myself from stopping me.
Now I’m as free as I’ve ever been.
But freedom isn’t what I thought it would be.
It’s not some weightless feeling of ease,
where everything aligns perfectly.
It’s heavy, full of responsibility.
It’s knowing that no one else will carry this load,
that no one else will fight my battles for me.
Freedom is discipline.
It’s holding myself accountable,
even when no one is watching.
Especially when no one is watching.
The dark doesn’t scare me anymore.
I’ve been through it so many times,
it feels like an old friend now.
It whispers doubt, but I don’t listen.
Instead, I listen to the steady rhythm
of my breath, of my body moving.
This is my rebellion—
not against the world,
but against every limitation I once believed in.
Against every excuse I ever gave myself.
Every time I said, “I can’t,”
and let it win.
Now I say, “I can.”
Not because it’s easy,
but because I refuse to give up control again.
Out here in the dark,
there’s clarity.
Each pull-up, each squat,
each bead of sweat
is a reminder that I’m not just surviving—
I’m building.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring,
but it doesn’t matter.
All that matters is now.
And right now,
I’m doing exactly what I said I would.
This is who I am.
And no one—
not even me—
can take that away.
