Life tried to harden me long before I even knew I was being beaten into form.
Not through catastrophe—
but through quiet conditioning.

I grew up sheltered—but not untouched.
The foundation I was handed was simple: Life is hard. You have to work hard. Be hard. And everything just kind of sucks.
I lived that in real time.
I watched the world turn cold around me.
And I assumed that was normal.
That struggle was just a rite of passage.
That burnout meant you were doing something right.

But I was miserable.

And for a long time, I believed I had no real choice.
That life just happened to us.
That things were already predetermined—
and no matter what I chose, something outside of me would always overrule it.
That I was here to cope, not to create.
To endure, not direct.

Then one day—random as anything—I wandered into Spencer’s at the mall.
I wasn’t looking for anything, just browsing.
And I noticed this deck of “chakra” cards on a shelf.
I remember thinking, What the hell is that?

It was such a small thing.
But something about it cracked something open.
It wasn’t the cards. It was the idea they represented:
Maybe I have more power than I think.

I won’t get into my whole spiritual journey on this post,
but that moment was a door.
Not to magic—
to possibility.

That mindset didn’t come overnight.
And it definitely didn’t come through Pinterest rituals or morning affirmations.
It came from unraveling everything I was taught.
From questioning my own beliefs.
Tracing the maps of how I became who I was—
how I came to believe I didn’t have autonomy in the first place.

And slowly, I started fighting for myself.
For the woman I wanted to be.
For the life I wanted to live.
For the way I wanted to show up in this world without shapeshifting to survive.

Me, Myself, and I

I had to abandon everything I was taught.
Because everything I was taught didn’t serve me.

It wasn’t easy.
Because even in the process of waking up,
life still tested me.
Still provoked me.
Still tried to drag me back into the roles I had outgrown.

And I had to choose myself—again and again and again.
Even when my external world looked like it was falling apart.
Even when I didn’t feel in control.
Even when things weren’t getting better right away.

Until one day, I arrived at a truth that changed everything:
If I can’t control the world, I can control myself.
And most of all—my mind.

Because in my mind, I can think whatever I want.
I can imagine new outcomes.
I can believe something different.
And no one has the power to stop what’s going on in my mind—not unless I give it to them.

So I started tuning into myself more.
Choosing myself more.
Standing on business—with myself.
Holding my own frequency even when everything outside of me was loud and out of alignment.

Even when chaos tried to bait me,
even when reality looked like it was falling apart,
I didn’t collapse.

I didn’t fight fire with fire.
I stayed rooted.
I held my peace like a sword.

Sovereign Fight

And something unexpected happened.
The more I stood in my sovereignty,
the more the world began to shift around me.
Not all at once. Not magically.
But slowly, consistently—
it started to reflect who I had become.

The world bent to me.
Because I stopped bending to it.

It was a hard process—
but not one rooted in suffering.

Because I chose a different kind of hard.
A conscious kind.
Not the kind I was raised to believe in.
Not the kind rooted in exhaustion and pain.

I was fighting for my life—
and I did it softly.

I didn’t armor up.
I didn’t turn cold.
I didn’t perform aggression just to look strong.

I stayed soft.
I stayed emotionally available.
I stayed tender and intuitive and present—on purpose.

Because I knew to maintain that kind of softness was the real fight.
To feel everything and not shut down.
To see the mess and still choose clarity.
To walk through the fire and not let it burn my spirit.

This wasn’t a defense mechanism born out of survival.
This was a rebirth.
A reclamation.

To Spite the World

I didn’t get strong by becoming harder.
I got strong by becoming wiser.
By learning how to protect my peace without sacrificing it.
By making softness a boundary—not a vulnerability.

This was a different kind of tough.
One that didn’t harden me, but deepened me.
That didn’t turn me bitter, but made me discerning.
That didn’t isolate me—but taught me how to trust myself.

This version of “hard” wasn’t built in reaction.
It was built in alignment.

The life I’m building now? I can’t say it doesn’t have any hardships all the way.

But I’ve choosing my hard.
And I believe hardness comes in a spectrum.
A lot of people walk around thinking “hard” means suffering, exhaustion, emotional war.
But I redefined it.

For me, “hard” means the discipline of ease,
the boundaries required to protect peace,
and the effort it takes to choose joy in a joyless system.

Yes—I did that.
And you can too.
Why not?

The kind of hard I choose is rejecting the “life is hard” mindset altogether
and doing what I need to do to live my ideal life.
And in my ideal life? It’s not hard.

I’ll still go through some things, yes—
but only in the direction of my peace,
my softness,
my desires.

Not survival for survival’s sake.
Why would I subscribe to struggle? I don’t have to.
They told me I had to—and I asked them, “Why?”
They said, “That’s just how life goes.”
And I asked again, “Why?”
They said, “That’s just how it is.”
And I said—“Fuck you. And fuck that.”

There’s no real answer.
Just recycled trauma. Just projection passed off as truth.
But I don’t owe pain a subscription.
And I damn sure don’t owe it my loyalty just because someone else decided it’s supposed to be that way.

Birthright of Choice

I want a life that matches my natural frequency.
If it doesn’t resonate with my softness—it’s not mine.

Why should I let anything outside of me turn me into something I’m not?
I already know who I am.
And I’m not sacrificing that for a world that keeps telling me I need to be harder to be safe, loved, respected, or valid.

I’ve seen with my own two eyes that hardness doesn’t guarantee safety, love, respect, or worth.
So why would I give up softness to chase a lie?

I’m not refusing to evolve.
I’m just refusing to perform survival.

It’s a great big world, filled with rich, diverse experiences.
Not everyone has to adopt the same struggle.
Not every model of life is worthy of your subscription.

As human beings, we have the birthright of choice.
You don’t have to choose the first thing you see.
That’s only one option out of many.

The world is too wide for everyone to live inside the same mindset, the same paradigm.
You don’t have to play small—or play hard—just because it’s what you saw first.

Just because struggle is common doesn’t make it law.
Just because it’s familiar doesn’t mean it’s home.

There are other options.
Ease is an option.
Joy is an option.
Softness is an option.
Expansion is an option.
A life that feels good to your body—not just your survival instincts—is an option.

Baby, it’s an illusion that you only get to choose from pain.
There’s a place for everyone—
and peace might just be the one for you.

Find what’s yours.
Don’t settle for the mindset that hurt you when you were still learning how to see.

The War for Peace

My fight doesn’t come at the expense of my softness.
I fight to keep it intact—permanently—
so I can live in alignment with what’s real now,
and keep thriving in what’s still becoming.

I’ve gotten this far.
So why would I abandon the very thing that’s protected me,
centered me,
and carried me through confusion, chaos, and change?

Life is short—
but life is also long.
The moment matters, but the pattern matters more.

I can escape everything outside of me.
I can run. I can fight.
But at the end of the day, I have myself to answer to.
I have myself to nurture.

I can never escape myself.
I can try—
but the consequences are mine to hold.
Alone.

So it matters to me what internal state I’m experiencing.
I don’t just care how my life looks.
I care how it feels.

Peace isn’t a reward.
It’s a requirement.

Uncompromised

On some real shit—I’m very blessed.
Because some people can't even touch this reality.

Some people truly suffer.
Life has them in a chokehold.

And I pray—deeply—
that God never places me in those paradigms.

Because I can only protect myself so much.
I do what I can.
But divine protection? I ask for that every day.

I’ve had the privilege to keep my softness intact through what, in the grand scheme, are trivial life challenges.
But I’m not naïve.

One wrong choice. One wrong move. One wrong door. One wrong person—
and everything could’ve shifted.

I could’ve found myself in a situation that demanded a different kind of resilience—
the kind that doesn’t come from hope, or light, or anything soft.
The kind people build in the dark, with no one watching.

Some people don’t even have light in their eyes anymore—
not even the will to dream—
and yet they still keep going.

Not because they believe something better is coming.
But because they have no other choice but to keep going.

And that’s not rare. It’s not dramatic. It’s real.
Some people are born into it.

I can look back and pinpoint exact moments in my life where my entire trajectory could’ve changed—
If I gave up a little too soon.
If I stayed a little too long.
If I gave in just a bit more.
If I stayed innocent.

Consciousness and responsibility are everything.
Know who you are.
Be conscious of your choices.
Be responsible with your character and your actions.

Have humility.
Have discernment.

Trust in your power.
Protect yourself.

Pray for protection.
Pray for guidance.
Pray for nurture.
Pray for life.

This entire post was never meant to romanticize softness.
I don’t romanticize anything.
It’s real out here.

The real enemy isn’t hardness.
It’s not survival.
It’s not people.
It’s not even life.

The real enemy is what those things can bring out of you
if you marinate in them too long.

If you’re not conscious of your choices…
If you’re not mindful of how you carry yourself…
If you lose your humility, your awareness, your center…

For me, the real enemy is despair.

If you’ve had the privilege to keep your softness intact—
don’t look down on it.
Don’t waste it.
Don’t perform it.

Understand it.
Protect it.
Be wise with it.

Because not everyone got to keep theirs.
And not everyone had the option to choose it.

Don’t look down on softness.
Respect it.
Recognize its value.

Because when softness is conscious—
when it’s chosen, guarded, and embodied—
it’s not weakness.

It’s a luxury.
A weapon.
A legacy.
A light.