There was a time I didn’t question the world. I simply observed it—quietly, curiously, with a heart too soft for its sharp edges.

I remember the girl I used to be. She was tender, a little shy, but filled with wonder. She felt deeply. She noticed everything—how the light danced through trees, how people’s eyes changed when they were sad, how certain moments carried a kind of magic no one else seemed to see. She spoke softly but thought loudly. She was wild in the quietest way—drifting between dreams, daybooks, and stars.

And then… slowly, subtly, the world began to tell her how to be.

How the World Tries to Shape a Woman

It starts so innocently.

Be more outgoing. Speak up. Toughen up. Don’t be so sensitive.

Smile more. Be less quiet. Be more this. Be less that.

Eventually, the girl I was—full of softness, full of soul—began to fade beneath layers of performance. I learned how to speak the language of approval. I learned how to wear strength like armor, not like light. I tried to be louder, sharper, smaller, safer—all at once.

And in trying to be what the world needed, I lost the softness that made me whole.

There came a time I confused sensitivity with weakness, and vulnerability with foolishness.

So I hardened. I closed. I shrunk.

Until one day, I didn’t recognize myself at all.

The Awakening: A Gentle Rebellion

But the truth has a way of calling us back—especially when we begin to listen.

My return began not with a loud awakening, but a quiet ache. A whisper from deep inside:

This isn’t you.

It was the ache of missing myself.

Not the woman I had learned to be, but the woman I had always been—before the world told her how to dress, speak, love, or succeed.

And so I began the journey back. Not back to the past, but back to the essence.

Back to the softness I had abandoned in order to survive.

Back to the girl who once believed her gentleness was her magic.

Reclaiming Softness as Strength

Now I know:

Softness is not weakness.

Softness is a quiet kind of power. A power that doesn’t need to control, dominate, or prove.

It simply is—like the moon, like water, like love.

I’ve come to learn that being soft in a hard world is one of the most courageous things we can do. It means feeling everything, even when it’s uncomfortable. It means choosing grace when anger would be easier. It means standing in your truth without raising your voice, because you no longer need to be loud to be heard.

My softness is my intuition.

My softness is my empathy.

My softness is my divine feminine energy—fluid, radiant, unshakable.

And reclaiming it has brought me home to myself.

Unlearning Who I Was Told to Be

Every day now, I peel back a layer.

Of expectation. Of performance. Of perfection.

And underneath, I find the real me. The one who still believes in dreams. Who loves without holding back. Who cries when the world is too heavy. Who sees the divine in simple things. Who doesn’t need to be explained—just felt.

She doesn’t rush to be understood anymore. She simply exists in truth.

And the right people feel her, even in silence.

This version of me doesn’t need to chase validation or wear masks.

She is not here to fit in.

She is here to remember.

To return.

To be.

The Gift of Coming Home

Coming home to yourself is not a destination—it’s a daily devotion.

I’m still learning, still unlearning. Still softening, still healing.

But I feel more like myself than I have in years.

More present. More alive. More aligned.

And I’ve realized something profound:

The woman I once longed to be is the woman I was all along—before I was told she wasn’t enough.

Now, I treat her with tenderness. I thank her for staying, even when I forgot her.

Because she’s never left. She was just waiting—for me to come back with open arms and a softer heart.

With love and remembrance,
Seraphine Duong

To the woman reading this who has ever felt too soft, too sensitive, too different—

You are not too much. You are exactly who you were always meant to be.

And the world needs your softness now more than ever.

So keep returning. Keep unfolding.

Keep becoming the woman you were—before the world told you who to be.

And know this:

Your softness is your power. Your presence is your offering.

And your quiet truth is the loudest kind of liberation.