The Soft Power Journal

Category: Identity & Truth

  • The Mirror Isn’t Lying—You Just Forgot Who You Were

    The Mirror Isn’t Lying—You Just Forgot Who You Were

    The other day, I looked in the mirror and froze.

    Not because I didn’t like what I saw—

    but because I didn’t recognize her.

    The eyes were familiar. The skin was soft. The expression was calm.

    But something about her felt… distant. Muted. Unnamed.

    And then it hit me:

    I’ve been so busy surviving, evolving, adapting, performing… I forgot how to just be.

    I forgot who I was underneath the layers.

    But the mirror?

    She wasn’t lying.

    She was simply reflecting the truth I’d been avoiding:

    I lost touch with the version of me I never should’ve left behind.

    We don’t just lose ourselves in crisis.

    We lose ourselves in expectations.

    In performance.

    In being what everyone else needed before we ever asked ourselves what we needed.

    We disappear behind the “good girl.”

    The reliable friend. The strong one. The healer. The doer. The one who doesn’t need anything.

    Until one day, we stop asking what we want altogether.

    We’re just… functioning.

    Smiling on cue. Showing up out of habit.

    But disconnected from our joy, our depth, our essence.

    You don’t need to reinvent yourself. You need to return to yourself.

    Because she’s still in there.

    The girl who loved loudly.

    Who didn’t apologize for her softness.

    Who danced without needing a reason.

    Who believed her voice mattered before the world tried to silence her.

    You didn’t lose her.

    You just stopped listening.

    But the mirror? She remembers.

    And she’s waiting for you to remember, too.

    Here’s how I started returning to the version of me I forgot:

    1. I made a “Remember Me” list.

    I wrote down what I used to love, before I tried to make everyone else comfortable.

    Books I devoured. Music I cried to. The way I dressed when I wasn’t dressing for approval.

    It brought her back to me.

    2. I stood in the mirror and said, “I miss you.”

    I let the grief surface.

    Because sometimes remembering who you were means mourning who you had to become just to survive.

    3. I stopped waiting to feel ready to be her again.

    You don’t have to “go back.”

    You just have to say yes to who you’ve always been.

    Even if it’s one gentle layer at a time.

    The mirror isn’t here to expose you. It’s here to bring you home.

    So let yourself come back.

    To the softness.

    To the laughter.

    To the clarity.

    To the girl who still lives under the ache.

    She didn’t leave.

    She’s just been waiting for you to stop performing and start remembering.

    You are not lost. You are layered.

    And every layer you peel back brings you closer to the girl who never stopped whispering:

    “I’m still in here.”

  • What It Means to Be in a Season of Becoming

    What It Means to Be in a Season of Becoming

    Becoming isn’t always beautiful.

    It’s not always soft music and sunrise journaling.

    Sometimes it’s crying in the shower, questioning everything, feeling like you’re floating between two worlds—no longer who you were, not yet who you’re becoming.

    But that’s exactly what this is:

    The season of becoming.

    The sacred in-between.

    No map. No clear answers.

    Just you. And God. And the whisper that says:

    Keep going. Something is unfolding, even if you can’t name it yet.

    Becoming is the undoing.

    It’s shedding layers that used to protect you.

    It’s releasing identities you outgrew but held onto out of comfort.

    It’s grieving old versions of yourself while still unsure of the new ones.

    And it’s hard.

    It’s confusing.

    It’s holy.

    Because becoming isn’t about achievement. It’s about alignment.

    Here’s what being in a season of becoming really looks like:

    You start feeling misaligned in spaces you used to tolerate.

    You stop rushing to fix things and start sitting with what is.

    Your prayers shift from “Give me clarity” to “Help me trust the unknown.”

    You release timelines. You question roles.

    You soften your grip.

    It’s a season where the outcomes don’t make sense yet—

    but the inner shifts are undeniable.

    It’s a season where the outcomes don’t make sense yet—

    but the inner shifts are undeniable.

    If you’re here right now, try this:

    1. Honor the unraveling.

    Instead of asking “What’s wrong with me?” try:

    “What part of me is evolving?”

    2. Write a letter titled “I Don’t Have to Know Yet.”

    Let yourself express all the uncertainty without needing a solution.

    This is about voice, not fixing.

    3. Create a Becoming Box.

    Fill it with items, quotes, and reminders that anchor you in this liminal space.

    A journal. A candle. A photo. Something that reminds you you’re still whole—even mid-transition.

    The season of becoming is not the pause between two real chapters.

    It is the chapter.

    It’s where the courage is built.

    It’s where the softness becomes strength.

    It’s where your roots deepen in the dark before you ever bloom in the light.

    So if you feel lost right now, just know:

    You’re not lost. You’re becoming.

    Let it be messy. Let it be unclear.

    Let it stretch you.

    Because the woman you’re becoming?

    She’s already unfolding.

    And she’s worth every ounce of grace you can give yourself in this sacred middle.

  • How to Let Go Without Shaming Who You Were

    How to Let Go Without Shaming Who You Were

    Let’s be real.

    There are parts of us we don’t always like to revisit.

    Versions of ourselves that feel… messy.

    The one who settled. The one who stayed too long. The one who didn’t know her worth yet.

    And sometimes, when we’re trying to evolve, it’s easy to look back on her and cringe.

    But here’s the truth most people won’t say:

    You can’t fully become who you’re meant to be if you’re still shaming who you used to be.

    That version of you?

    She was surviving with what she knew.

    She was loving with what she had.

    She was doing her best, even when it wasn’t perfect.

    This isn’t about bypassing accountability. It’s about holding your past self with compassion instead of a gavel.

    Because we love to post about healing.

    We love to talk about “leveling up.”

    But sometimes, healing looks like visiting the girl you used to be—not to judge her, but to thank her.

    Because without her choices, her mistakes, her heartbreaks… you wouldn’t be here.

    She may have been lost, but she was still leading you home.

    I used to shame the parts of me that let things slide.

    That overextended. That kept trying to prove I was worth loving.

    But the more I tried to erase her, the more stuck I felt.

    I realized that real growth isn’t just about letting go.

    It’s about letting go with love.

    That means:

    Not deleting her, but integrating her.

    Not rolling your eyes at her, but thanking her for her lessons.

    Not hiding her, but understanding her needs

    So how do you let go without the shame?

    1. Change the story.

    Instead of: “I can’t believe I let that happen.”

    Try: “That version of me didn’t know what I know now—and that’s okay.”

    2. Write her a letter.

    Not a letter of blame, but of closure.

    Tell her what you’ve learned. Tell her what you’re proud of her for.

    Tell her she can rest now.

    3. Speak to her gently.

    When that old pattern shows up, don’t yell at it.

    Whisper: I see you. I know what you’re trying to protect me from. But we’re safe now.

    4. Don’t rush the release.

    Letting go isn’t a one-time act—it’s a practice.

    Every time you choose differently, you’re releasing her a little more.

    5. Mirror her with love.

    Stand in front of your reflection and say:

    I forgive you. I love you. I honor what you were trying to do for me.

    You don’t have to hate who you were to become who you’re meant to be.

    You just have to let her be human.

    You just have to soften the edges around the memories.

    You just have to hold her long enough to say: Thank you… but I’m ready now.

    This is how you move on—with grace, not guilt.

    This is how you release the weight without rejecting your roots.

    This is how you heal with softness, not shame.

    You don’t need to punish your past to claim your future.

    You just need to let go… gently.

  • Unapologetic Woman: The Cost of Playing Small and the Power in Taking Up Space

    Unapologetic Woman: The Cost of Playing Small and the Power in Taking Up Space

    There was a time in my life when I mastered the art of shrinking.

    Not physically, of course—but emotionally, energetically, and spiritually. I made myself smaller in conversations so I wouldn’t be “too much.” I muted my opinions so I wouldn’t come off as “difficult.” I accepted crumbs, thinking I didn’t deserve the full meal. I apologized for taking up space. For having needs. For wanting more.

    And I didn’t even realize how loud my silence had become.

    The Subtle Ways We Shrink

    Playing small doesn’t always look like failure—it often looks like “being easy to deal with.” It looks like:

    • Agreeing when your spirit disagrees

    • Smiling when you’re hurting

    • Minimizing your accomplishments so no one feels “less than”

    • Staying in rooms that no longer value your presence

    • Shrinking your dreams because someone else can’t see your vision

    And it chips away at you. Quietly.

    Until one day, you don’t recognize the woman you’ve become.

    The Breaking Point Wasn’t Loud—It Was a Whisper

    It didn’t happen all at once. It was subtle. Soft. A conversation where I felt invisible. A job where my voice didn’t matter. A relationship where I poured and poured until I had nothing left. I remember sitting in my car thinking: I don’t think I’ve ever truly chosen myself.

    I had been making peace offerings with my power.

    Every time I stayed quiet, every time I settled—I was negotiating my worth.

    The Lie We’re Told: That Power Makes Us Unlovable

    They tell women to be humble, soft-spoken, agreeable. To let others lead.

    But I’ve learned that real love never asks you to be less of yourself.

    And any space that requires your silence is not a safe space—it’s a cage.

    The truth is:

    You’re not intimidating. They’re just not used to a woman who doesn’t apologize for being whole.

    You’re not “too much.” You’re simply more than they’re ready to receive.

    You’re not dramatic. You’re just finally being honest.

    Taking Up Space is a Power Move—Not a Personality Flaw

    When I stopped playing small, I didn’t become aggressive—I became honest. I started asking for what I needed. I raised my standards. I said no without guilt. I stopped watering myself down and started blooming where I was planted—even if no one clapped for me.

    Taking up space means:

    • Walking into a room and knowing you belong without needing permission

    • Reclaiming your time, your energy, your voice

    • Owning your power without fear of rejection

    • Allowing yourself to be fully expressed—soft and strong, bold and kind

    And that’s what scares people.

    Not your flaws. Not your past.

    But the fact that you’re no longer afraid to own your light.

    To the Woman Who’s Been Playing Small: It’s Time

    You weren’t born to dim.

    You weren’t made to shrink.

    And you were never meant to blend in.

    I know it’s scary to take up space when the world teaches you to disappear.

    But every time you choose yourself, you show another woman what’s possible.

    And that’s how we rise—together.

    A Soft Power Affirmation

    I am no longer available for spaces that silence me.

    I do not dim. I do not shrink.

    I rise. I radiate. I take up space with grace.

    You are not asking for too much.

    You are finally asking from a place that knows her worth.

    And that, my love, changes everything.