What does it mean to be soft? I picture a fuzzy little kitten, mewling in my hand. The mixture of colors that paint the sky at twilight. An old gramma, with eyes as kind as her smile.
Softness is where there is no hard. It’s welcoming, open, inviting.
There’s no tip toeing, second guessing, or defensiveness. Only trust, love, and peace can be found.
This is what I want my life to be like.
For many years, I’ve felt the need to be hard. Defensive. On the lookout for the next danger that’s headed my way. That’s what postpartum depression can do to a person - it sweeps the rug out from under your feet, and leaves you reeling, wondering what to do with it all.
It leaves you feeling fragile, like there’s something wrong with you, with your life, with those around you.
It causes you to try piece meal yourself back together, to try avoid those gusts of wind because you never know which one will cause you to fall apart all over again.
It leaves you mistrusting, insecure, and in pain - all of which you try to cover up and tie up in bows, pretending that everything is fine.
For the past several years, I’ve chosen a word of the year. Something that encompasses my vision for the year ahead. There have been years where I choose a word that hits just right, and so many things shift for me. (Like in 2021 when my word was connection, and I was able to close so many of my disconnected gaps and create big changes in my life. That was the year we sold our house, moved up to Thunder Bay, ran my first small groups for believing moms, and so much more.) And then there have been years where I’ve learned how far that word is from my vocabulary. (Like 2022, when I chose the word nourish. It felt like a concept that I couldn’t really grasp. I worked through my postpartum that year because my business goals were so strong - much stronger than my desire to nourish my body, mind and soul.)
This year, I’ve chosen the word soft - a word that I know is who I am at my core, but one that time and experience has taken away from me. As I wrote in the beginning, postpartum depression changed so much for me. It took away my dream of being a loving mom, it caused me to think there was something deeply wrong with me, and because the pain that I felt with that was so great, it caused me to harden my heart. I thought that I needed to protect myself from something like that every happening again (although that didn’t work very well, as I had it to some extent after each subsequent baby), and the idea of softening and trusting that someone else can care for me felt like literal death.
For many years I tried to heal my depression on my own. I didn’t want to rely on something that was out of my control - I only wanted things that were within my power; not realizing that this in and of itself was keeping me from finding the happiness that I so desired.
I’m learning that while it may be true that not everyone gets what I’ve been through, or not everyone can help me with the deepest parts of my pain, that doesn’t mean that they don’t love me. Depression creates such a black and white thinking, and mix that in with insecurity and feelings of worthlessness, and it’s no wonder that so many people with mental illness never really heal. It takes so much to be able to have a conversation with a loved one about what you’re feeling and why, and for them to look past their initial reaction to find you in your pain. Both parties need to have a strong desire for that connection and relationship to last in order for it to work - otherwise it can feel pointless, or the conversations get you nowhere. When you’ve experienced many of these, it makes sense that you become hard. Because why continue opening yourself up to pain when nobody understands you or cares about you enough to figure it out?
As humans, we all have these hard, prickly, poinky edges inside of us. They come from past experiences that didn’t go so well, or insecurities that we hold as truths. They come from beliefs that we take on about ourselves from other people, or pains that haven’t fully healed yet. This doesn’t mean that there’s something wrong with us if we feel rather poinky sometimes - it’s to be expected that we will. What’s more important to focus on is how we handle these edges. Do we allow them to keep us hiding in our hole? Do we use them as a reason to not get close to other people? Do we use them as an excuse as to why we aren’t capable of living our dreams? When we’re too afraid of our rougher edges, or we try to eat or numb ourselves away from having to feel the pain, that’s when they begin to take over more of our life than they deserve to have. This is why I decided it’s time to soften these edges again - because I knew that they were keeping me from the connection and intimacy that I desire the most.
What does softening look like in my life so far this year? Whenever I notice that hard feeling come up in my heart, or I notice myself snapping at one of the kids when it isn’t a situation that warrants it, I pause and take a breath. I ask myself why I’m getting uptight, and more often than not it isn’t required. I ask myself what it would be like to soften here, and I respond from there. That looks like apologizing, asking forgiveness, explaining why I reacted the way I did. It looks like viewing the conversation from my husband’s point of view, and reflecting what I understand from him back to him so he feels seen and heard. It looks like not having to have all the answers, or not believing my brain when it tells me the person in front of me is thinking terrible things about me. It looks like trusting, softening, opening up to what life has to offer instead of immediately closing off and shutting down.
It doesn’t mean that everything gets resolved right away or that I tie everything up perfectly with a bow. It means that I approach each situation from my real heart, instead of the heart that is hurting and defensive. This creates so much more of the connection and love that I want.
It’s also interesting, because there may be some of you reading this who think that softness is who I am. That love and connection is so a part of me that you might never even guess this conflict that I have inside of me. And while that’s true, I’ve also had so much fear of this love that I have to give. It was true when I became a mom, and it’s true now as I open myself up to more writing. I’ve attached so much meaning to it, and I hold it so precious, that to offer it to those around me feels as though I’m giving my heart on a platter for anyone to do with it what they will. (Which, of course, is a very frightening image so it makes sense that I feel this way.) This doesn’t mean that I should back off from my callings of loving on my children, or loving on my people - instead, it’s another call to detach it from who I am. To recognize that while it is a part of me, it’s also something that no one else can ever hurt in me again. It was once described to me as a flashlight shining on the wall. You can throw rotten tomatoes at the light, or stab the wall with a knife, or do whatever you want to the place where the light is shining, but at the end of the day the light is unharmed. When you point the flashlight in a different direction, it’s still whole. It’s still there. It’s still bright, until you decide to shut the flashlight off again. Isn’t that a wonderful thing?
So, my friend, what does your 2024 look like for you? Have you chosen a word of the year yet, or is it time to choose one for you? Maybe softness is something that you want to bring more of into your life, even if it isn’t the main focus, and if so I encourage you to do so. There is nothing wrong with those poinky edges that we’ve been talking about, but I promise that you will get so much further when you can soften them and live from your heart instead.
That’s what I’m going to keep on doing.
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