First thing every morning before you arise say out loud, 'I

Ovid, the poet of Rome whose words have echoed through centuries, gave this counsel: “First thing every morning before you arise say out loud, ‘I believe,’ three times.” At first glance, it may appear a simple instruction, a whisper of ritual. Yet when examined with the eyes of the ancients, it is a profound declaration of the soul’s alignment with hope, strength, and destiny. For what is belief if not the seed of every triumph, the breath that awakens courage, the unseen flame that turns weakness into power?

The dawn is sacred. To the ancients, morning was the hour when the gods renewed the earth, when Helios began his fiery journey across the sky. In that moment between sleep and waking, the soul is soft, unshaped, waiting for command. To utter “I believe” at that hour is to consecrate the day, to pour faith into the vessel of time before its shape is formed. Three times, Ovid says—not once, but thrice—for repetition makes firm what would otherwise slip away. The number three itself, hallowed in many traditions, binds body, mind, and spirit into one accord.

Consider the tale of Joan of Arc, a peasant girl who believed so fiercely in her divine calling that she led armies to victory. Each day she rose with unshaken faith, proclaiming not doubt but certainty in the voices that guided her. Though the world mocked and threatened, her belief gave her a strength no sword could grant. It was not her armor that made her mighty, but her conviction. She lived Ovid’s wisdom—whether or not she had read his words—by beginning every act with the cry of belief.

But Ovid’s instruction is not only for warriors and saints. It is for all who rise to face the long road of life. The merchant setting forth to earn his bread, the mother tending her children, the student facing his lessons—each must carry within them a faith that the day is not empty, that their labor has meaning. Without belief, the morning is heavy, and the hours are chains. With belief, even the smallest tasks glow with purpose.

Yet belief is not a blind fantasy. It is not the denial of hardship. Ovid knew, as Rome itself knew, that suffering is certain and fate can be cruel. But to say “I believe” is to stand before fate with dignity. It is to declare that though storms may come, the spirit will not yield. It is the daily oath that life is worth the struggle, that each dawn is a chance to begin again.

What, then, is the lesson for us? It is this: guard the first words of your day. Let them not be complaint, nor doubt, nor fear, but affirmation. Say to yourself with strength, “I believe.” Believe in your worth, in your path, in the possibility of goodness yet to be revealed. Train your mind as a warrior trains his sword, so that belief is your shield in every battle.

Therefore, take this practice into your own life: tomorrow, when the sun touches your window, do not rise in silence. Sit, breathe, and speak aloud, “I believe”—once for the body, once for the mind, once for the spirit. Do this not for one day, but for many, until belief takes root within you like an oak that no storm can fell.

For in the end, Ovid’s wisdom is eternal: every victory, every creation, every act of love begins not with the hand, but with belief. To rise in belief is to live as though the gods themselves walk beside you. And in truth, when you believe, they do.