The Violence It Took to Become This Gentle

How I Learned to Be Gentle Without Being a Doormat

hello.

The path to gentleness isn’t always gentle. Mine certainly wasn’t.

These days, people describe me as resilient, understanding, and open-hearted. But what they don’t see are the battles that shaped those traits. They don’t see the moments I had to stand firm, speak up, or walk away for good.

This softness wasn’t something I was born with — it’s something I fight for, every single day.

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Labeled Before Being Known

"Aggressive." "Intimidating." "Difficult."

These labels followed me like shadows for simply refusing to shrink myself. For speaking with clarity and conviction. For saying "no" without offering a paragraph of justification. For setting boundaries without apologizing for their existence.

I was that empathetic little girl who slowly, inevitably, lost her patience with a world that demanded her compliance more than her authenticity. I became what they feared — unapologetic, forthright, clear — and they hated me for it.

The Cost of Being "Nice"

Niceness is a performative transaction in Western culture. It’s the currency we’re taught to trade for acceptance—especially those of us raised as women or caregivers. But I learned early that the exchange rate is rigged.

The nicer I was, the more was expected of me. The louder I became, the less I was heard. My kindness wasn’t met with kindness—it was met with expectations: for more, for better, for endless accommodation.

Without trying — and often out of sheer necessity — I’ve always ended up in the role of the ultimate oldest sister. The “mom” of every friend group. The one people call an “animal whisperer.”

Sometimes it felt like I didn’t have a choice. The dynamic was already in place, and I was expected to play the part. I’ve never had a friendship — no matter how small the circle — where someone else stepped into that role instead of me. Even in a friendship of two, I’ve always been the caretaker.

Over time, that constant caretaking took its toll. It left me drained, stretched thin, and deeply unseen. So I began to pull back — not out of bitterness, but out of self-preservation. I learned that peace often lives in solitude. That real connection isn’t found in the noise of many, but in the quiet presence of a few who truly see you.

I’ve always found more comfort in plants and animals than in crowded rooms. They may be capable of brutality, but never cruelty. Never evil. They ask for what they need honestly. They exist without pretense, without judgement or approval. In a world that often tries to deplete me, their company became a form of restoration.

When it comes to people, I follow a simple philosophy: quality over quantity. I have no space for fake friendships, for one-sided bonds built on convenience rather than care. I crave depth, honesty, and reciprocity — and I no longer apologize for that.

Conditional Love Is No Love At All

“I love you, but…”
“I love you when…”
“I love you if…”

These phrases say everything, even when left unsaid. The truth is there — in body language, in silence, in the spaces between expectations. Conditional love doesn’t usually come wrapped in obvious warnings. It arrives softly, as “I love you always,” but acts more like “I only like you when you make life easier for me.”

Love with caveats isn’t love — it’s control, dressed up to look like care. Real support never demands shrinking. Real connection doesn’t require a watered-down version of the truth.

Affection that withers when met with raw humanity was never love at all. Admiration that depends on performance, usefulness, or silence was never rooted in knowing me — just in using me.

My refusal to turn away from suffering is often called a flaw. But I will never feel shame for being unable to ignore injustice. My door will always be open to those in need, and I will always make time.

Some might scoff at a house where so many kitties live, or one that isn’t filled with expensive things. But comfort, for me, is found in doing what’s right —putting my resources where my conscience can breathe freely.

Where some inconvenience and financial responsibility, I see the neighborhood stray who found a permanent home to safely birth and raise her babies. She’ll never be separated from them, and she’ll only know rest now that she is spayed.

What I see is a home built on love and care, where everyone’s needs are prioritized over superficial wants.

There is no apology owed for standing firm. For choosing compassion, even when it's inconvenient. Suffering doesn’t disappear just because it's easier not to look. I will not look away.

The False Binary

Be agreeable and be taken advantage of. Be assertive and be labeled difficult. This binary follows me everywhere, presenting itself as the only two options available.

But I reject these choices. I refuse to believe that my only options are doormat or villain, that I must choose between my inner peace and outer acceptance.

Here's what I've learned instead: those who make you choose between your dignity and their comfort were never going to respect you either way.

The Softness Revolution

My softness now isn't weakness — it's wisdom. It's knowing exactly when to yield and when to stand firm. It's understanding that compassion and boundaries aren't opposites; they're companions.

I've become selective with my energy. Not everyone deserves access to my peace. Not everyone has earned a place in my inner world. This isn't bitterness —it's discernment.

And those who call this selfishness reveal only their expectation that I should prioritize their needs above my own. Those who claim to know and love me, yet trust me only as much as they trust themselves — which is not much — simply miss the days when I had no shields. They long for the time when I would sacrifice my own comfort to ensure theirs, when I would volunteer first and let others benefit from my success without reciprocation. I wasn't vulnerable because of weakness, but out of a genuine desire to do right by others. Now I understand that vulnerability is strength, but must be shared selectively. When someone wrongs me, they should feel the natural consequences of their actions — I no longer need to soften that impact or shield them from discomfort, even if that means being perceived as mean or negative. Establishing boundaries isn't selfishness; it's self-preservation. Their discomfort with my strength speaks more to their expectations than to any “failing” on my part.

No Apologies

I will not apologize for taking up space, for having needs, or for speaking truths that make others uncomfortable.

I will not apologize for my education or the knowledge I’ve worked hard to gain. I refuse to shrink when faced with the tired accusations of “know-it-all” or the sarcasm that surfaces when someone feels threatened by someone informed. I put in the effort to learn, to grow, to stay curious — while some choose comfort in willful ignorance, even when others bear the weight of that choice.

We all have access to information, to growth, to change. The difference is what we choose to do with it. Mocking someone’s knowledge isn’t about disagreement— it’s often about discomfort with the mirror it holds up. And when incompetence becomes a defense mechanism, it’s not my responsibility to accommodate it, enable it, or apologize for refusing to participate in it.

I will not apologize for refusing to perform emotions I don’t feel, or for expressing the ones I do. I will not apologize for expecting reciprocity, for requiring respect, or for walking away when those basic dignities are missing.

And I certainly won’t apologize for the anger that taught me how to protect my peace. That anger was necessary. That anger was justified. That anger saved me when nothing else could.

A Promise to Myself

The titles I hold — daughter, girlfriend, friend, sister, niece — are truly important to me. I want to fulfill them with grace and integrity. But not at the cost of myself. I am a human being first.

I've learned that I can only truly show up for others when I've first shown up for myself. I can only offer authentic care when I've cared for my own needs. I can only extend real compassion when I've been compassionate with my own limitations.

So here's my promise: I will be kind, but never at my own expense. I will be patient, but never with disrespect. I will be understanding, but never of behavior that diminishes me.

And to those who find this version of me "too much" — perhaps you've simply grown too comfortable with too little.

This softness of mine isn’t the absence of strength. It’s strength held in perfect control. Not the lack of fire, but a bed of hot coals — steady, smoldering, and ready when needed. I worked too hard for this peace to make exceptions for those who try to undo it.

No one will ever know the violence it took to become this gentle. But now, at least, they’ll understand that this solitude is intentional — as is my refusal to swallow manipulation dressed up as love, care, or connection. Camouflaged as something mutual, something meaningful — when in truth, it’s parasitic, thoughtless, and designed to serve only them.

May this be your reminder to show up as your authentic self and be more intentional with your relationships. Tell your friends you love them. Call your mom — unless she’s a bitch, then maybe don’t. Remember people’s birthdays (yes, even your coworkers). Engage with your community. Be a damn human being. And for the love of all that is good — paint with the colors of the wind.

Illegitimi non carborundum.

And remember, Its the little things in life.

bye.