Somewhere along the way, I learned to harden.
To respond quickly. To protect myself with distance. To mistake sharpness for strength and vulnerability for risk.
It kept me safe for a while. But it also kept me small.
Because when you build walls around your softness, you don't just keep the hurt out.. you keep the connection out too. The tenderness. The moments that require you to be open, even when it's uncomfortable.
I'm unlearning that now.
Not all at once, but slowly. Letting myself be moved by things again. Letting people see the gentler parts of me without assuming they'll use them against me.
Softness is not naivety. It's not weakness. It's the courage to remain open in a world that constantly tells you to guard yourself.
It's choosing kindness when cynicism would be easier. It's offering grace when judgment is more convenient. It's staying tender with yourself even on the days you feel like you should be tougher.
I don't want to be hard anymore. I don't want strength that costs me my warmth.
I want to be soft and steady. Gentle and grounded. Open and still safe.
Maybe that's the strongest thing I've ever chosen.