Invincible

Invincible doesn’t mean unbreakable, it doesn’t mean flawless, or untouchable, or forever strong. I used to think it did, I used to think invincible was armour, steel plates over soft skin, a face no one could read, a body that could take the blow and still walk away untouched. But that’s not what it is, is it? Invincible is waking up on the mornings when everything feels heavy, when the bed is a coffin, when breathing feels like work, when breathing feels like suffocating. It’s standing in the middle of the storm and realising the storm hasn’t carried you away yet. It’s the tiny, stubborn act of writing one more line, singing one more note, saying one more word, even when silence would be easier, cleaner, safer.

We mistake fragility for weakness, but fragility is proof of being alive, skin that bruises, eyes that tear up, hearts that stutter when they’re breaking. Weakness would be not feeling at all, weakness would be letting yourself disappear, bit by bit, until nothing’s left.

Invincible is the part that still rises even when life pulls you under. It’s the whisper that says: not today. It’s the breath you take even after saying you don’t want to anymore. It’s the cracks in you that didn’t destroy you, but showed the light sneaking in. Maybe invincible looks nothing like we thought. Maybe it’s raw, frayed edges. Maybe it’s the thread that never snaps, even when it’s pulled too tight. Maybe it’s the quiet defiance of staying here, still showing up, still alive, still breathing, even when you don’t know why.

Today, I am somewhat invincible: I am still here. And so are you. ❤️💜❤️💜