From Mass to Movement: When Strength Learns to Breathe
June 13, 2025
For so long, I thought my strength lived in my size. In my mass. In how physically “intimidating” I appeared. It made sense back then. In childhood, safety meant being bigger, louder, harder to mess with. It meant occupying space so no one could take it from me.
But I’ve been noticing something lately.
That belief is slowly softening.
The weight I’ve been carrying — not just emotionally, but literally — might have done its job.
And maybe… I don’t need it anymore.
I’ve been reflecting on why I still overeat sometimes. Part of it, sure, is comfort. It’s regulation. It’s that warm, immediate relief from emotional tension. But underneath that, I wonder if there’s something else — a subconscious drive to maintain my size as a form of safety.
Because when I’m heavier, I’m stronger.
And when I’m stronger, I’m safer.
At least that’s the logic that once kept me alive.
But now? Now I trust my body.
Truly.
Deeply.
Consistently.
I can feel it — in those moments when I need to stand up for myself, set a boundary, or speak my truth. It rises in me like a current. There’s no panic. No indecision. Just a knowing. A presence that says: “It’s time.” And I act. Not from rage. Not from fear. But from alignment.
That wasn’t always true. It took years of rewiring, of practice, of learning to stay in my body when things got uncomfortable. But these days, I don’t have to think about it — it just happens. It’s become who I am.
I’m proud of that.
I haven’t acted out of alignment in a very long time.
And when I look back, there’s nothing I carry shame over. Nothing I’d take back.
That’s a rare kind of peace.
But something else is happening too.
I’ve been running more. Moving differently. And I’ve started to wonder if maybe… I don’t need to be as physically strong anymore. Not because strength is bad — but because I no longer need to prove it. The part of me that once clung to that image is quieting. Not gone, but softening.
There might still be a wounded child part in me who holds onto the idea that bigger = safer. But I can hold him gently now. Let him know that he’s protected, not by sheer mass, but by the man he’s grown into. A man with trained instincts, with self-respect, with presence. A man who knows what he’s capable of — and doesn’t need to show it.
I think I’m ready for my strength to take a new form.
One that breathes.
One that moves.
One that runs freely through forests, rather than anchoring itself in armour.
The body I’ve built got me here. It’s served its purpose. But it might not be the body I need for the next season of my life.
And I’m okay with that.
Because strength doesn’t always need to be heavy.
Sometimes, it just needs to be real.