Why Did I Grow So Soft?

For real — why did I grow so soft?

Yesterday was someone’s birthday. And truthfully, it was never my intention to reach out. I had cut this person off for months. We’re in two different states. They’re not part of the chapter I’m in anymore. I told myself I’d move on.

But something in me cracked.

The Risk I Shouldn’t Have Taken

I took a risk. I called them. Left a voicemail saying “Happy Birthday.” A caring gesture. One last act of kindness.

And guess what? Of course they didn’t respond. Of course they didn’t answer.

Why do I care?

They didn’t say happy birthday to me. They didn’t show up when I needed them. So why am I still trying?

I keep doing this to myself. I keep getting burned.

The Soft Spot That Keeps Getting Me Hurt

Last month, it happened again. I emailed someone else I cut off. Silence. No reply. No acknowledgment. Nothing.

And somehow, I felt like I lost. Like I waved the white flag first. Like I broke my own boundary. Like I gave in.

In a game of who cut off who, I lost. I lost because I cared too much. Because I went soft. And I hate that.

Money — Another Soft Spot

Money is also an issue. A clear one.

I’ve grown so soft that even when I go out in public, I act like the world owes kindness, and I’m the one who has to give it. Like the other day at the African Street Festival — someone offered to clean my shoes. I didn’t even think about it. I said yes. Then when they asked for a tip, instead of giving one or two dollars like anyone else would, I handed over a $20 bill.

At first, it seemed like a kind gesture. But walking away, I felt this sting of regret. Why the hell did I do that? Why am I so unaware?

That’s not generosity — that’s weakness disguised as compassion. It’s depressing because it feels like people can just take from me until there’s nothing left. I give and give until I’m empty, and no one ever fills me back up.

I hate that about myself.

This World Isn’t Built for Soft People

In this world, softness isn’t rewarded. Being kind gets ignored. Being vulnerable gets punished.

I miss the version of myself that existed during COVID — the one who cut people off without hesitation. The one who didn’t care about birthdays or gestures or second chances. The one who wasn’t busy sending voicemails or emails that get left unanswered.

That version of me was intense. Focused. Unbothered. Now I’m making broken gestures in the middle of my grind.

And it’s messing with my head.

No One’s Coming to Save Me

There’s no one out there waiting to hold me down. No person to talk to when I’m spiraling. They say therapy helps, but even that has a limit.

What happens when therapy ends and you still feel lost?

Sure, I can rely on God — but God doesn’t always intervene when you want Him to. He does things on His timeline. Not yours. People? Same thing. It’s their decision whether to love you, respond to you, return to you.

Not yours.

I Should Be Focused — Not Attached

I have so much to do. School. Exams. Albums. Projects. Healing.

And yet, here I am, tangled up in feelings.

One phone call ruined my whole day.

I have pictures of us on my phone. I should delete them. I have contacts saved that should’ve been blocked. I was doing so well… until I let the wrong people back in again.

I’m not proud of this. I’m pissed at myself.

Don’t Rely On Me — I’ll Mess It Up

I’m tired of trying to be the bigger person. Tired of letting my soft heart override my hard reality. Tired of apologizing when I’m the one who was hurt.

I just want to be detached. Detached = focus. Detached = peace. Detached = survival.

So if you’re reading this and wondering where I went — just know:

I’m choosing to protect myself. No more soft spots. No more reaching out. No more broken gestures. No more time for people who don’t make time for me.

This is my reset. And it starts now.