💎 The Return: Reclaiming My Body as Sacred

For the woman who wants to feel strong again — but still feels the sting of old wounds when she walks into a gym.

This isn’t just about fitness. It’s about freedom.

 

There was a time when the gym terrified me.
Not because of the weights, but because of what they reminded me of — the girl I used to be when movement meant punishment instead of power.

As a former Division I athlete, strength used to be survival.
It was discipline. It was identity.
It was also trauma.

Back then, I pushed my body past its breaking point to earn love, approval, and belonging.
The weight room wasn’t a sanctuary — it was a stage.
And I learned to perform pain like it was proof of worth.

 

After years of emotional and physical abuse from coaches, I started to associate movement with shame.
I stopped going to the gym entirely.
Just walking into one sent my heart racing.
The smell of rubber mats. The clang of barbells. The sound of whistles and commands.

It all brought me back to a place where my body wasn’t mine — it was a scoreboard.

I told myself I didn’t need the gym. I convinced myself I was fine.
But deep down, I missed the part of me that felt strong.
Not the performance strength — the soul strength.
The kind that’s quiet. Steady. Sovereign.

 

There was a time when I would go home after work, close the door, and dance in front of my three-pane mirror — completely naked.
I’d turn on my favorite music, let my hair down, and just move.
No choreography. No judgment. No audience.
Just me — in rhythm, in flow, in freedom.

I remember how alive I felt in those moments.
Every sway and stretch was mine. Every breath belonged to me.
There was no goal, no performance — just pure embodiment.

And one day, I realized I hadn’t done that in years.
It was time to go back.

Not back to the old version of movement — but back home to myself.
Back to the woman who danced because she loved being in her own skin.

 

💎 The Turning Point

The first time I walked back into a gym, I cried in the parking lot.
Not because I was weak — but because my body remembered what it felt like to be unsafe.

I sat there with my hand on my chest and said,
“You’re safe now.”
“You get to move because you love yourself, not because you hate yourself.”

And that changed everything.

 

💎 Reclaiming the Body

Reclaiming your strength after trauma isn’t about lifting heavier.
It’s about learning to listen to your body again.
To hear the whispers before the screams.
To rebuild trust where fear once lived.

Some days, that means heavy weights.
Other days, it means gentle walks, slow yoga, or dancing in your living room.
There’s no one right way to return to strength — only the way that feels safe for you.

Any movement you do is an act of honoring yourself.
Every stretch, every lift, every breath that expands your chest — it all says,
“I’m here.”
“I choose me.”

The food you eat is not a punishment or a performance — it’s nourishment.
Each bite is a way of saying thank you to your incredible body for carrying you through everything it has survived.
This is what reverence looks like.
This is what healing tastes like.

And returning might not mean going to the gym.
Returning might not mean unrolling a yoga mat.
Returning might be dancing in the kitchen with your children.
It could be swimming in the pool on a hot afternoon.
It could be walking down every aisle of the grocery store just to move your body and clear your mind.
It could be stretching in bed before you sleep.
Returning looks different for everyone.
The only requirement is that you return — gently, on your own terms, in your own time.

I still don’t go to the gym — because it doesn’t bring me happiness.
I dance. I walk. I do calisthenics. And that’s okay.
And sometimes, if I want to lift a weight, I will.
But I’m only going to do movement that brings me happiness.
Because I deserve happiness.
You deserve happiness.

 

And part of that healing — maybe the deepest part — was learning that my body is sacred.
I no longer allow unworthy people to have access to it.
Not emotionally, not energetically, not physically.

For too long, I gave my body away in pieces — to coaches who broke it down, to people who touched it without care, to lovers who didn’t honor its softness or its story.
Now, I know better.
I am not a body to be conquered.
I am a temple to be met with reverence.

I am sacred.
My body is sacred.
And anyone who enters its space — whether through touch, intimacy, or energy — must be worthy of its trust.

Because reclaiming strength isn’t just about lifting weight.
It’s about lifting the veil between ownership and objectification.
It’s saying: “This body is mine. And only love gets access here.”

 

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💎 Embodiment Practice: Coming Home to Your Power

1) Ground.
Stand tall with your feet hip-width apart.
Feel the earth beneath you.
Breathe in through your nose for four counts, out through your mouth for six.

2) Remember.
Place a hand over your heart and whisper:
“I am safe in my body.”
“My strength is my softness.”
“My power belongs to me.”

3) Move.
Start with small movements — shoulder rolls, gentle squats, or light stretches.
Notice the sensations, not the shape.
Let your body lead.

4) Reclaim.
Say out loud:
“My body is sacred.”
“My body is mine.”
Visualize yourself surrounded by golden light — a protective glow that honors your boundaries and your worth.

5) Anchor.
End by placing both hands over your chest.
Whisper:
“I am strong.”
“I am whole.”
“I am home.”

 

Reclaiming strength is not about looking like you used to.
It’s about remembering who you were before they told you who to be.

The body keeps the score — but it also holds the keys to freedom.

Every rep. Every breath. Every tear that falls on the mat — it all counts as healing.

You don’t have to perform anymore.
You just have to return.

With love + rebellion,
Karli — Founder of Rare Diamond Rebellion
For the woman reclaiming her body, her boundaries, and her sacred strength.

💎