🦢✨⚔️ Invocation for the Inner Warrior ⚔️✨🦢

🦢✨⚔️ Invocation for the Inner Warrior ⚔️✨🦢

Fierce one within me, I see you. I thank you.

You have carried swords through storms and guarded my heart through battles.

But now, we are home.

This place—this love, this peace, this family—is sacred ground.

And we defend it not by fighting, but by choosing peace.

Not by lowering ourselves, but by rising in truth, in grace, and in light.

Choosing peace is not the same as surrendering your power.

Peace is a stance.

A boundary.

A declaration that we will not let others decide the tone of our lives.

You are not being silenced—you are being honored.

Your fire is not extinguished—it has become the hearth.

Stand with me now, not in resistance—but in reverence.

We are powerful. We are protected.

And we are not to be messed with—not because we attack,

but because we refuse to fall and we embody what cannot be shaken.

We are not passive.

We are not powerless.

We are protecting the most sacred thing of all:

the purity of love, the tenderness of truth, the holiness of a peaceful home.

Let them carry on if they must.

But we—we rise.

We rise, not to dominate, but to hold.

We rise, because we know who we are.

Let that be enough.

That is true leadership.

That is true courage.

That is true strength.

That is the power that we hold.

Love always wins.

To the Warriors Who Are Tired

It’s okay to feel the grief.

The ache that rises when you witness injustice again and again,

and it feels like nothing is changing.

It’s okay to feel the fire that burns in your chest

when you’ve been asked, once more, to be the bigger person—

to rise above, to hold the light,

while others carry on unchecked in their wounding.

It’s okay to feel like restraint is a heavy burden.

Because it is.

Being the one who holds back,

who bites their tongue,

who chooses compassion while injustice repeats itself—

it’s not weakness.

But it is exhausting.

We are not made of stone.

We feel it all.

The frustration, the helplessness, the desire to act.

To do something. To finally be heard.

And sometimes it hurts to feel like doing “the right thing”

means tolerating harm,

means watching others remain asleep,

means keeping our hearts open

while carrying the full weight of what’s not being said.

This is not about giving up your power.

This is about acknowledging your humanity.

You’re allowed to be tired.

You’re allowed to grieve.

You’re allowed to say,

This hurts. I’m carrying more than people can see.

And in that honesty,

you make space for healing.

In that truth, you invite gentleness back into the body.

You begin to remember:

You are not alone.

You never were.

There are thousands of hearts like yours—

quietly holding the line.

Soft, strong, sovereign.

And even in the unseen spaces, your presence is felt.

So rest, warrior.

Let your tears fall if they need to.

Let the Earth hold you for a while.

You don’t have to carry it all in silence.

You don’t have to keep it all together.

You are already doing enough.

You are enough.

And you are loved, deeply—more than you know.

In love, grace, and peace,

Rosalie  🦢🤍⚖️✨