September 3, 2026
Dear July,
I think softness found me again before I even realized I had been looking for it.
I didn't realize my softness was gone until I became a shell of myself.
I was quieter. Smaller. Silenced.
My jokes led to arguments. Holding a pencil the wrong way led to reprimands. Laughing at someone else's joke and chiming in on the fun was too much. Dancing was inappropriate if my partner wasn't with me.
But those were, and still are, all things that I love.
Because they made me, me.
It's hard to be soft when you are constantly walking on eggshells or when you're one wrong word away from a panic attack... When being yourself starts to feel like something you need permission to do.
So, what did I do? I left. I chose all of the feelings that were calling to me. And I began the return back to softness.
Somewhere along the way, I learned that softness is not weakness.
Softness is freedom.
It is light.
It is the ability to laugh without wondering if you've laughed too loudly. To dance without asking if you're doing too much. To tell a joke without preparing for the consequences.
Softness is true, genuine relief.
I was finally able to put words to the feeling when I read Love Her Wild by one of my favorite poets, Atticus.
In there he says something so powerful... "love her, but leave her wild."
Let her be, who she has always been.
And maybe that's what I've been learning all along.
Let me tell you something, Cariño...
The people who love you will embrace your softness.
They will not ask you to become smaller so they can feel bigger.
They will not make you afraid of the parts of yourself that make you shine.
They will let you laugh.
They will let you dance.
They will let you be.
That is love.
And perhaps softness doesn't disappear forever.
Perhaps sometimes, it simply waits for us to find our way back.
xx,
Chalise
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