There are moments where silence holds more weight than any speech, more power than any comeback. I didn’t always understand that. I used to think that if I didn’t speak up immediately, I was weak. If I didn’t defend myself, I was letting them win. If I didn’t react, I didn’t care. But I’ve learned that stillness isn’t the absence of power—it’s the mastering of it.
There was a version of me who couldn’t let anything slide. Who had to explain, defend, fix, over-express, over-explain, overextend. I gave away so much of my energy trying to control how I was perceived, trying to make sure people understood me, trying to avoid being misunderstood. But it cost me peace. And it cost me presence. I was so busy reacting that I couldn’t feel the calm that existed in simply letting things be.
Stillness is strategy. And for women—especially women who have had to be in survival mode—it’s a reclaiming of something sacred. Because we’ve been taught to always do. Always say something. Always be productive. Always respond. Always fix it. Always manage everyone’s emotions. But what happens when you stop? When you choose to be still, even when it burns?
I remember a recent situation where someone tried to bait me into a reaction. They wanted to provoke me, twist my words, pull me into chaos. And for a moment, I almost let it work. The old me—the version that needed to prove her worth—was about to come out swinging. But something in me paused. I took a breath. And I said nothing. Not because I was weak. But because I knew I didn’t owe them access to my energy.
Stillness, in that moment, was strength. It was a declaration. A boundary. A line in the sand that said: I don’t move unless I choose to. I don’t explain myself to people committed to misunderstanding me. I don’t play games in a space I’ve outgrown. I don’t chase clarity where chaos lives.
The feminine in me knew better. She knew that power doesn’t always come with sound. Sometimes, it comes in silence. Sometimes, the softest thing you can do is also the most radical. To say nothing, to walk away, to remain unmoved—not because you don’t feel anything, but because you finally trust yourself enough to hold what you’re feeling with grace.
Stillness isn’t passive. It’s powerful. It’s the space where you choose yourself over the need to be right. It’s where you release control, not because you’ve given up, but because you’ve risen above. It’s where you remember that not everything deserves a response, and not everyone deserves a seat at your table.
It’s in that space—between the trigger and the response—that we reclaim our soft power. That we remind ourselves we are not puppets pulled by strings of emotion or insecurity. We are the string-cutters. The pattern-breakers. The peace-holders. And that means knowing when to speak and when to stay still.
There will always be noise. Always be drama. Always be people who try to test your growth. But you don’t have to take the bait. You don’t have to prove how far you’ve come. Let your peace do the talking. Let your energy be too expensive for nonsense. Let your stillness become your softest—and strongest—move yet.
With love-
Evelyn
The Soft Power Journal 