So I refuse to be ashamed that I started crying when my partner was kind to me, because I earned the right to be soft and because she makes me feel safe enough to let the tears flow.
I fought hard to be soft.
So I refuse to be ashamed I’m tearing up because my cat got scared and curled in my lap for comfort, because I know that means I’m safe and that means I kept my promise to never cause pain like I felt.
I fought hard to be soft.
So I refuse to be ashamed that at 36 I sleep curled up with a stuffed shark because I was told my whole life that was weakness but taking care of the basic need for comfort isn’t weakness it is just human.
I fought hard to be soft.
So I refuse to be ashamed that sometimes my relatively easy life can still be too much because I suffered so much the first 30 years of my life and healing takes time so sometimes it’s okay to cry over spilt milk.
I fought hard to be soft.
So I refuse to be ashamed of who I am, to be a hopeless romantic over the first woman to make me feel safe, to be a dork who sings even though she’s bad at it, to spoil my cats rotten because they deserve the best life I can give them.
I refuse to let a fear of being weak stop me from being soft.
I refuse to become hard and callous again.
I fought hard to be soft, and now that I feel like the wounds of years are closing, I’m finally allowing myself to actually be the person I fought to become.