Let There Be Softness: Reclaiming Strength Without the Armour
The Myth of Strength
We’ve been told that to mother well, we must be unshakeable.
Strong. Capable. Calm.
But the kind of strength the world celebrates often leaves us disconnected - from our emotions, our bodies, and even from the children we’re trying to protect.
For those of us parenting neurodivergent or disabled children, that message cuts even deeper. We’re expected to hold it all together through meetings, appointments, and advocacy battles, while quietly breaking down behind closed doors.
We armour up to be taken seriously.
We harden to survive.
And in doing so, we forget that strength can also look like softness.
The Biology of Softness
Softness isn’t indulgence. It’s science.
When we’re constantly braced - physically or emotionally - our bodies live in survival mode. The stress hormones that were designed to protect us begin to consume us instead.
As Dr. Aditi Nerurkar explains, modern stress is often “a chronic low-level survival state.” The antidote isn’t doing more… it’s pausing.
That pause is where softness lives.
When we soften, our breath deepens, our heart rate steadies, our digestion restores, and our mind quiets enough to hear what we actually need.
Softness is the bridge between chaos and clarity.
The Politics of Rest
Audre Lorde wrote, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation - and that is an act of political warfare.”
For mothers, particularly those carrying the invisible labour of care, this isn’t just poetry… it’s truth.
Capitalism depends on our exhaustion.
Patriarchy depends on our silence.
Every time we rest, every time we choose softness over productivity, we resist the systems that profit from our depletion.
Softness, then, becomes an act of rebellion.
Sensory Softness
Softness is also physical.
For many neurodivergent mothers, overwhelm isn’t just emotional… it’s sensory. The lights, the noise, the constant contact.
Creating soft spaces can be as simple as dimming the lights, lighting a candle, or wrapping yourself in a jumper that doesn’t itch. One cup of tea, one calm playlist, one uncluttered corner… these are not trivial comforts; they are tools for regulation.
And for our children, softness teaches that comfort and safety matter more than compliance.
Learning to Soften When You Weren’t Taught
Softness can feel unsafe if you were never shown it.
Many of us are trying to offer our children the gentleness we never received… which means we’re learning softness from scratch.
It takes courage to slow down when your nervous system has only ever known survival.
But that’s what healing looks like:
“I can be gentle with myself now, even if they never were.”
Softness is re-parenting yourself one breath at a time.
What Softness Actually Looks Like
It’s not all poetry and candles. Sometimes it’s messy and mundane.
It looks like:
Leaving the dishes overnight.
Cancelling a therapy session because everyone’s exhausted.
Choosing connection over correction.
Speaking kindly to yourself when the inner critic whispers “You’re failing.”
Softness is honesty without self-abandonment.
It’s permission to be human.
Boundaries as a Soft Form of Strength
Softness is not the absence of boundaries - it’s how we hold them with grace.
Prentis Hemphill said, “Boundaries are the distance at which I can love you and me simultaneously.”
Softness allows you to say:
“I need time to think before I say yes.”
“I can’t have that conversation right now.”
“My energy matters too.”
Softness is how we stop confusing depletion with devotion.
Joy as a Quiet Rebellion
Joy doesn’t always roar… sometimes it hums softly in the background.
The sound your child makes that only you understand.
The first sip of hot coffee after a hard night.
A shared laugh that breaks the tension.
Joy is softness in motion. It’s how we reclaim colour in lives that often feel grey with responsibility.
Sitting with the Unknown
There are no guarantees in this life, especially in parenting.
Softness doesn’t erase uncertainty… it helps us survive it.
As Pema Chödrön reminds us: “Things come together and fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that.”
Softness lets us breathe between the falling apart and the coming together.
You Are Not Behind
If you only take one thing from this post, let it be this:
You are not behind.
You are becoming.
Softness means trusting your own rhythm. It’s not weakness… it’s wisdom.
So, let there be softness.
In your breath.
In your voice.
In your boundaries.
In your joy.
Let softness be the gentle rebellion that brings you home to yourself.
Because you, too, deserve care.
You, too, are worthy of ease.
You, too, get to be soft.
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Next step
If this story resonates, you might find my free guide The First 30 Days especially grounding — a gentle companion for those early weeks after diagnosis. Download it here →
