Unconquered Unbroken
What we can or cannot do, what we consider possible or impossible, is rarely a function of our true capability. It is more likely a function of our beliefs about who we are.” — Tony Robbins
Margaret had always been a fighter, at one time she believed herself to be full of potential and promises un fulfilled, but even the strongest souls have their limits. At fifty-seven, her life felt like a graveyard of unfulfilled promises and silent screams. She had buried her husband, Tom, twenty years ago, far too soon, leaving her with two young children and a mountain of debt. She remembered the hollow ache of his absence, the way the world seemed to tilt on its axis the day he died. She had held herself together for the kids, working double shifts at the diner and cleaning offices at night, her hands raw and her body aching, but her spirit had begun to fracture under the weight of it all.
Her daughter, Emily, had moved across the country for a job, and her son, Michael, was too wrapped up in his own life to call more than once a month. The silence in her small apartment was deafening. Some nights, she would sit in the dark, staring at the flickering glow of the television, the sound turned low, just to feel like she wasn’t entirely alone. The walls seemed to close in on her, and the memories of all she had lost—her youth, her dreams, her sense of self—haunted her like ghosts.
She had tried to keep going, to find some semblance of purpose, but life had a way of kicking her when she was down. A few years ago, she had been diagnosed with arthritis, the pain in her joints was a constant reminder of her body’s betrayal. Then came the layoff from the diner, the one place where she had felt a sense of belonging, even if it was just serving coffee to strangers who barely noticed her. The final blow came when her landlord raised the rent, forcing her to move into a smaller, dingier apartment on the outskirts of town. It felt like the universe was conspiring against her, stripping away every last shred of dignity she had left.
Margaret’s mind was a battlefield. Some days, she felt like she was drowning in a sea of regret, wondering where it had all gone wrong. Other days, she was consumed by a numbness so profound that even the simplest tasks—brushing her teeth, making a meal—felt insurmountable. She had stopped looking in the mirror because the woman staring back at her was a stranger, her eyes hollow, her face etched with lines that told a story of endless struggle. She felt invisible, as though the world had moved on without her, leaving her behind in the shadows.
One cold November morning that promised rain, sleet, or snow,she couldn’t remember which, Margaret decided to take a walk. The air was crisp, and the streets were quiet. As she wandered, she found herself in front of a small community center. A sign outside read: "Yoga for Beginners—All Ages Welcome." She hesitated, then pushed the door open.
Inside, she was greeted by a warm smile from the instructor, a woman not much younger than herself. "First time?" the instructor asked. Margaret nodded, feeling out of place but somehow compelled to stay. As she moved through the class, her body protested at first, stiff and unyielding. But as the minutes passed, she felt something shift—a tiny spark of something she hadn’t felt in years. Hope.
Over the weeks, Margaret returned to the community center. She tried yoga, then painting, then a writing workshop. She even joined a walking club of like minded fitness enthusiasts. Slowly, she began to reconnect with herself. She wrote about her life—the joys, the sorrows, the moments of quiet strength. She painted scenes from her childhood, vibrant and alive with color. All while improving her health through walking and reflecting about past times. Through it all, she began to heal.
One evening, as she sat by her window with a cup of tea, she opened an old book she hadn’t touched in decades. Inside, she found a poem she had copied long ago: "Invictus." As she read the words, they seemed to speak directly to her soul.
——
Invictus
By William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance,
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
---
Tears streamed down Margaret’s face as she finished reading. She realized that, despite everything, she had never truly been broken. She had endured, survived, and now, she was beginning to thrive. She was the master of her fate, the captain of her soul.
The next day, Margaret stood in front of her writing group and shared her story. She spoke of loss and resilience, of pain and hope. And at the end, she read "Invictus"aloud. The room was silent, then erupted into applause. Margaret smiled, her eyes shining with a light that had been absent for far too long.
She had found her way back to herself. And she knew, no matter what lay ahead, she would face it unafraid, Unconquered, UNBROKEN!