I murmur through my thoughts
Whisper through the winds
My heart felt the rush of joy , of excitement as I would embark a journey within me .
Searching the deepest voice of my soul . Unfolding the face of my heart .
Here I write ,I express my vulnerability ..
Join me as we wonder through my mind
❤
A month ago, I sat in a cold clinic room, waiting. I had just finished an hour-long EMG test—a grueling experience that felt less like a medical exam and more like a slow form of torture.
When the specialist finally spoke, the news was heavy: Grade 3 Carpal Tunnel Syndrome in my right hand, and Grade 2 in my left.
Usually, Grade 3 is a direct ticket to the operating table. But then, the doctor paused, looking puzzled.
“In most cases, we suggest surgery for Grade 3,” he said. “But in your case, we’re opting for a steroid injection first. You still have full motor function. No muscle wasting, no loss of strength in your thumb. Honestly… we’re wondering what you’ve been doing to protect your hands. Most people at this stage have already lost their grip.”
I answered calmly: “I do strength training. I lift heavy with a coach.”
A Shield, Not a Cure
It is important to be clear: strength training didn’t “cure” my Carpal Tunnel. The sensory damage—the numbness that started last September—is real. It’s right there on the EMG. But what the iron has done is provide a biological shield.
Nineteen months ago, my coach Jonathan started me on a path of strict posture and heavy weights. Back then, it was about my knees—cartilage loss, edema, and cysts that made a simple squat feel impossible. Within a month, the pain was gone.
Now, that same commitment to strength is showing its value in my hands.
The Mystery of the Numbness
When the numbness started in my right hand last September, it didn’t fit the standard “profile” for Carpal Tunnel. My grip was strong. My hands were functional. In fact, I noticed something weird: the numbness actually felt better after I trained.
The EMG finally solved the mystery. While my sensory nerves were showing significant damage (the numbness), my motor nerves—the ones that control movement and power—were almost untouched.
The doctor’s advice was simple: “Continue what you are doing. It is slowing down the progression.”
The Critical Role of the Coach
I couldn’t have done this alone. When you are dealing with nerve damage or “nightmare” knees, you cannot afford to guess. You need a coach like Jonathan—someone who is “scary” about the details because he knows the stakes.
A great coach doesn’t just give you a workout; they provide the technical guardrails that allow you to lift heavy enough to stimulate growth without aggravating your condition. Jonathan’s insistence on perfect form is the reason I can squat with no cartilage and grip a barbell with Grade 3 Carpal Tunnel. He didn’t just teach me to lift; he taught me how to protect my longevity.
Conclusion
Strength training is a tool for preservation, but only if executed with precision. It may not always reverse the clock or erase a diagnosis, but it can significantly slow the descent. By keeping the muscles around my nerves strong and my body active, I have turned a “surgical emergency” into a “manageable situation.”
We lift not just to get better, but to stay capable. If you are facing a “downhill slope” with your health, don’t just wait for the bottom. Find a coach who demands excellence, and build the strength to slow the slide.
Disclaimer :
Not paid just a believer
http://www.eleavatecoaching.be
This war is not ours. It belongs to leaders who failed to respect the sovereignty of a nation—leaders whose greed and pride have overshadowed the suffering of displaced children and broken families.
This war does not belong to the GCC region or to its people. It belongs to those who pursue power and personal gain at the expense of peace.
This war certainly does not belong to the OFWs in the Gulf. They are workers who left their homes only to build a better future for their families—a future their own governments could not provide.
Yet it is these innocent people who now live in fear. Those who had no voice in this conflict are the ones placed in danger, in distress, reduced to collateral damage in a struggle they never chose.
So we must ask: What is the end goal? And where do we go from here?
If peace and a ceasefire remain out of reach, then the cost will continue to be paid not by those who started this war—but by the ordinary people who simply wish to live, work, and return home safely.
And that is the greatest injustice of all.
You must be my longest work colleague ever—we’ve worked together on and off for more than 10 years now. That alone deserves a medal.
In all these years, I’ve learned to admire you.
Pure, sheer admiration.
You’ve been strong even when the whole world around you was collapsing—and you still stood there, fighting your battles. I love how you take care of yourself, whether it’s exercise or food. You proved that a person who exercises really does have stronger bones when you had your accident. That was a big eye-opener for me—and the inspiration I needed to make myself fit. Thank you for that.
Passion at work
At 60-something (😉), your drive and passion for our work are honestly unbelievable. Magnesium intake after work or not, you move like you’re still in your 40s. And that smile of yours—it gives instant assurance.
MC, I think we really will work together until we’re properly old, just like we always say:
“Den oukes is weer aan slag.”
I admire you deeply—and you are my silent (and sometimes very obvious) inspiration.
Last night, I did my progressive test training — the test that almost every one of Jonathan’s ( you can follow him or check his ig profile jonathan_elevatecoaching) clients knows means living on the edge (and questioning life choices).
For the last 18 months, I’ve been grateful to have a coach who pushes me, lets me curse him, believes in me, and somehow still earns my trust that every week I am looking forward of our session
As I powered through those painful supersets, I looked back and realized these 18 months have been a journey of consistency, brutal core exercises, sore muscles, and new gym buddies — the kind you just exchange fist bumps with and keep moving.
Yes, I look good, feel good, and I’m grateful to have a badass coach.
Again and again, I’m a full believer in getting yourself a coach for better guidance and results — or at the very least, keep moving and lift if possible.
So, to me: happy 18 months.
And thank you, coach. 💪🔥
Disclaimer : not paid , simply a believer
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.
The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again—because there is no effort without error and shortcoming—but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms and great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
—Theodore Roosevelt, 1910
Man in the Arena
I love this quote so much. I first encountered it while reading Daring Greatly by Brené Brown, and it has stayed with me ever since.
In a modern society where image often holds more value than authenticity, this quote speaks volumes. It reminds us that what matters most is not the critics—nor those who stand safely on the sidelines, pointing out flaws and offering commentary from a distance.
What matters is you.
You—showing up.
You—stepping into the arena.
You—navigating your journey with courage, imperfection, and authenticity.
You know your story.
You know your passion.
You know your purpose.
So let me say this clearly: you are doing okay.
By showing up.
By facing the struggles.
By surviving the day-to-day hustle.
You matter.
And the small victories matter too.
Let us keep our courage, authenticity, passion, and purpose shining—
even in a world driven by algorithms.
YOU ARE AWESOME ❤️
Let me choose kindness
that draws boundaries, not walls.
Let me choose to be
a part of someone’s smile.
Let me choose to let go,
and let battles be
the ones not worth fighting.
Let me be the best friend
I once longed for.
Let me.
I breathe in and close my eyes, murmuring words of assurance—
this will pass.
I breathe out, gasping for strength through my silence.
I see fear, yet choose to remain unmoved.
I close my eyes again, bow my head,
and whisper a prayer: this too shall pass… it will be okay.
I breathe in,
and breathe out.
“Striving valiantly in the arena, facing challenges, and daring to try, even if one fails.” – Theodore Roosevelt
Victory is not always about triumph; sometimes, it is simply the courage to keep going, to face our own imperfections with love and acceptance. At times, life takes unexpected turns that carry us higher than we ever imagined.
Santorini. The pandemic had just begun to ease, borders carefully reopening, and after two long years of isolation, it was my first journey back into the world. The island was almost empty, its silence amplifying its beauty.
One afternoon, Jen, Ralla, and I decided to walk from Akrotiri to Emporio, a trail of about 7 kilometers. By the time we arrived, our feet were heavy, and our bodies tired. Jen sat down to rest and asked us to capture photos she could post later.
As Ralla prepared the camera, my eyes caught a beautiful church nearby. Its roof looked climbable, and I thought to myself—this could be the perfect place for a once-in-a-lifetime shot, with the caldera standing boldly behind me.
Without a second thought, I leapt, climbed, and stood tall on that rooftop. “Take the shot now!” I called out. The result was stunning: a woman standing with confidence against the wide-open sky. But what the picture didn’t show was what I felt inside—the rush of fear as the wind brushed past me, the trembling thought that I might fall. And yet, beneath that fear, a quiet voice whispered: Hold still. You got this.
And I did.
Reflection
Life often places us on rooftops we never expected to climb. From the outside, others may see only strength, beauty, and confidence. But inside, we may be battling fear, doubt, or the wind that threatens to unsteady us. Courage is not the absence of fear—it is the choice to stay, to trust, to hold still in the moment and whisper to ourselves, You got this.
In the end, the most powerful victories are not in how the world sees us, but in how we rise above our inner storms and dare to stand tall—imperfect, yet unshaken.
Have you ever found yourself in the darkest place of your life—unsure if you could make it through?
We all face moments like these. And though they break us open, somehow, each time, we survive. Each trial reshapes us in ways we never expected, molding us into something stronger, softer, and more resilient.
Seventeen years ago, I faced one of those moments. My brother was rushed to the hospital with a severe stomach ache. What seemed at first like something treatable quickly turned into a fight for his life. In the span of a week, we had to process everything—the disbelief, the fear, the fragile thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, he would pull through.
I remember crying as though a part of me had been torn away. And yet, I kept on hoping. I didn’t search for explanations, I didn’t ask why. All I wanted was for him to wake up, to stay with us.
But reality settled in the moment I spoke with the doctor. My brother was already clinically gone, his heart still beating only because of the machines keeping him alive. I could not hold his hand in that moment—but I spoke to him in my heart, sending him every word of love I wished he could still hear.
And in that moment, I realized something profound: death, too, can be kind.
We often think of death as cruel and painful, but sometimes it comes gently, when it is time to let go. It is a surrender filled with love—a passage where even in leaving, our loved ones give us signs, whispers of comfort, reminders that love remains.
Reflection
Life is full of unseen kindness, woven into both joy and sorrow. Love endures even in loss. And hope—the fragile, stubborn hope we cling to—gives us the courage to walk through the darkest valleys of our lives.
In the end, resiliency is not about avoiding pain. It is about learning to carry it with grace, to find light in the shadows, and to keep walking forward with love, courage, and hope.
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