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Photo: Drew Sanchez Media Day at High Point University for Women's Rowing on September 3rd, 2025. |
Becoming Stronger than Circumstance
By: Bria Henry
Strength never looked the way I expected.
I thought it meant control.
Consistency.
I was wrong.
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| Photo: Terry Henry Backstage of the Nutcracker ballet on December 18th, 2015 |
Ballet taught me discipline early.
How to repeat until improvement showed.
How to listen to my body.
How to demand more from myself without rushing the process.
Then sixth grade changed everything.
I started having seizures.
Suddenly, my body felt unpredictable, unsafe, and unfamiliar.
Health came first, and everything else faded.
Middle school became about doctors, medications, and management.
Including ballet.
I didn’t quit all at once. I drifted. Practice felt distant. Confidence slipped quietly away. The thing I loved no longer felt reachable.
By the time high school arrived, I had pulled back from more than dance.
I pulled back from myself.
My parents noticed.
They didn’t push trophies or titles. They wanted movement, purpose, something that wasn’t a doctor's office.
So, freshman year, I tried rowing. I didn’t grow up rowing. I didn’t understand the sport. I didn’t know the language.
But I showed up.
Rowing was nothing like ballet. It was loud, messy, exhausting.
There were no mirrors, no music, just water, repetition, and pain.
And somehow, it worked.
Rowing gave me structure when I needed grounding. It gave me discomfort when I needed growth.
It gave me proof.
Proof that my body could endure.
Proof that I was still capable.
Proof that control wasn’t the goal.
Trust was.
Balancing rowing, school, and seizures wasn’t easy. Some days were heavy. Some days were uncertain.
One day during sophomore year, I had a seizure in class.
Public.
Terrifying.
Impossible to ignore.
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| Photo: Rowing in Color Head of the Charles Regatta in Boston on October18th, 2025 |
Then I kept going.
I learned how to advocate for myself. How to adapt without quitting. How to show up even when things weren’t steady.
Resilience wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It was consistency, early mornings, long practices, and quiet determination.
Rowing became more than a sport. It became my reset. My reminder. My evidence.
Now I’m preparing for what comes next.
On purpose.
Still rowing.
Still pushing.
I want to tell stories that matter.
Stories about people.
Stories about strength that doesn’t look perfect.
Becoming stronger than circumstance doesn’t mean ignoring challenges.
It means facing them honestly.
Learning from them.
Refusing to shrink.
My story isn’t finished.
It’s still unfolding.
But one thing is clear.
I am no longer defined by what disrupted my life.
I am defined by how I rebuilt it.
And I’m still becoming.
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