I’ve been scared of my own softness this year. I stowed it away and judged myself for being soft. In return, I’d been aloof, sometimes distant. In my defence, my softness has hurt me more than it has helped me.

I’ve been too cautious to accepting one’s affection. I think that my constant switch in attitude might have been confusing for others; because one minute, I’m tender and the next minute, I appear desensitized. I worry that if I’m too open, I’ll be seen for who I am. I’ll be perceived as needy and ‘too much‘.

So for the most part, I’ve kept my guard up.

What did softness look like for me this year? Softness meant allowing myself to be open, tender, letting myself be seen without armour.

I’ve viewed my softness as a liability this year, and honestly, it breaks my heart that I had to mute my tenderness. The world cannot stand all the mushiness.

When did a person’s softness begin to be redefined as ‘weakness‘ and become a weaponised tool?

I know that I’ve come off as standoffish to others, and sometimes, it bothers me that I am that way. I’ve also been quite interested in knowing whether this is a learned trait or an inherent one.

But I’ve also seen my softness treated lightly, sometimes with a little mockery. One incident like this was a little triggering for me, so I vowed to be more ‘businesslike‘ henceforth with said persons.

It breaks my heart that my softness comes with a well-guarded armour. A porous one on most days but an armour all the same.


I’m not going to say anything about allowing myself to be soft in the coming years. Why? It’s hard. It’s raw. I’m still scared and still hurting.

There’s something so heartwarming, beautiful, and elevating about people who haven’t lost their softness. Although I can’t be like them now, I’m still inspired by them.

But even now, I carry my softness quietly.