The gym is where I push myself
to meet expectations
that are not my own.
Every weight I lift
is the weight of their judgment,
the weight of my fear
that I'm not measuring up,
that I'm not transforming fast enough.
But what does it mean to be strong?
Is it in the numbers on the barbell,
or in the steady determination
to lift myself,
to rise,
even when the world tells me
I'm not enough
until I fit a certain image?
I push because I want to feel whole,
not because I want to look like
someone else's idea of a man.
And maybe that's the true strengthâ
not how I look,
but how I stand,
how I keep going
even when I feel the weight of the world
in my bones.