Jun '25 • General discussion
The Part of Me That Stayed Too Soft
There’s a part of me
that never raised her voice,
who whispered apologies
for simply having needs.
She learned to shrink,
to smooth the edges of others’ storms,
and call it love.
She gave what wasn’t returned,
offered her heart like an open field
and called it grace—
because she didn’t yet know
that betrayal wears many masks,
not just the lipstick of infidelity,
but the silence after stolen dreams.
There’s a part of me
that made peace too early,
called resignation enlightenment,
held my breath through loss
so no one else would have to feel it.
She is tired.
She is brave.
And she’s not broken.
Today, I sang her name
into the woods and let her cry.
She shook the grief
from my hips,
where all the betrayals were buried—
the money, the mothers, the men
who asked for everything
and offered so little in return.
She didn’t want revenge.
She wanted release.
And there, inside laughter
and holy tremors,
I found her not wrong,
not weak,
just never witnessed
for how much she carried
in silence.
Now, the warrior rises,
not armored, but clear—
not to fight,
but to stand in the dignity
of what she finally sees:
That I am not the cause
of their suffering.
That peace is not the same
as pleasing.
That boundaries
are a form of self-love,
not disrespect or betrayal.
And that trusting myself
is no longer a question—
it is my commandment.
I do not owe ease to others
at the cost of my own becoming.
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The Part of Me That Stayed Too Soft
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