Being Soft is Not a Weakness

Showing your belly is trust.

A funny thing happens when you grow up in a space where you have to build resilience to survive. In the beginning, you might depend on others quite a bit. Lean on your family, your friends, even school. But when life is crazy, and your family crazier, those people become less and less reliable. When your parents stop showing up, or show up drunk or high, or even show up but only to neglect, you learn quickly to rely only on yourself. 

It can make you strong. It can do a lot of things to you, and one of the very best is strength. It teaches you how to solve problems on your own. How to make things happen without help. Not to assume other people will be there. Not to trust anyone. 

Of course, when you grow up and try to live a fairly happy life, this often comes back to bite you. 

You learned that no one is ever there, so you never ask for help. 

You learned that you can’t trust anyone, so you don’t. 

You learn that people will betray you, so you make little effort to make or maintain friendships. 

If you’re lucky, you make the connection. Whether on your own or with the help of a therapist. 

The thing is though, is that if you’re too hard, people can’t connect with you. Your partner can’t take care of you when you need it because you won’t allow it. Your friends can’t be there for you because you won’t be honest about your needs. Unlearning the behaviors is a whole other ballgame, though. 

I got a gift. I got a partner that often compliments my imperfections perfectly and he was able to help me break the habit first because he wanted so badly to take care of me. So the first few times I asked for help, it was almost as a gift. And he was pleased, happy to have taken something off of my shoulders. And obviously, I had an easier time spreading my load out a little. Over time, it got easier and easier and I started trying to do it more, with more people–friends and even strangers. 

I learned to ask for help more often. Communicate when I was overwhelmed or confused, admit when things hurt me. And I realized that this softness was actually real strength. The ability to connect even though you’ve been hurt. The ability to trust, even when that trust has been betrayed so many times. And this let me live more fully in a lot of ways; I’m able to enjoy the little things I always learned not to get too attached to. 

It’s still hard. Often, my partner will ask me: “Do you want help with that?” and I say no at first, before stopping myself. Why would I suffer for no reason? Just because I’m good at suffering doesn’t mean I should. Being able to create the space for indulgence and care for yourself is strength, all on its own.