I often look at the women around me and wonder: how did they get to stay so soft?
They speak without second-guessing. They trust people easily. They believe in sweetness like it’s natural, like it wasn’t something that had to be earned or proven. They laugh, cry, fall in love, fall apart, and none of it feels calculated. None of it feels guarded. It’s as if the world never told them they had to be anything but themselves. And sometimes…if I’m being honest, I feel jealous.
Because I didn’t grow up like that. I was told at ten years old that the pain would shape me. That the hurt would build character. That the things I went through would make me stronger. As if strength was a worthy trade for childhood. But I didn’t need to be shaped. I didn’t need to be strong. I needed to be innocent. I needed softness. I needed someone to say, “You don’t have to carry all of this.” But nobody said it. So I learned to carry. I learned to predict, to protect, to disappear.
And now, I’m here. Watching my friends move through the world with a kind of lightness I can’t seem to find. I know they’ve had their share of pain too but it didn’t take from them what mine took from me. It didn’t calcify their joy. It didn’t make them question if they were too much or not enough every time they loved someone.
And yes, sometimes, I feel like the bad one. Like I’m bitter. Or broken. Like there’s something unfixable about the way I see things. I know it’s not fair to compare, but I do. I can’t help it. I wonder what I would be like if the damage could be undone. If I never had to look over my shoulder in love. If I never learned to brace myself for disappointment.
I’m not asking for perfect love. I don’t even know what that looks like. I’m just asking what kind of love I’m meant for, when I’ve been built by things that should never have touched me. When the softness was wrung out of me before I even had the words to name it.
There’s no ending to this feeling. Only questions that echo late into the night:
What would it feel like to be met, not managed?
What would it mean to love without defense?
And if I was never taught to stay soft, is it still possible to learn?
I don’t know. But I keep asking.
