Thread: Inner Work
For a long time, I thought discipline was something that lived in the body.
How early I could wake up.
How far I could go.
How much I could endure.
How consistently I could repeat it.
And it was.
But somewhere along the way, I started to realise that the deeper form of discipline doesn’t live in the muscles at all.
It lives in how you treat people.
It lives in how you speak when you’re tired.
How you listen when you would rather talk.
How you respond when you feel misunderstood.
How you carry yourself when no one is measuring your output.
There is a kind of respect that is performative. Obvious. Easy to show when things are going well.
And then there is another kind.
Quiet. Intentional. Almost invisible.
That is the one I have been learning to strengthen.
I notice it in small, ordinary moments:
In the way I hold a door without announcing it.
In the way I slow my tone instead of sharpening it.
In the way I choose words that heal instead of cut.
In the way I pause instead of reacting.
No one applauds that kind of work.
There is no medal for emotional restraint.
No podium for patience.
No ranking for tenderness.
But that is the weight I am now choosing to carry.
And it is heavier than any sled.
When I was younger, I believed respect was something you earned by being exceptional.
By being stronger.
By being rarer.
By being faster.
By being more disciplined than the person beside you.
Now I see that real respect is something you give before it is ever deserved.
It is a choice.
A stance.
A posture toward the world.
It says:
I see you.
I acknowledge you.
You matter, even if you never know my name.
This is not softness in the way the world usually means it.
It is a different kind of strength.
It takes strength to be careful with your words.
It takes strength to stay calm when you want to dominate.
It takes strength to soften when your instinct is to harden.
I feel that strength growing in me now.
Not in my arms or in my legs, but in the quiet space behind my chest.
A space that asks before it acts.
That listens before it responds.
That holds before it pushes away.
Somewhere along this road, I stopped trying to be impressive.
I began trying to be someone safe to stand beside.
Someone steady.
Someone trustworthy.
Someone who treats the quiet parts of other people with care.
And strangely, the more I make that choice, the more grounded I feel inside myself.
As though respect for others has become respect for my own life.
My own journey.
My own heart.
My own timing.
This is the work that no training plan can teach.
But it may be the most important endurance skill I will ever develop.