"The Strength in Softness"

I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but I admire the way you feel.
Not just the way you exist, not just the way you move through the world—
but the way you allow yourself to feel it all, deeply, unapologetically.

There’s a kind of strength in that, the kind that most people don’t recognize.
The world teaches us that strength is unyielding, that it is hardness,
that it is the ability to endure without bending.
But I don’t believe that.

I think real strength is softness that refuses to close itself off.
It’s letting yourself care, even when it would be easier not to.
It’s wearing your heart on your sleeve, even when you know the world might not be gentle with it.

My mother is the strongest person I know.
She was built for resilience—towering, unshakable, a division one linebacker,
the kind of presence that fills a room before she even speaks.
And yet, she is also the most sensitive, the most openly emotional person I have ever met.
He never hides the way she feels, never pretends that love doesn’t reach her,
never turns away from the weight of it all.

You remind me of that kind of strength.
The kind that allows itself to be seen, even when it could hide.
The kind that embraces emotion, instead of running from it.
The kind that makes me feel safe in a way I never expected to.

Around you, I don’t feel like I have to keep my guard up.
I don’t feel like I have to measure my words, or my silence.
There is something in the way you exist that makes the world feel softer,
like it’s okay to let go of the weight I didn’t even realize I was carrying.

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this way around anyone before.
But I do know that when I see you, I feel safe.
And maybe that is the rarest, most beautiful thing of all.

March 24,2025