Embracing Strength and Softness

There’s something powerful about strength. We admire it, we build it, and we rely on it during our toughest moments. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to be strong. But here’s the thing: strength isn’t always about muscle, force, or never breaking.
Sometimes, strength comes from being able to soften, to rest, and to let go.

For the longest time, I didn’t get that. I thought softness made me vulnerable—and vulnerability felt too private. I was already sweet; I didn’t want to add being soft to it because I’m not going to back down from anything. You’ll mess around and find out.

Well, epilepsy… and life in general—will do that to you anyway. It’ll put you in situations where vulnerability isn’t a choice, it’s a condition.
So, what do you do? You fight it. You get louder. You get sharper. You carry yourself in a way that says, “I got this”—even when you don’t have to.

And after a while, that kind of strength starts to feel like your whole identity.
Even softness starts to look like a threat—like something that might undo all the work you did just to hold it together.

But somewhere along the line… around 28, brushing up against 30—I started to see it differently. I realized life didn’t have to be as hard as I was making it, even if my battles were real.
I could still be going through it and be gentle with myself.
I could still be a fighter and let somebody take care of me.

I could rest.
I could receive.
I could be soft… on purpose.

Not because I’m weak—but because I’ve carried enough.
And choosing softness doesn’t take away my strength—it balances it.

It invites peace, humility, real love.
It gives me permission to follow sometimes. To lean. To breathe.

And that’s growth.
We are here to live in wholeness.
And that includes both: power and peace.
Hard edges and soft landings.

It’s beautiful to embrace softness, but what if people take advantage of it?
What if my epilepsy sets me up and regret it? I mean, you can’t forget it, right?

NO.
You can’t live your life trying to control everything—especially how others see you or the what ifs.

It’s not about dropping your guard all the time; it’s about knowing and trusting when to use discernment.
Being aware of self and aware of what’s outside of self.
Letting yourself be held—without losing yourself in the process.

And let’s be honest: it’s exhausting trying to be your own hero all the time.
That energy often comes from the strength you had to build. A wall that once protected you… but now keeps the peace out too.

When you’ve been through enough, you learn how to block out what doesn’t serve you. That wall becomes your protector, and you get so used to it that you start believing it’s the only way to keep yourself safe.
But eventually, you learn the hard way that the real power is in letting go.
It’s in trusting that you can go on without having to be the one, do the same, stay within, stay listen, stay loud, or anything.

That’s where softness steps in.

You can be built to conquer.
You can bounce back from seizures, fight every battle life throws your way, and still know: there’s room to open up without diming yourself down.

That’s the nerve-racking part, right?
Not knowing someone’s intentions.
Not wanting to hand over any part of you that could be used against you.
Not wanting to look weak—even when you’re just tired.
Not wanting to expose that you’re epileptic.

But you can’t let any person or situation steal your ease.
Even soldiers rest.
Even warriors heal.

Softness doesn’t strip your strength—it shows you where it lives.
It highlights your femininity, your awareness, your beauty, your boldness.

It’s not about shrinking.
It’s about being so solid in yourself that you can be soft on purpose.

Whether it’s your journey with epilepsy or just life in general, embracing strength and softness might look different for everyone. But no matter what battles you’re facing, you’re capable of nuturing and balance both.
You can stand for yourself, and you can let someone else lead when you need them to.

I look at prioritizing strength and softness like that saying, “Work smarter, not harder.”
But sometimes, it’s smart to go hard.

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A combo not even epilepsy can stand against.