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The other morning, as the sun was just beginning to peek through the blinds, casting those long, soft shadows across the floor, I watched my little one, still half-asleep, trying to wrestle a particularly stubborn blanket off the bed. There was such a determined, grumbling effort in her tiny frame, a kind of raw, unyielding energy that made me smile. It got me thinking about strength, not just the physical kind, but the quiet, persistent kind that shows up in unexpected moments.
We often have these preconceived notions, don’t we? About what strength looks like, or who embodies it. Sometimes, it’s in the gentlest of gestures, and other times, it’s in a roar that defies every expectation. Lately, I've been quietly observing something in the world of professional wrestling – a space I rarely dip my toes into, but one that has somehow caught my eye through snippets shared online or passing mentions in the background.
And in that world, there’s this fascinating figure: **Rhea Ripley**. At first glance, she’s so unlike the traditional images of femininity we’re often presented with. Her presence is undeniably powerful, her look distinctive, almost like she’s carved her own path, refusing to be put in a box. Watching clips of her, there’s a sense of unapologetic authenticity, a strength that isn’t about being loud or aggressive for the sake of it, but about owning who she is. It’s a quiet revolution, in its own way.
It makes me ponder the kind of 'strength' we model for our children. Is it always about being soft and agreeable, or is there room for a more multifaceted display of power? The kind that pushes boundaries, that isn’t afraid to be different, that stands firm in its own truth? Rhea Ripley, for all the theatricality of her world, seems to embody a raw, unvarnished power that truly challenges what we might expect from a female athlete. It's not about fitting in; it's about making space for herself, and in doing so, perhaps making space for others, too.
Maybe the real strength isn't in always conforming, but in finding the courage to be ourselves, to show up fully, even when it’s a little bit messy or unconventional. Just like my little one, wrestling with that blanket, finding her own way to exert her will in the morning light. It's a gentle reminder that strength comes in so many forms, often in the very ones we least expect.
What does 'strength' look like in your world, in the quiet moments of your day or in the figures that inspire you? I’d love to hear your thoughts. 📚🧸
We often have these preconceived notions, don’t we? About what strength looks like, or who embodies it. Sometimes, it’s in the gentlest of gestures, and other times, it’s in a roar that defies every expectation. Lately, I've been quietly observing something in the world of professional wrestling – a space I rarely dip my toes into, but one that has somehow caught my eye through snippets shared online or passing mentions in the background.
And in that world, there’s this fascinating figure: **Rhea Ripley**. At first glance, she’s so unlike the traditional images of femininity we’re often presented with. Her presence is undeniably powerful, her look distinctive, almost like she’s carved her own path, refusing to be put in a box. Watching clips of her, there’s a sense of unapologetic authenticity, a strength that isn’t about being loud or aggressive for the sake of it, but about owning who she is. It’s a quiet revolution, in its own way.
It makes me ponder the kind of 'strength' we model for our children. Is it always about being soft and agreeable, or is there room for a more multifaceted display of power? The kind that pushes boundaries, that isn’t afraid to be different, that stands firm in its own truth? Rhea Ripley, for all the theatricality of her world, seems to embody a raw, unvarnished power that truly challenges what we might expect from a female athlete. It's not about fitting in; it's about making space for herself, and in doing so, perhaps making space for others, too.
Maybe the real strength isn't in always conforming, but in finding the courage to be ourselves, to show up fully, even when it’s a little bit messy or unconventional. Just like my little one, wrestling with that blanket, finding her own way to exert her will in the morning light. It's a gentle reminder that strength comes in so many forms, often in the very ones we least expect.
What does 'strength' look like in your world, in the quiet moments of your day or in the figures that inspire you? I’d love to hear your thoughts. 📚🧸
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