There’s a version of you from long ago—before the heartbreaks, before the pressure, before you had to toughen up just to survive. A version that laughed freely, cried without shame, trusted without fear, and loved without needing proof first.
That softness wasn’t weakness. It was your truest self, before the world told you to be smaller, sharper, quieter, tougher.
But life has a way of layering us in armour. Maybe it came from having to protect your heart too often. Maybe from being strong for everyone else. Maybe from being told that softness would only get you hurt. So you adapted. You got efficient, got guarded, got things done. You carried on.
And now here you are—exhausted by the strength that kept you safe, but quietly aching to feel again.
This is what the return to softness feels like. Like remembering. Like peeling back the layers and finding the girl inside who was never too much, too emotional, too trusting—just too precious to lose. It’s not about becoming her all over again, but honouring that she never really left. She was just waiting for you to feel safe again.
Softness doesn’t mean breaking down. It means letting your shoulders drop. Letting your breath deepen. Letting your truth exist even when it’s messy or tender. It means not needing to be in control of everything. It means letting care in.
You don’t have to be hard to be worthy. You don’t have to be endlessly strong to be enough. The real strength now is in allowing yourself to soften—and in that softness, remembering who you were before the world told you not to be.