When Softness Finally Found Me

Raised by 1912 taught me strength long before I ever understood softness.

For most of my life, I lived in motion — mothering, protecting, providing, surviving. I wore resilience like armor because I had to. And even when my hands were trembling, I learned to move as if I wasn’t afraid.

But lately… life has been asking me to do something different.

To slow down.
To breathe.
To listen to the pieces of myself I ignored while I was holding everything else together.

This season feels like standing in a quiet room that’s been waiting for me my whole life.
~ A place where I can finally exhale.
~ A place where I don’t have to be the strong one every single day.

I’m learning that softness isn’t weakness — it’s the courage to show up without the shield.
It’s the courage to sit with your story instead of outrunning it.
It’s letting your heart unclench after years of bracing for impact.

Raised by 1912 is my reminder that the women before me survived storms so that I could learn what peace feels like.

And today, in this chapter of becoming still, I choose myself.
~ My healing.
~ My solitude.
~ My softness.
~ My joy.

If you’re reading this and you’re somewhere between breaking and rebuilding — I see you.
~ You don’t have to rush.
~ You don’t have to pretend.
~ You don’t have to carry what was never yours to hold.

Take a moment.
Take a breath.
And remember: there is a future version of you who is thanking you for choosing peace today.