💌 Letters from the Soft Life: The Hard Life Almost Took Me Out

Dear Liberian Jewels,

I used to wear struggle like it was style.

I knew how to make it look good — tired, overworked, barely hanging on, but still showing up. Still smiling. Still getting it done.

I thought that was strength. I thought being the one who never asked for help was admirable. I thought rest was something I had to earn.

Girl, I was in my 30s taking pride in never taking a break.

I said yes when I should’ve said no. Took on jobs that drained me. Stayed in relationships just to say I had somebody. Loaned money I couldn’t afford to give. Let people dump their problems on me like I didn’t have my own mess to deal with.

And my body… it finally told me the truth.

I was sick. Stress sick. Burnout sick. Can’t get out the bed sick. Crying at red lights and snapping at my kids sick.

That’s when I knew the “hard life” was killing me quietly.

I didn’t have a big awakening moment. No fancy retreat or girls trip. I just sat in my house one night, alone, and whispered: “I’m tired of surviving.”

So I started choosing differently.

I turned my phone on Do Not Disturb. I stopped explaining myself to people who were committed to misunderstanding me. I started saying “no” like it was a complete sentence. I let go of the title of “strong Black woman” and traded it for something softer — like human.

Now? I still have problems. Life still life-ing. But I’m not volunteering for struggle anymore.

Soft life isn’t about luxury. It’s about peace. About giving myself the care I used to give everybody else. About learning that I can be valuable even when I’m resting.

Thank you for holding space for our stories. I’m still healing, but I’m finally resting. And that’s the win.

Softly,
– Mindy, 40