I didn’t grow up with the gentle kind of love I used to see in movies or read about in books. I grew up without both of my parents, moving through foster care, learning early on that the world can be sharp, loud, and unkind. For a long time, I believed survival meant hardening myself. I built walls so high no one could see what was inside. I thought that was the only way to keep going.
I don’t share all the details here, not because I’m ashamed, but because some stories deserve to be held close until they’re ready to come alive in their own space. One day, I’ll write a book where I’ll open those doors fully.
But for now, I want to talk about softness. The kind I used to think made people weak.
Learning to be soft again has been one of the hardest, most beautiful things I’ve ever done. It didn’t happen overnight. It started in small ways. Choosing rest without guilt. Letting myself cry without apologizing. Being kind to my body. Trusting my own timing. At first, it felt strange. Like I was undoing years of armor.
But I kept going.
Softness, for me, isn’t about being delicate or quiet. It’s about staying open, even after pain. It’s about choosing gentleness in a world that taught me to be guarded. It’s about unlearning survival mode and finally letting myself live.
There are still days I slip back into old patterns. I flinch when I feel misunderstood. I over-explain. I try to protect myself from being seen too deeply. But I’ve come a long way from the girl who thought being hard was the only way to survive.
Now I know I can be soft and still be strong. I can be open and still protect my peace. I can love deeply without abandoning myself.
This is the version of me I’m learning to trust.
The one who speaks gently.
The one who feels everything.
The one who is no longer hiding.
Little by little, I began to understand that true strength isn’t about staying hard. It’s about learning to soften, even after everything. It’s about allowing yourself to rest, to trust, to be seen piece by piece.
I’m not afraid to be vulnerable anymore. At least not in the same way. I’ve learned that vulnerability doesn’t mean pouring out every detail. It means sharing just enough to remind myself that I’m human, and so are you.
Today, I choose softness. I choose gentle mornings, quiet reflections, and small moments of joy. I choose to write, even if my voice shakes.
Thank you for holding space for this part of my story.
The rest is still being written. And when the time is right, I’ll share it all.
🤍💕🤍
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