She didn’t want to be strong all the time.

She just didn’t know any other way to survive.

Strength became her armor. Hyper-independence, her shield.

Not because she wanted to prove she could do it all, but because too many times, no one came when she needed holding.

She didn’t want to be the one who always had it together.

She just learned early that falling apart had consequences.

That softening made her a burden. That needing made her unsafe.

She didn’t want to be guarded.

But when your nervous system has been trained by disappointment and abandonment,

letting go of control feels like inviting collapse.

It’s not that she didn’t long for closeness.

It’s that closeness was never predictable.

She couldn’t breathe easily in connection

because somewhere deep in her body,

she was still bracing for the moment it would all disappear.

But she’s learning now…

That safety isn’t in perfection.

It’s in presence.

It’s in being met, slowly, gently, again and again.

She’s learning that strength doesn’t mean never needing anyone.

And independence doesn’t have to cost her softness.

She’s learning to exhale. To breathe.

To trust that her softness won’t be punished.

That her needs won’t be too much.

That she can loosen her grip without losing herself.

And maybe, just maybe, someone will meet her there.

Not to rescue her,

but to stand beside her,

as she finally lays her armor down.

May she remember she was never meant to carry it all alone.

May she feel the softness return to her shoulders as she learns to let go.

May she trust the ground will hold, even when she’s not holding everything together.

May she be met in her truth, with tenderness, not fear.

May she breathe deeply, knowing she no longer has to prove her worth through pain.

May she come home to the version of herself that feels safe, loved, and free.

With love,🤍

Aniela

Photo: Pinterest