Embodying Power Without the Label

Can I safely embody power now, without it being tied to a label?

That question has been sitting with me lately.

Because for most of my life, power was something I had to wear—to survive, to be taken seriously, to stay safe.
It was something reactive. Defensive. A way of saying, “Don’t mess with me.”
It came from pain, from chaos, from needing to control what couldn’t be controlled.

But now I’m asking:
What does power look like when I’m not defending myself?

And the answer feels simple—but deep.
It looks like presence.

Not just any presence—but something grounded.
Something calm.
Something people feel more than see.
A kind of energy that doesn’t need to posture, doesn’t need to react.
It just is.

Sometimes it feels masculine—strong, rooted, still.
Sometimes it feels feminine—open, receptive, wise.
Often it’s both.

It’s in my body language.
It’s in how I carry myself.
It’s even in my heart rate—the way I stay calm in the face of tension, not because I’m numb, but because I trust myself now.

That, to me, is true power.

And when I really strip it down, I think the word that captures it best is this:

Responsibility.

To embody power is to take responsibility for how I respond.
Not to control everything, but to meet whatever arises with presence.
To hold steady.
To stay connected to myself.

That kind of power doesn’t need a label.
It doesn’t need to be announced.
It doesn’t even need to be explained.

It’s just there—quietly shaping the room,
because I’m finally rooted in who I am.