TO THE QUEEN WARRIORS
We are the women who did not die in the dark. We bled, we broke, we buried pieces of ourselvesbut we did not stay buried.
This is not just sweat. This is sacred war paint. These are not just weights, they are gravestones we are lifting off our chests.
We have nursed babies, buried lovers, held our tongues, clenched our fists, screamed into pillows, and walked through the fire with grace no one saw.
Some of us wore wigs in chemo chairs. Some of us prayed through fists in the night. Some of us swallowed grief in silence, and still made it to work the next day.
We’ve been told we were too soft,too old, too broken, too late - But here we are, Queens. Standing in the ruins of what tried to destroy us,building temples from the ash.
You feel that? That’s your soul remembering who God created you to be … who YOU ARE!
Your stretch marks are ancient scripts. Your scars are armor.Your thighs are thunder, your breath is battle cry. You are not “starting over.”You are reclaiming territory.
This gym? This mat? This road? This is the battlefield where you meet yourselfand say: I will not abandon you again.
So rise. You don’t need permission. You need fire. You need sweat. You need the memory of what you survivedand the vision of what you’re becoming.
Because you’re not just working out.
You’re calling yourself home. You’re sculpting the sanctuary that houses your spirit. You’re becoming the kind of strong that no one can steal.
So lift. Run. Breathe. Roar. And remember: You are the miracle you’ve been waiting for.
Christina đź‘‘
