Dust, Sweat, and Scars: The Arena Where Queens Are Forged
You don't need another critic in your life. You've already got enough voices — both in your head and around you — telling you you're not doing enough, not fast enough, not strong enough.
I LOVE Brené Brown. I've listened to The Power of Vulnerability probably twenty times. For anyone who doesn't know who Dr Brown is — where have you been, but glad you've arrived at the party — she's a shame researcher. Wait! Come back! I know that doesn't sound like a fun topic, but believe me, the story about her busting moves in a department store with her daughter is incredible. And as someone who will dance in Tesco… to no music… I felt that one in my bones.
Why am I sharing this with you today? Because I think, especially us ladies, are looking for the red pill of perfection, and getting less and less willing to get uncomfortable on the way there. The search for perfection feels unachievable. Incomprehensible.
I see my clients give up on their goals regularly because results didn't arrive like an Amazon Prime delivery. I see them quit halfway through a session because they've lost their willingness to push. I had a nurse come to me in class yesterday who told me who told me she couldn’t lift heavy because at work they are told not to lift at all if they can help it. I understand that employers want to protect their staff, that makes so much sense and is a worthy value. What troubled me about this was that it seemed to have instilled a mantra of ‘I shouldn’t challenge my body safely’. I would question that this is creating a feeling of fragility. A position of comfort that shouldn’t be tested.
I've seen people give up on their mental wellness work because they shouted at the kids, or at the dog, and thought their breathwork — the thing that was meant to stop them from being angry, for the rest of their lives, didn’t, in fact, make them immune to the anger of finding a whole tub of Lego tipped all over the floor 3 seconds before a house viewing was due to take place. They forget that they were on their period, had to dash home for a forgotten PE kit so missed an important meeting that then had to be caught up on by reading hours of mind numbing minutes, tea was late, the kids were overtired from the sudden, unannounced onset of Summer on a random Thursday in April, the dog was begging for a walk that should've happened an hour ago, and house that was left tidy, is now a building site for goobers. Oh, and that they are human. With emotions. And an internal battery that drains throughout the day.
This isn't me shaming you. I am you. I've lived these moments more times than I can count. What I want you to take from this is: anything worth being good at takes time. Anything worth having doesn't just fall in your lap. Your nervous system won’t let it. It would be so overwhelming that you would want to live under the stairs. Also. and this is going to sting, doing your best is worth its weight in gold — even if you fail. (Read that again.)
You didn't come out of your mum walking, talking, and balancing cooking like Gordon Ramsey. (If you did, I'd have questions.)
So why not pursue what you want, knowing it will come one step at a time? Not all at once, cheaply. Remember — you are Louis V, not Shein. No shade.
To get to what you really want, you have to suck at it to start with. Fall on your face (been there). Get stuck and feel like you can't move (yep). Feel like you look ridiculous (all the time). Wonder why nothing is working (you're not alone).
In Daring Greatly another of Dr Brown’s wonderful works — which if you haven't read, go now and come back when you're done — she references a speech from Theodore Roosevelt that I'm sure you'll at least be familiar with. I'm going to remind you because I love it so much:
“It is not the critic who counts;
not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles,
or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.
The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena,
whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood;
who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again,
because there is no effort without error and shortcoming;
but who does actually strive to do the deeds;
who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions;
who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement,
and who at the worst,
if he fails,
at least fails while daring greatly,
so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls
who neither know victory nor defeat.”
When I did my yoga teacher training, I had to teach to pass the course, and I used this speech as a closing quote — because that whole trip was my own Daring Greatly moment. I went to Costa Rica on my own to learn something new, and when I told my mum, she said, "Oh, you're going to be a bum living on a beach teaching yoga." (Doesn't sound like a terrible life to me, but no.)
Here's what this means to me, and what I want to invite you to hear:
Those voices telling you to stop — they are not yours. Your job is to notice the critics and remind them their opinion is none of your business.
Too many of my Queens, still trapped in Princess mode, throw in the towel too soon. Exercise feels like something for "other people," the Yes demon whispers louder than their own needs, and so they curtsy, smile, and wave their power away like a monogrammed hanky in the breeze.
I am here to tell you: you are the Queen in your own arena. An arena you get to build. Want a heavy-ass deadlift? Go girl. Want to learn a handstand? Do it — it's so much fun. Want to start your own business? Let me know, I'll be your first customer. There is no limit.
So:
Start to embrace the dust — it means you showed up. Start to love the sweat — it's your glowing warrior suit. Start to honour the blood and scars — they are proof of your resilience.
This is my poem back to TR — and a thank you to Brené, for daring me into my own arena:
“Set the sky aflame.
Reorder the stars.
Make the earth quake beneath your feet.
You can.
If only you dare.”
I believe in you. Believe in you too.
You don't have to step into your arena today. But if you're ready to start, even in a small way, A Letter from the Trail is full of the same kind of daring greatly — come find your people in there
