I don’t talk about my family much anymore. Not because I don’t want to, but because every time I try, something inside me tightens—like a wound that never fully healed.
I was 18 the night my daddy didn’t come home.
He had gone out to pick up a few things from the supermarket. I remember exactly what I asked him to buy: bread, butter, and the biscuits I liked to eat when I was nervous about exams. He laughed, rubbed my head, and said, “You and your biscuits, ehn? I’ll be back before you finish your assignment.”
But he never came back.
A trailer lost control on the highway. They told us it was quick—instant, they said. But quick or not, something inside me shattered. From that moment, it was just me and my mommy against a world that suddenly felt too big and too empty.
And when I'm pushing through these sets, and my body's telling me to stop, I keep going because that's what builds character. And every rep, every struggle, it's programming my mind to be stronger, to push through when things get tough.
