As a second born child I often felt powerless. Maybe that’s why I learned to cry out loud — because that was the only way to be heard, and once I was heard, I was cared for.
It gave me a kind of power over the situation, over my opponent — usually my older sibling who took my toys away.
Later I learned to wish for things quietly, because ‘asking never got you anywhere’.
Then again, I watched my older sibling scream and shout and make hell when she wanted something — and it worked for her. I picked it up too, and used it on my parents, because it worked.
In my teenage years, power showed up through comparison. My parents constantly compared me with anyone better than me — talk about bad parenting sold as good parenting — and so I worked to meet the grades, win the games, play the sport, and feel that rush each time I won. I started to revel in it.
In relationships too, I found little ways of holding power — ignoring my boyfriend “ghosting” when he didn’t listen, withdrawing until he bent to my whims. Later, I felt the power of being introduced as a “Doctor,” of being given importance for a title. And finally I felt it when I found financial security — the power to walk away when I didn’t like something. Probably as a result of evolving out of all the exploitation of being born a girl.
So much of it was about being above, being better, being heard, being in control. The only way I knew strength was by having it over someone else.
But there comes a point when there’s no one to stand above, no one to fight against, no one to prove yourself to. And then the question comes — where is my strength now?
The Habit of Borrowed Power
Somewhere along the way I realized — the struggle for power is often an unconscious stealing of energy from another. When I shout louder, win harder, manipulate subtly, or prove endlessly — I’m not creating energy, I’m taking it.
But that kind of power is fragile. It disappears the moment the other person walks away.
Where Strength Is Born
The first real glimpses of true strength came when I was alone.
In nature.
In silence.
In solitude that felt uncomfortable at first.
It came from daring to sit at a table in a restaurant without my phone, to go for a walk without distractions, to sit in a theatre or wander a city alone. From putting myself in mushy, unfamiliar places where I thought I’d never survive — and finding I could.
“Every fear I faced became a seed of strength.
The more I stepped in, the less I needed to prove.”
I discovered that each time I did something I thought I couldn’t do, I gathered strength. When I resisted fear, I stayed small. However, when I faced it — whether it was the fear of being seen, of not belonging, of walking into the unknown — something in me expanded.
Conquering the Self
True strength is not about conquering others. It is about conquering oneself.
Conquering fear.
Conquering the restless chatter of the mind.
Conquering the discomforts that once felt unbearable.
Even authority, I realized, is a mirage. A boss is just a manager, not the boss of my life. “Sir” and “Madam” are just workplace titles that dissolve once the office door closes. Titles change. Positions fade. But the self remains.
Every step I took against fear became a step toward real strength.
Presence as Power
Now, strength feels different. It no longer shouts or demands. It’s quiet, rooted, and alive. It shows in my stride, in the way I sit, in how my body feels at ease. It allows me to be fully here — mind and body in the same place, not scattered.
My Shakti stays vibrant in her feminine flow, while the restless masculinity of proving and defending melts away.
“Strength isn’t in being seen as unshakable.
It’s in allowing yourself to be vulnerable, and standing anyway.”
This kind of strength doesn’t need an audience. It doesn’t rely on another’s weakness. It comes from presence itself — from choosing to live fully, here and now.
So much of what I once called strength was really just survival, noise, or borrowed energy.
And yet, the moment I stopped chasing it outside myself, a quieter, truer strength began to appear within.
But maybe the real work is not to define it too tightly, but to keep asking:
- Where do I look for strength when I feel powerless?
- Do I feed on the energy of others, or do I generate my own?
- Can I stay strong even in silence, even when no one is watching?
- What would my life look like if my strength no longer depended on anyone else at all?
The answers may not come quickly. But perhaps the asking itself is where strength truly begins.
A great blog as always.