Softness as Rebellion

“I didn’t grow up soft. I grew up surviving.”

That sentence lingers in my throat every time I sit down to write about what softness means to me. Not because I’m unsure, but because it’s layered. For me and for so many other millennial moms , softness was never handed to us. It was something we had to find in the cracks of chaos, in between expectations, in the silence after generations of women told us to “just keep going.”

Softness, in this world, feels like rebellion.

Not the loud, riot-in-the-streets kind. But the kind that whispers, “I deserve to rest.” The kind that refuses to hustle for worth. The kind that dares to be well, even when everything around you screams for sacrifice.

This is the story of unlearning survival and returning to softness; not as a trend, but as a form of freedom.

The Cult of Hardness

I came of age in a cult-like religious environment where femininity meant submission, silence, and shame. Emotions were too loud, too messy, too disruptive. Love had rules. Rest had to be earned. And questioning anything came with consequences.

Layer that with being Afro-Latina, queer, and silently enduring sexual abuse by a now-deceased family member. Softness wasn’t just out of reach. It was unsafe.

So I got good at being hard.

I wore strength-like armor: silent, stoic, and self-sufficient. I didn’t cry (at least not in public). I didn’t ask for help. I didn’t take up space. I became the girl who didn’t need anything — until I became the woman who didn’t know how to need anything.

And then I became a mother.
And everything cracked.

Our communities have praised strength to the point of emotional starvation. We wear the “Independent Woman” badge with pride. But behind it is often grief, neglect, rage, and stories no one ever let us tell.
We were told to hold it down. Be loyal. Don’t cry. Don’t complain. Handle it. Be grateful. Pray it away.
But here’s what I’ve learned through tears, therapy, and choosing softness over survival: Strength without softness is not sustainability. It is soul erosion.

Softness isn’t just candles and bubble baths (although those are divine, too). Softness is the radical act of choosing yourself —especially when you were taught not to.

It’s saying no without guilt.
It’s taking naps without shame.
It’s deciding that your peace matters more than anyone’s expectations.

It’s not checking your email after 6 p.m.
It’s skipping the family gathering that triggers your trauma.
It’s telling your partner what you really need instead of pretending you’re okay.

Softness is checking in with your body before your calendar.
It’s choosing peace even when chaos feels familiar.
It’s looking in the mirror and saying: “I am allowed to be well.”

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I’m no expert. I’m just a woman learning to be gentle with herself in real time. But here are a few ways I’m actively cultivating softness as a mom, a writer, and a woman who’s tired of surviving:

Soft Life Starter Kit

1. Waking up slow – No rushing, no alarms when possible. Just sunlight, silence, and soul.
2. Dressing for joy – Not for approval. If it feels like a hug, I wear it.
3. Protecting my peace – Do Not Disturb is always on. My boundaries are sacred.
4. Being witnessed – Whether in sisterhood, therapy, or journaling, I let myself be seen.
5. Speaking gently to myself – No more inner critic running the show. I speak to myself like someone I love.

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Softness Is Our Inheritance

Our mothers didn’t always have the privilege of softness.
Our grandmothers couldn’t afford to stop.
But we do.

We are the cycle-breakers.
The first ones to say, “I want more than just survival.”

We are mothering ourselves while mothering our babies.
We are saying yes to wholeness. To therapy. To pleasure. To rest.
We are choosing to live slow, to heal loudly, to dream big.

Softness is not weakness.
It is wisdom.
It is power.
It is legacy.

You don’t have to carry it all.
You are allowed to exhale.
You are worthy of softness — not later, not when you’ve earned it, but now.

Even in the mess.
Even in the in-between.
Even in the grief.

Especially in grief.

Let softness be your rebellion.
Let rest be your resistance.
Let joy be your revolution.

Because you, my love, were never meant to live life on empty.

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Bio

Angel Jae’ is a lifestyle + wellness writer, mama of three, and founder of Nurtured Notes, a soft life space for women rewriting what strength looks like. She believes in slow mornings, deep healing, and being radically well. You can find her journaling with incense, fighting the urge to overthink, and learning to choose herself daily.

Words bloom best with coffee (or tea!). Help me water the garden. [Buy me a cup here.]