The Art Of Winning Is Learned in Defeat

“I Became the Fire”

I wasn’t born this way.

Didn’t crawl out the womb with claws.

I was taught

by hands that held me too tight,

by lips that kissed me then crushed me,

by lovers who called me beautiful

right before they broke me.

Abuse came dressed in promises,

in “I love you”s with barbed wire laced in the vowels.

It rewired my brain,

made me confuse pain with passion,

control with care,

fear with love.

I was the broken girl

who never let go of her cracks.

I didn’t heal

I just learned to hide the hurt behind smiles

that looked like armor.

Then I met someone gentle.

He didn’t raise his voice.

Didn’t grab, didn’t guilt, didn’t gaslight.

He loved me loud but touched me soft.

Safe.

And I didn’t know what to do with that.

So I set fires just to feel the heat I was used to.

Created chaos in peace.

Because I didn’t trust quiet.

Didn’t trust kindness.

Didn’t trust that someone wouldn’t leave

unless I gave them a reason to.

So I did.

I controlled his joy.

Micromanaged his peace.

Questioned his every move

like love had a report card and he was failing.

I became the shadow

that once swallowed me.

Aggressive.

Paranoid.

Manipulative.

It was never his fault,

but I punished him for the ghosts I never laid to rest.

Every time I took power,

I felt a sick kind of safety.

Because if I was in control,

I couldn’t be hurt.

Right?

Wrong.

Because I saw him shrink.

Saw fear bloom in his eyes

the same way it used to bloom in mine.

And suddenly,

I wasn’t looking at my husband.

I was looking at a mirror.

Guilt came in waves.

Shame like salt in wounds I swore had healed.

But they didn’t.

I just buried them so deep,

I forgot they were still bleeding.

And healing?

Healing wasn’t walking away from the abusers.

It was walking away from the version of me

who kept them alive inside.

I’m not proud of what I’ve done.

But I’m owning it.

Because I refuse

to become another villain in someone else’s story.

Because I’ve been the victim.

I’ve been the survivor.

And now,

I want to be the one

who stops the cycle cold.

No more control disguised as love.

No more raising my voice to feel seen.

No more confusing pain with power.

I am unlearning.

Undoing.

Unbuilding the house of trauma I was raised in.

Because I was taught to burn everything I touched.

But I am not fire anymore.

I am healing.

And this time

I mean it.