Soft? Yes. Stupid? Never Again

I want love, not survival tactics disguised as intimacy

I’ve mistaken thrill for depth. Intensity for intimacy. I’ve called inconsistency “mystery”…. and called myself patient while slowly eroding inside.

BUT NOT ANYMORE.

These days, I know the difference….

• Between craving connection and clinging to confusion.

• Between being open-hearted and being emotionally available to the wrong people.

• Between being soft and being so self-abandoning that you forget your own name.

• Between being in love and being in survival mode.

These are the things I don’t do anymore;

I don’t chase chaos and call it chemistry. I don’t hand out access to my softness like it’s a party favor. If it doesn’t feel safe, grounded, or emotionally mutual…. I’m out.

I’ve learned: Being romantic doesn’t mean being reckless.

I’m still soft but I’ve stopped suffering to prove it.

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Stay with me, let’s unpack this…

Let’s talk about what desperation looks like when it’s dressed up as devotion.

Let’s talk about the ways we torture ourselves into intense emotional turmoil just to feel seen.

Just to avoid silence. Just to say “I’m not hard to love… right?”

Desperation doesn’t always look loud. Sometimes, it’s masked as over-functioning.

As being chill with things that break your heart. As bending so much you forget what standing straight feels like.

• You’ll say “I’m okay” when you’re not.

• You’ll keep pouring into someone who only drinks when they’re thirsty for control.

• You’ll keep answering texts from people who ghosted you last week.

• You’ll keep entertaining crumbs, hoping it leads to a feast.

But baby… that’s not love.

That’s survival mode in stilettos.

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Here’s what I know now:

I am soft but I am not stupid. I’m not scared of being alone anymore. I’m scared of betraying myself to belong.

I still want love but not at the cost of my dignity. Not at the cost of over-explaining my worth to someone who should’ve seen it in the first place. Not at the cost of confusing mixed signals for chemistry.

I’ve had enough of intensity that leaves me emotionally bankrupt.

I want the kind of love that holds me, not haunts me. The kind that doesn’t punish me for having needs. The kind that whispers safety, not confusion.

I used to call it passion. Now I call it chaos.

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Let me be clear….

I’m still soft and I still melt at affection. I still believe in slow mornings and forehead kisses and “just because” texts. I still crave conversations that go deep, not just surface level.

But I’ve retired from convincing, chasing, or making it easy for people to mishandle me.

I don’t want the kind of love I have to earn. I want the kind that meets me. That holds space for me. That doesn’t turn every disagreement into a disappearing act.

My softness is not a strategy.

It’s not a bait. It’s not a weakness.

It’s a gift and not everyone gets access to it.

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So here’s your reminder:

You can want love and still have standards. You can be soft and still choose yourself. You can be romantic and still walk away from chaos in a heartbeat.

Here’s what we’re doing now:

• We’re feeling everything but we’re no longer settling for pain dressed as passion.

• We’re being open without losing our edges.

• We’re being vulnerable without being voluntarily wounded.

• We’re not stupid. We’re soft with discernment.

• We don’t beg for breadcrumbs. We become the feast.

P.S. If you missed the last post on Soft Girl, Still Strong…. read ⬇️

Graceful Goodbye

(You’ll love it, trust me)

Still healing from a love that made you forget your softness?

Still peeling off the layers of “ride or die” conditioning just to remember who you were before you settled?

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This isn’t just content. It’s a soft landing place. A mirror, a warm push, a reclamation.

Because baby… you’re not dramatic. You’re just finally done romanticizing disrespect.

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Join the soft girls with sharp instincts.

We love here. We rise here. Every post. Every time.

Let’s keep choosing ourselves without hardening.

With love,

Becky

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