Learning to Stay Soft
I remember sitting there, trying to keep my face steady.
Someone had asked if I was okay.
I said yes, automatically.
Even though I wasn't.
That response lived in me for years.
Not thinking.
Just answering.
Holding it together before anyone could see otherwise.
I had learned that being strong meant staying composed.
Not letting anything spill.
Not needing space.
Not needing anyone.
It worked, for a while.
But it was exhausting, carrying everything quietly.
Like I was always one step away from being seen in a way I wasn't ready for.
Over time, something shifted.
There were small moments where I didn't rush to cover it.
Where I let my voice pause.
Where I didn't immediately say, "I'm fine."
Nothing dramatic.
Just... less hiding.
And in those moments, I felt more like myself than I had in a long time.
Not because everything was okay.
But because I wasn't holding it all in the same way.
Strength started to feel different.
Quieter.
Softer.
Still there.
I'm still learning what that softness looks like.
But I don't fear it the way I once did.
