When You're Hurting, Step Out of the Ring

love yourself enough to walk away whole

I have always disliked boxing.

Mostly because it’s violent, and I hate watching people fight. But one day my distaste for the sport evolved into something more like hate.

Let me unpack what happened.

There was a televised fight between a local fighter and a heavyweight champ, and the local guy was fighting his heart out. My family was gathered around the tv, cheering loudly with pride. But then our fighter threw one punch with a noticeable wince, and that’s when things fell apart.

Until that moment, he had been the better of the two, but his opponent realized something: he was recovering from some broken ribs. And he hadn’t fully recovered.

So the champion came down hard with rib shot after rib shot after rib shot, and the underdog fell to the floor.

I remember crying and leaving the room.

I haven’t watched a boxing match since.

Y’all, I am used to cruel comments on the internet. It comes with the territory of what I do.

I am used to hearing from people who hate me—who hate my message of love and acceptance.

I’m stronger than I was when I first started. I‘ve developed thicker skin.

But last month I was fragile, and I didn’t realize it.

Until an article of mine went insanely viral, on a subject which matters to me dearly.

I felt proud of my work. I wanted it in as many hearts as possible.

After all, I poured my heart into that story.

But I walked into the ring broken.

I winced at the first mean comment.

And that’s all the haters needed to see.

I revealed my weakness, and so they pounced, piling on blow after blow.

“Your writing is trite. You have nothing to say.”

“Why would anyone care about your opinion? You haven’t achieved anything.”

"You take yourself too seriously."

“God, you just droll on and on. Get to the point. We don’t need to hear about your life.”

I fought back for a moment. I wanted people to hear my heart: That it’s actually hard for me to share my writing. That I don't take any of this lightly.

That I’m not a pompous person—in fact, before I became an author, I’d never been proud of anything I’d achieved.

I tried to be vulnerable, to explain that my words are something I cling to, that they give me some sort of excuse for existing.

After failing at college, and feeling like a joke of an adult, after my high school newspaper said I would amount to nothing.

It feels like I am finally becoming something respectable.

An author.

A real one!

A National best seller, even!

But I was fragile, and the enemy knew it.

I limped away from my computer screen feeling broken and lower than ever.

I was humiliated.

And maybe they were right.

Who am I to dare? To believe in myself?

Who am I to think my story matters?

That anyone should care to read my words?

Who am I to have that sort of confidence?

Who am I?

I’ve been nursing my wounds for a minute now. I didn’t ask people to support me that much.

I prayed to my Father, and I made my world smaller, and I leaned into the people who love me most.

And now I remember why I hate boxing.

Because you don’t prove anything in the ring.

Your story, who you are, what you are made of, how hard you work…none of it matters when you’re facing down an opponent.

The only thing they want is to see you fall. That’s their only purpose—their only goal in the ring.

Maybe you’re strong enough to fight them off today; maybe you aren’t.

Maybe they’ll sense your weakness and take you down, meticulously hitting you where it hurts most.

Blow after blow after blow.

Why am I sharing this with you?

Because I am the girl who hates boxing, remember? I can’t bear to see people hurt.

And there’s no need for it. There really isn’t.

Because life isn’t a sport, y’all. There’s no reason to stay in the ring. If people are hurting you, attacking you, cutting you down…listen to me right now:

STEP OUT OF THE RING.

Your worth, your value—its intrinsic. There is nothing about you that has to be proven.

You don’t have to engage in the fight.

Toxic people don’t care about your story, they only want to see you on the floor. They aren’t your friends, they are your opponent.

Step out of the ring.

For me, this looks like banning trolls, and blocking out the critics. I have nothing to prove to them.

They aren’t here for my joy.

For you, it may look like ending a relationship. Leaving a church. Or a circle of friends.

Only your heart can speak to your circumstances, but listen to the hurt in your life.

Because whoever the hurt is pointing to is the person that’s dragged you into the ring.

Life isn’t a sport. You don’t have to participate.

Step out, my friends, and walk away whole.

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Dear readers,

Writing is my livelihood, and it means the world to me that you’re here. I will always keep my writing paywall free, because I don’t feel like there should be a barrier for receiving encouragement. But for those who choose the paid support option, thank you for keeping my lights on.

Not just in my little house, but inside my heart, as well.

Love,

Mary Katherine