Where has my fighter’s spirit gone? As a little girl, and even until the end of high school, I was ready to fight anyone and anything I thought was wrong, quick to come to anyone’s defense, maybe not with my fists, but certainly with my words and a strong dose of sass. I commanded respect for myself and others.
Now, I’ve learned the power of gentleness, love, and kindness, but my willingness to fight and protect has shifted to a desire to be quiet, unseen, and not ruffle any feathers. These days, I’m more likely to walk away before a storm can brew, convinced it’s not my place to get caught in it, or even hold an umbrella.
There was something noble about the little girl I was. Although the wounds and broken places that convinced me it was up to me to fight—me and no one else—have begun to heal, surely there’s a piece of her I’m meant to keep alive, keep courageous, keep fighting.
But where is she, and what is she fighting for?
