Being in the Arena

It took every ounce of energy I possessed to will my feet to remain planted where they were. My heart raced, my mind went blank. My fight-or-flight response compelled every cell in my body to run. 

I didn't run. I took a deep breath and continued. I stood before a room of therapists and told them about my becoming one. Words came like square pegs being forced through a round hole. I fought for every concept. 

At several points, every fiber of my being insisted I quit. They all told me I was failing and that there was no point in continuing. 

There are so many versions of myself that would have followed those instructions. That would have succumbed to the momentary relief of giving up. I would have believed the lie that I couldn't do it. 

But each small determination to keep going has built the muscle of standing my ground. On that day, in that classroom, when I felt a tidal wave of shame and imposter syndrome overwhelm me, I took a deep breath, weathered the storm, and, when it had passed, I felt the elation of survival. Like a gladiator who had fought a hard battle and won. 

It was my presentation that the professor compared to "being in the arena'. 

My presentation was not the best. It probably wasn't even good. But I stood my ground. I didn't give up, and that is enough for me.