I used to think being soft made me fragile. That my tenderness, my empathy, my gentle ways of showing up in the world were things I needed to toughen up or tuck away. Especially after heartbreak. Especially after betrayal. Especially after being misunderstood so many times.
But softness isn’t the opposite of strength—it’s proof of it.
My softness means I’ve survived without shutting down. It means I’ve cried without shame and loved even when it scared me. It means I’ve felt loss deeply, but never let it harden my heart. It means I still believe in kindness, even after being hurt. That’s not weakness. That’s resilience in its rawest, most human form.
In a world that often praises hardness—being “unbothered,” detached, guarded—it takes courage to stay soft. To still care. To still hope. To offer love, knowing it might not always be returned. It takes strength to parent with patience, to listen with presence, to show up in relationships honestly. That’s the kind of strength that doesn’t make loud noise, but it holds entire families, friendships, and futures together.
My softness isn’t a flaw. It’s a record of everything I’ve endured, everything I’ve felt, and everything I still believe is possible. It means I’m still here, still choosing connection over fear. And to me, that’s power—just wearing a different face.