I feel like patience is sometimes better than pride, and I'm a

Hear the voice of Julianna Peña, warrior of the modern age, who declared: “I feel like patience is sometimes better than pride, and I’m a very patient fighter.” Within these words lies a wisdom as old as the battlefield itself, a lesson not only for those who step into the arena, but for all who contend with the struggles of life. For the clash of fists and wills is but a reflection of the greater struggle of humanity: the choice between the calm of endurance and the fire of arrogance.

Pride is quick to rise. It surges like a storm, demanding victory in haste, urging reckless strikes, deafening the ear to reason. Yet patience is the deep river, flowing silently but powerfully, shaping mountains over centuries, wearing down stone with quiet strength. The proud fighter may dazzle with sudden fury, but the patient one endures, conserving strength, awaiting the opportune moment when victory is certain. Peña’s words remind us that true triumph often belongs not to the one who rushes, but to the one who waits.

This lesson is written in the annals of history. Recall Hannibal of Carthage, who with bold pride marched elephants across the Alps to astonish Rome. His brilliance was unquestionable, his daring unmatched. Yet, after great victories, pride urged him toward overconfidence, and without patience, his cause withered. By contrast, Rome endured. With patience, they absorbed losses, rebuilt armies, and struck only when the moment was right. In the end, it was not Hannibal’s fire but Rome’s endurance that carried the day. Thus history confirms Peña’s wisdom: pride may glitter for a season, but patience reigns in the end.

Even in the ring of sport, the same truth is revealed. The fighter who lunges with pride often leaves themselves exposed, their energy spent too soon. But the fighter who waits, who listens, who watches—such a one turns defense into opportunity, and with one well-timed strike secures victory. The patient fighter does not need to shout their greatness; they let their discipline, their endurance, and their timing speak for them. Julianna Peña herself proved this when, against odds and critics, she endured the storm of her opponents and seized victory through steady resolve.

The deeper meaning is this: patience is not weakness, nor is it passivity. It is controlled power, the ability to resist the pull of ego and act when wisdom dictates. Pride is often loud, demanding recognition before it is earned; patience is quiet, content to let the truth of time reveal strength. To choose patience over pride is to master oneself before seeking to master others.

What, then, shall we take from this teaching? That in every arena—whether of combat, of politics, of love, or of daily toil—patience will guard us better than pride. When anger urges us to speak rashly, let patience hold our tongue. When ambition drives us to act before the time is ripe, let patience steady our hand. When life tests us with hardship, let patience whisper that endurance will carve a path where pride would stumble.

Practical steps lie before you: Train yourself to pause before you act, to breathe before you answer, to endure before you surrender. Practice patience not only in great battles, but in the small trials of daily life—when waiting in silence, when facing insult, when plans delay. Each moment of patience strengthens your spirit, just as each strike in training strengthens the warrior’s arm. Let patience be your shield, pride your warning, and endurance your victory.

Thus, remember Julianna Peña’s words as a torch for your journey: patience is greater than pride. To be a patient fighter in life is to walk with strength hidden beneath calm, to know that victory is not always the loudest shout, but the quiet endurance that outlasts the storm. For the one who waits with wisdom shall, in the end, rise unshaken and victorious.