Why Did I Get So Soft?

The real question I’ve been asking myself lately is simple, but it hits deep: why have I gotten so soft?

I’ve been thinking about a situation that really exposed something in me. There was this friend group I used to be around. We would go out to Indian restaurants, hang out, talk, just spend time together like normal. On the surface, everything looked fine. But underneath that, there was one person in that group who constantly asked for my help. Whether it was getting around campus, sending emails to professors, or handling certain tasks, they kept coming to me.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. I helped because that’s just the kind of person I am. But over time, it started to wear on me. It became draining. It took up my time, my energy, and my mental space. And the biggest problem wasn’t even what they were asking for—it was the fact that I never communicated how I felt about it.

I let it build up.

I let the frustration sit there.

I let it grow until it reached a breaking point.

And when it finally came out, it didn’t come out in a calm or controlled way. It came out all at once. I remember the day clearly. We were planning to go out to eat, and I sent an email saying I’d be somewhere. But then I followed up with another email, and in that email I said everything—I said I didn’t want to hang out anymore, that they weren’t my friends, and that I didn’t want them to text me, call me, or talk to me in person.

Looking back on it, that should have been the end.

That should have been the moment where everything closed.

Sometimes things just end. Friendships end. Relationships end. And when they do, you have to recognize that moment and stand on it. You have to accept that it’s over and move forward.

But for some reason, I didn’t.

And that’s where the real problem is.

Why is it that I keep going back to situations that don’t work? Why do I say what I truly feel, set a boundary, and then turn around and question myself? Why do I undo my own decisions?

That’s what’s been stressing me out.

It’s not even just about them—it’s about me not being disciplined with my own boundaries.

I say no.

And then I hesitate.

I say this is bad for my mental health.

And then I try to fix it anyway.

I tell the truth.

And then I second-guess it.

That’s what I mean when I say I’ve gotten soft. It’s not about kindness or being a good person. It’s about not standing firm in what I know is right for me. It’s about giving people access to me when I already decided they shouldn’t have it.

And in doing that, I gave them power over me.

I gave them the ability to affect my emotions, my thoughts, my energy.

Instead of maintaining my own power.

Because real power is being able to say, “This is not good for me,” and actually stand on that. No backtracking. No guilt. No trying to fix something that already showed you it wasn’t working.

I don’t have time for this kind of drama.

I’m in a PhD program. My life is demanding. The work I’m doing requires focus, discipline, and mental clarity. I can’t afford to keep putting myself in situations that drain me emotionally.

If I say no to a friendship for the sake of my mental health, then I have to keep saying no.

Not out of anger.

Not out of ego.

But out of respect for myself.

And I’ve been realizing something deeper through all of this.

God has been trying to tell me to let go.

Not just once.

Not just in one situation.

But consistently.

Over and over again.

Let go of the people.

Let go of the situations.

Let go of the things that are stressing you out.

Because holding on to them is not helping you—it’s hurting you.

And I can feel that physically.

My body feels it.

The tension in my legs.

The tightness in my back.

The anxiety sitting in my chest.

That’s not random.

That’s what happens when you hold on to things you’re supposed to release.

I’ve been trying to be a peacekeeper.

Trying to make things work.

Trying to smooth things over.

Trying to be understanding, forgiving, accommodating.

But sometimes peacekeeping just turns into self-destruction.

Because you can’t create peace for people who don’t respect you.

You can’t fix situations that are already broken.

And you definitely can’t ignore the fact that people were talking about you behind your back and still try to maintain a connection like everything is okay.

So why am I apologizing?

Why am I trying to fix something that disrespected me?

Why am I giving energy to people who don’t give that same energy back?

That’s the part that’s breaking me.

Not them.

Me.

Because I know better.

I know I don’t have to accept certain things.

I know I can walk away.

I know I can choose peace for myself instead of trying to create peace for everyone else.

My mom suggested that I apologize, and I understand where that came from. But at the end of the day, I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. I don’t have to follow every suggestion if it doesn’t align with what I know is right for me.

If I want to walk away from a friend group, I can.

If I want to end a connection, I can.

If I want to protect my mental health, I should.

Because the truth is, in that situation, I lost.

I didn’t lose because they were better than me.

I lost because I didn’t stay true to myself.

I said what I felt.

And then I didn’t stand on it.

That’s the lesson.

And moving forward, that’s what has to change.

No more going back to things that already showed me they don’t work.

No more giving power away.

No more ignoring what God is clearly telling me.

Let go.

And trust that letting go is not a loss.

It’s the beginning of something better.