On Solitude, Self-Love, and the Sacred Rebellion of Choosing Myself

For a long time, I misunderstood what strength really meant.

I thought it had to be loud. Unshakable. Outspoken.

I thought it meant moving fast, being visible, being fearless.

I thought it looked like achievement, independence, confidence you could measure.

But now—after shedding old identities and sitting with myself in stillness—I know better.

My strength doesn’t roar.

It breathes.

It softens.

It listens.

It feels.

And in that quiet, I’ve awakened a power more profound than I ever found in chasing approval.

I Am Soft, and I Am Powerful

There’s a rebellion in me—not the kind that burns down everything it sees, but the kind that refuses to shrink quietly.

I don’t need to yell to make a point.

I don’t need to perform to prove my worth.

I no longer need to be chosen by anyone to validate who I am.

I have chosen myself.

Every day. In every decision. In every quiet moment when the world isn’t watching.

And that has been my most radical act.

To love myself—not in spite of my softness, but because of it.

The Woman I Am When I’m Alone

When I’m alone, the performance drops.

No more trying. No more pleasing.

No more adjusting my truth to fit the comfort of others.

I sit in silence.

I light candles and talk to the sky.

I read words that make me cry.

I feel everything.

And I don’t apologize for the depth of it.

There’s no audience in those moments.

No applause.

No curated version of me for others to digest.

And yet… that is when I feel most alive.

Most me.

Stillness Has Become My Sacred Teacher

The world glorifies busyness.

It praises the hustle, the noise, the forward motion.

But I’ve found my deepest growth in pausing.

Stillness is where I hear my intuition.

It’s where my soul speaks in whispers.

It’s where the healing happens—not with force, but with space.

In stillness, I’ve learned that I am not here to compete.

Not here to prove anything.

Not here to “catch up.”

I am here to become—in my own rhythm.

And yes, I’m still learning to sit with myself.

To hold my own hand.

To say, “I’m here, and I’m enough, even now.”

That is the most tender revolution: to meet yourself in stillness and stay.

Self-Love is the Softest Kind of Rebellion

Loving myself has never come easy.

Because the world taught me to earn love, not embody it.

To measure my value in someone else’s reflection.

But I’m done with that.

I’m loving the woman I am now—

The one who cries during poetry.

The one who doesn’t always have the words, but always has the heart.

The one who is quiet, but not small.

The one who leads from within.

And in doing so, I’ve realized:

Softness is not weakness.

Stillness is not laziness.

Solitude is not loneliness.

Self-love is not selfishness.

They are sacred. They are revolutionary. They are mine.

With all my soul,

Seraphine Duong

I no longer strive to be loud to be seen.

I no longer rush to be relevant.

I no longer chase love, approval, or belonging.

Because I belong to myself now.

And in the quiet glow of that truth,

I rise—

not with noise,

but with knowing.

The world may not always understand a woman who is soft and sovereign.

But I do.

And that is enough.