Resilient Heart
This is part of the “Staying with
Yourself" series, a real-time reflection on the quiet, in-between spaces
of personal growth. You are showing up even on the days when nothing feels
urgent, and no one’s asking how you are doing. It’s quieter now but it’s real.
You ever notice how you start hardening
without even meaning to? It is a slow kind of thing. You get burned, so you
stop reaching out; you care too much, so you decide caring less is safer. You
give and give until there’s nothing left, and then tell yourself this is just
what growing up looks like. You are protecting your peace, right?
Deep down you know that’s not peace,
you are exhausted, a soul-deep exhaustion that makes you stop showing up fully
because showing up hasn’t always gone well. So you start pulling back, saying
less, and letting the world shrink around you so it doesn’t hurt as much when
it disappoints you.
The fatigue doesn’t always come from
anger. Sometimes it’s just the weight of it all. You have been let down enough
times that your softness starts to feel like a liability, and before you know
it, you’re calling your walls wisdom and your numbness self-protection.
Everyone around you says you are tough, you got thick skin, you are chilled,
and you never let them see you sweat. The goal is to feel nothing, want
nothing, and say nothing, like caring out loud is some form of risk you
shouldn't take.
Here’s the truth that no one says loud
enough: True strength is the ability to stay soft in a hard world. It's the
kind of power that remains when everything else falls away, the strength to
keep your heart open, even when life has given you every reason to close it.
It’s a power that whispers, that doesn’t need to dominate a room to be felt.
It’s not about being naive or spineless or agreeable to a fault, but it’s about
refusing to let what broke you turn you cold. It’s about choosing to feel even
when you know the cost because being soft means you’re still in touch with your
heart, you still know who you are, you still care, and that’s rare.
You can be soft and still have a
backbone, you can set a boundary and still speak with grace, and you can love
deeply and still know when to walk away. Communicating what hurt you doesn’t
make you fragile and letting someone in again doesn’t make you foolish. There’s
nothing stronger than staying open when every part of you wants to shut down.
There’s nothing more courageous than still hoping, still choosing joy, still
believing in love, even after everything.
And yeah, it’s easier to go cold, it’s
easier to pretend you’re fine, and it’s easier to pretend you are okay so
nobody asks questions, but softness is never about leaving yourself
unprotected, it’s about being honest with yourself, not abandoning who you are
just because the world told you that version of you is too much, or too tender,
or too vulnerable. You don’t need to disappear to survive, and you don’t have
to harden to belong.
Your softness is not something to fix
but it's something to hold, protect, and nurture. Let your voice come through
unfiltered. Let your “no” stand on its own. Let your “yes” feel full. Let
people meet you as you are, not the diluted version you think they will prefer.
Stay soft but not for them, for you, because you deserve a life that doesn’t
require you to flinch every time you feel something. You deserve to live
without constantly bracing for the next blow. You deserve to love without
shrinking yourself down to fit someone else’s comfort.
You don’t have to choose between
kindness and safety, you don’t have to choose between love and self-respect,
and you don’t have to pick between softness and strength. You’re allowed to be
all of it at once.
If this landed with
you, share it with someone else moving through a quiet season or save it for
the next day the silence gets loud again. Either way, stay close. This is just
the beginning.
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