Soft women like me loved quietly. I was the kind of woman who gave my love gently, like sunlight slipping through curtains, never too loud, never too demanding. Loyal, kind, and always the first to compromise. The kind of woman who never wanted to be too much. The kind of woman who shrank herself so someone else could shine.
The Quiet Strength of Soft Women Who Finally Choose Themselves
I met David at a friend’s game night. He was charming, warm, and funny in a boyish way that made everyone laugh easily. I noticed how he looked at me—not just like I was beautiful, but like I was safe. I hadn’t known how much I needed to feel that.
We started slowly. Long late-night calls, small thoughtful gestures, soft laughter across voice notes. For the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to hope. To believe that maybe, just maybe, this one would feel different.
But the difference I hoped for started to blur with something else. He was kind, yes. But also passive. Present, but not pursuing. Attentive when he wanted to be, but rarely consistent.
In my softness, I excused it.
He’s just busy. He’s not good at texting. He’s been hurt before; I need to be patient.
So I waited. And waited. And gave. And proved. And overextended. I adjusted my tone to sound less confrontational. I read books on communication so I wouldn’t seem needy. I practiced how to bring things up gently. I became an expert at swallowing my own needs so the relationship could grow.
But it wasn’t growing. It was stretching me thin.
The real breaking point didn’t come from a fight. It never does with soft women like me. It came quietly. One evening, I spent hours planning a dinner… his favorite food, his favorite wine, and a playlist of songs we once laughed about. He came late and was distracted. He didn’t notice the playlist. Or the candles. Or how I’d been quiet all evening.
And when I finally said, “I feel invisible,” he sighed and said, “You’re always overthinking.”
That night, I didn’t cry. I just looked at him… like, really looked and saw what I hadn’t wanted to see all along.
He liked the way I loved him. But he had never really seen me.
That was the beginning of my end.
Leaving wasn’t dramatic because soft women don’t leave with noise.. It was soft. Measured. Gentle. Like me.
I didn’t shout. I didn’t beg. I simply stopped performing.
I stopped explaining myself over and over again.
I stopped waiting to be chosen loudly.
I stopped making excuses for someone who never asked me what I needed.
And when I walked away, I did it without slamming the door. I just closed it slowly, carefully, and with finality.
He didn’t understand it. At first, he thought it was just space and silence. Then, over time, he realized I wasn’t coming back.
He texted. He called. He apologized. He said he missed me. He asked, “How can you just walk away like this?”
But I didn’t answer right away.
And when I did, I simply said, “Because I finally realized that love shouldn’t feel like I’m auditioning.”
He said nothing.
Because what could he say to the woman who gave everything and only asked to be seen?
It took me months to feel like myself again.
To stop blaming myself.
To stop checking if he watched my stories.
To stop replaying the moments I could’ve said more, or less, or differently.
But eventually, the fog lifted. I laughed again… freely and fully. I started dancing in my room again, going on solo dates, and writing in my journal.
I became my own safe space.
The twisted beauty of it all was that my leaving made him finally understand what love is. But by then, I was already too far gone. No, I wasn’t bitter nor angry; I just felt free.
I didn’t leave because I stopped loving him.
I left because I started loving myself.
And like many soft women before me — I didn’t leave to be seen.
I left to finally see myself.
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