The Walk

It’s a long walk to the ring.

Hundreds of people watching, but she walks this stretch alone.

The arena’s loud, deafening even—

but in her ears? Silence.

She’s walked paths like this before.

The fear feels the same every time.

But she keeps her chin down,

her feet forward,

no hesitation.

Because every time she walked toward fear,

there was always—always—an open door waiting on the other side.

She climbs through the ropes.

Takes what feels like the longest look in history

at the opponent standing across from her.

Strong.

Big.

Tough.

But then—

She sees something that shakes her deeper than all of that.

She sees herself.

Her own face staring back.

No opponent is more terrifying than the one who wears your skin,

who knows your scars,

who whispers your doubts.

She breathes in, slow.

Turns to face her reflection.

Looks her dead in the eye.

And says,

“You’ll regret ever turning up to fight me…

because I will win this fight.”

She learned to be quick on her feet from the first step she ever took.

Learned to see the next punch coming before she could even talk.

And when those punches landed?

There was no pain.

Only a cold, steady stare—

and the next move forward.

People talk about being tough.

Some think it’s about being mean.

Loud.

Throwing the biggest punch.

Letting out the fiercest war cry.

But me?

Tough is something else.

Tough is looking fear in the face—and walking right through it.

Tough is standing when everything inside you wants to run.

Tough is showing up—

again and again—

when no one would blame you for staying down.

Sometimes, tough is keeping your form

while life throws haymakers you never saw coming.

Sometimes,

tough is staying upright

while the unpredictable lands clean on your chin.