Dear My Lovelies,
For a long time, I thought strength meant endurance.
It meant waking up and doing the next right thing no matter how tired I was.
It meant keeping my heart open while quietly bracing for disappointment.
It meant being capable, reliable, emotionally aware, “good at relationships,” and very, very strong.
And to be clear—those skills mattered.
They got me through seasons I couldn’t have survived otherwise.
But somewhere along the way, endurance stopped being a bridge and became the place I lived.
I didn’t notice it at first. It just felt like being alert all the time.
Like holding my breath in conversations.
Like loving with one eye open.
Like resting only after everything—and everyone—else was taken care of.
Eventually, my body spoke up.
Not loudly.
Not with drama.
Just a quiet, tired truth:
I don’t want to be hard anymore.
What I realized then is this:
Most of us were never taught how to be held by life.
We were taught how to survive it.
We learned how to push through discomfort.
How to normalize emotional loneliness.
How to call self-abandonment “being understanding.”
How to confuse chemistry, effort, or longing with safety.
Endurance became our love language.
But endurance is heavy.
It tightens the jaw.
It shortens the breath.
It keeps the nervous system on watch.
Being held is different.
Being held feels like your shoulders dropping without you telling them to.
It feels like not having to anticipate the next rupture.
It feels like not managing the emotional temperature of every room you enter.
It feels like allowing life to meet you—rather than constantly meeting life with armor.
In relationships, this shift can feel especially tender.
It often means you stop doing so much.
You stop carrying the emotional labor alone.
You stop making things easier for others at the expense of your own ease.
Not because you’re pulling away in punishment—
but because your body no longer consents to survival mode.
And here’s the reframe I wish more of us were given sooner:
Softness is not what comes after you feel safe.
Softness is how safety returns.
You don’t have to earn rest.
You don’t have to be less needy to be lovable.
You don’t have to harden yourself to avoid being hurt again.
You are allowed to want a life that meets you gently.
You are allowed to want connection that lets you relax.
You are allowed to be supported, not just strong.
You are allowed to be held by life, not just endure it.
And that’s when I realized something I hadn’t fully allowed myself to admit:
I don’t want to just survive life anymore. I want to be held by it.
Why Softening Feels So Vulnerable
Most of us weren’t taught how to be held. We were taught how to cope, how to push through, how to adapt. We learned to normalize emotional loneliness and call it independence. We learned to over-function and call it love. And somewhere along the way, we stopped questioning why life felt so heavy.
Softening, I’m learning, is different. It’s letting my shoulders drop without consciously telling them to. It’s letting my breath deepen without expectation. It’s choosing ease and comfort, even when survival mode says otherwise. It’s the quiet act of allowing life to meet me, instead of always meeting life with armor.
A Personal Truth I’m Practicing
I notice this most in relationships. Softening doesn’t mean giving less love or care. It means I stop carrying the emotional labor alone. I stop over-explaining, over-accommodating, over-functioning. I stop confusing effort with worthiness. I simply stay present with myself, allowing reciprocity—or lack of it—to show me the truth without forcing or fixing it.
Softness is not something you earn after you finally feel safe. It’s often how safety returns. It’s the moment my body relaxes without permission. It’s the moment I let myself be met, instead of bracing for what might come next.
And I can tell you honestly: some days I still default to endurance. Some days I forget to soften. But I’m learning that even letting myself notice the tension is a step toward being held.
A Gentle Reminder for You
You are allowed to want a life that meets you gently. You are allowed to want relationships that let you relax instead of brace. You are allowed to be supported, cared for, and held—not just capable, strong, and enduring. You don’t need to rush to feel soft. You don’t need to earn ease or safety. You just need to notice it, and slowly, allow yourself to receive it.
Journal Prompts:
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Where in my life am I still bracing, even though I long to soften?
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What would it look like to allow life—or someone else—to hold me, without having to carry it all myself?
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When do I notice my body tensing before I even realize it? What is it trying to tell me?
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How do I feel when I slow down or choose ease instead of pushing?
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Where have I equated effort with worthiness, and how could I unlearn that?
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What small ways could I practice being held today—by myself, by others, or by life itself?
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When did I last feel truly supported without having to earn it, and what can I learn from that memory?
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How does my body know the difference between survival and softness?
With so much care,
Em 💜⚡️🌟
👉 Hit reply and tell me—where are you practicing softness right now?
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