The Radical Act of Staying Soft
Date: 2025-09-27 09:00:52
Content:
9:04 AM—Ethan slid my oat milk latte across the counter without the usual cinnamon sprinkle (rude), but I didn’t even flinch. Just shrugged and dumped in three packets of raw sugar like the unhinged sweet-tooth goblin I am. My sketchbook’s open to a design so delicate it’s practically whispering—layers of sheer fabric, fragile stitching, no safety pins in sight. A week ago, I would’ve armored it up with chains or spikes (“Gotta edge it out”). Today? Today I’m letting it be tender.
A week ago, I was knee-deep in breakup debris. Yesterday, I was celebrating my chaos. Today? Today I’m realizing something scarier than reinvention: staying soft isn’t weakness—it’s rebellion.
Here’s the thing about post-breakup glow-ups—everyone expects you to come back harder. Cut your hair, start lifting weights, turn your heart into a no-vibes fortress. But what if the bravest thing isn’t sharpening your edges? What if it’s refusing to lose them in the first place?
Case in point:
1. I’m designing from my scars, not despite them. That fragile sketch? It’s inspired by the Japanese art of kintsugi—repairing broken pottery with gold. My professor walked by, peered at it, and said, “Huh. Didn’t take you for a romantic.” I almost covered it with my arm (old habits), but then I remembered: my softness survived. That’s its own kind of strength.
2. I’m not numbing the nostalgia. Found Jake’s favorite band tee crumpled in the back of my closet last night (classic). Instead of burning it or sobbing into it (equally classic), I folded it neatly and donated it. Letting go doesn’t have to mean erasing. Sometimes gentleness is the fiercest closure.
3. I’m relearning trust—starting with myself. Said “yes” to coffee with that photography guy (Lucas? Liam?) after class today. Pre-breakup Mandy would’ve overanalyzed it (“Is this a date? Am I ready?”). Post-breakup Mandy knows: it’s just coffee. And if my heart flutters or doesn’t, both are okay.
LA’s doing that thing where the morning light makes everything look like it’s been dusted with glitter. Ethan just refilled my cup without being asked (miracle). And I’m sitting here, typing this, realizing: I didn’t lose myself in that relationship. I just forgot how brightly I could shine when I stopped dimming for someone else’s comfort.
So yeah, I’m still a little cracked. But I’m learning to wear my gold seams with pride.
xx Mandy
(P.S. Ethan just nodded at my sketch and muttered, “Pretty.” Almost spat out my latte. Progress.)