Who would I be if I never had to be strong?
Maybe I’d let myself cry more. Maybe I’d find admiration in my vulnerability instead of shame. Maybe I wouldn’t feel like I had to carry the weight of the world all the time. Maybe I could just be a little bit more free — a little bit more delusional — and a little bit more alive.
Sometimes, my strength has held me down in more ways than it’s lifted me.
Because strength, when you wear it too tightly, becomes armor — and armor gets heavy.
And although my last relationship didn’t work out — and we ended in the summer — he taught me something I didn’t know I needed to learn:
that it’s okay to be cared for.
It’s okay to lean on someone.
It’s okay to not have it all together.
He taught me that softness isn’t weakness. It’s actually a kind of power I had been afraid to access — the kind that comes from trust, faith, and surrender.
Allow yourself to cry.
Allow someone to come in and hold you.
Allow yourself to not be the strong one all the time.
Softness is surrender — to God, to your higher self, to the universe. It’s the knowing that you don’t have to grip so tightly to every single piece of your life for it to stay together. You cannot live your whole life in survival mode. You cannot heal by bracing yourself for the next storm.
You have to allow yourself to be free within all the parts of you — the messy, emotional, tired, and tender parts too.
Your softness is beautiful.
Your softness is divine.
When I think about how far I’ve come, I realize that ever since I transformed myself through God, something inside of me shifted. The light that came out of me wasn’t loud or showy — it was quiet, still, and peaceful. It was softness.
With him, I learned I could be soft.
I could surrender.
And even though that chapter closed, I’m keeping that energy alive — in every connection I build and every version of myself I meet next.
Softness is not the opposite of strength.
It’s what makes strength worth having.
So, to the women who feel like they always have to be “the strong one” — I want you to know: you don’t. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to fall apart and still be whole. You are allowed to let people love you without testing them first.
Let softness find you.
Let softness live in you.
And let softness lead you back home to yourself.
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