So I started painting again.

Just cracked the seal on that part of myself that used to flow so easily—before life got so full, so layered, so external.

And in almost perfect parallel, I began a new strength training protocol: upper body–focused, three to four times a week, 30 to 40 minutes each session. I’ve set a goal for myself—to pike up into a handstand and hold a solid forearm balance by the end of the year.

And I’m putting in the work. I do yoga five days a week. I train two days a week. I do this targeted upper-body protocol about four days a week. It’s not about burnout—it’s about reclaiming. And what’s been most surprising isn’t what I’m building, but what I’m finally seeing.

Last week, for the first time in maybe ten years, I filmed myself practicing yoga—from the side. And it stopped me in my tracks.

What I saw wasn’t just a posture issue—it was a pattern. My chest curled in, my chin tucked, my shoulders collapsed like I was bracing against something. I’ve always seen myself head-on in the mirror.

But this side profile told the truth: I’ve been folding inward for years.

Part of that collapse started when I was 17, after a breast reduction—something I chose both for physical relief and to escape the kind of attention that didn’t feel safe. After that surgery, I started rounding forward, physically and emotionally. I tucked my chest, I lowered my chin, I pulled my energy back into myself.

What I thought was protection became a pattern of shrinking—of trying not to be “too much.”

That posture became ingrained. And despite how much I’ve trained, strengthened, stretched, evolved… I still carry it.

But there’s another layer here too. For years in my yoga practice, I’ve been working on correcting my natural tendency toward lordosis—a pronounced sway in the lower back, which causes the pelvis to tilt forward.

In trying to avoid dumping into my low back, I’ve been cued to draw my ribs in, pull my low belly back, and resist the gymnast-style posture of throwing the shoulders back and the chin up.

And while that’s been helpful in protecting my lumbar spine, I’ve also overcorrected.

I’ve been holding tension in my upper body to offset what my pelvis is doing. My whole posture has become a balancing act between trying not to be too soft and not to be too bold—between alignment and self-consciousness.

But watching that video, I had a moment of clarity: it’s time to arch back again. It’s time to reinhabit my spine—not from ego, but from embodiment.

Add to that a longstanding case of chronic tonsillitis and an Epstein-Barr virus diagnosis that’s lingered for years—both centered in the throat—and it’s hard not to see the connection.

I’ve physically curled inward around that area for most of my life. And I wonder now, what changes—not just in posture, but in health—might happen when I let my throat open, when I stand tall with my chin lifted and my voice unguarded?

I’ve also become more aware of the visual aging that happens in this collapsed posture. The neck flap I’ve been trying to pretend isn’t there. The way our skin responds to decades of not holding our heads high.

But it’s deeper than vanity. It’s a visual record of all the years I spent trying to not take up space.

And the heartbreaking thing is: I thought I was being kind. Shrinking myself to make others comfortable felt like compassion. But it wasn’t.

It was a slow erosion of self—of confidence, of presence, of power. And it hasn’t helped anyone, least of all me.

Sometimes during my ovulatory week, I stand a little taller. The hormones help. But then I notice the immediate impulse to pull back in.

Don’t be too much.
Don’t be too proud.
Don’t stand out.

But when I really look at myself? Proper posture doesn’t look arrogant. It looks honest.

This daily work—yoga, strength, breath, voice, visibility—it’s not just about a handstand. It’s a reclamation. It’s remembering how to fully occupy my body without apology.

I’m not shrinking anymore. I’m not protecting anyone by hiding. I’m here. I’m upright. And I’m allowed to be.

Maybe that’s what strength training is really for. Not just our muscles, but strength in soul, self, and energetics.