the scary part is being soft

on the other side of work is... more work.

I’ve always been someone who gets things done. The kind of person people describe as “driven” when what they really mean is: this girl does not stop. It’s not performative. I actually enjoy the chase. The building, the plotting, the making. I enjoy watching an idea become something — income, impact, identity. Work has always been the thing I knew how to do.

So it’s taken me a long time to realise I might have confused ambition with worth. And that maybe constantly working towards the next milestone isn’t the flex I thought it was. It might just be exhaustion in disguise.

Over the past year, I’ve been soft launching my softness.

Not in a TikTok “that girl” way. There’s no 6AM yoga in lululemon (I refuse to open my eyes before 7:30am and the founder is literally racist?). Just the small, unsexy stuff: letting myself take a nap without negotiating. Closing my laptop at 6:30pm even when I know I could push out one more thing. Choosing to read for pleasure instead of highlighting lines for inspiration. Saying “that can wait” and actually meaning it.

There’s a real grief in realising that success doesn’t fix burnout. That hitting financial goals or creative ones doesn’t unlock peace. I used to think, once I hit six figures, I’ll relax. But the truth is, when you’ve wired yourself to survive by overworking, hitting a goal just resets the bar.

I’ve learned that ambition, unchecked, becomes a bottomless pit. There’s always something shinier. Someone doing more. A bigger thing you should be chasing. Rest starts to feel like a risk…like what if you lose momentum? What if people forget you exist? What if, God forbid, you miss an opportunity?

But I’ve also learned this: rest is a strategy. Not a luxury. Not a break you take after the work is done (because spoiler - the work is never done). Rest is the thing that keeps you creating sustainably, instead of frantically. It’s what stops you from resenting the very things you used to pray for.

This year, softness has looked like saying no to things that could grow my profile but not my peace, realising I don’t have to monetise every skill, admitting I’m a human being, not a content machine.

I’ve built things I’m proud of. I’ve also built coping mechanisms so elaborate they could qualify as second jobs. Softness means dismantling some of that, or at least not worshipping it like gospel.

It also means asking for help before everything’s on fire. Saying, “I can’t do this today” without offering three justifications. It’s catching myself when I say “I’m just tired” instead of admitting I’m overwhelmed, or sad, or feeling like a fraud because someone on Instagram is already doing what I want to do, but shinier and with better lighting.

Some days, softness is still a fight. There’s a voice in my head saying, you’re falling behind. But behind what? The hustle was never going to love me back.

So I’m learning to choose quiet. Not quitting. Just quiet. A bit more margin in the day. A bit more grace. I’m still ambitious. I still want to build things that matter. I just don’t want to collapse trying.

If you’re wired like me — if you only feel valuable when you’re producing something — this is your reminder: you don’t have to earn your right to rest. You don’t have to wait until you’ve hit the next level. Softness isn’t the opposite of success. It’s the thing that makes it sustainable.

Rest like it’s part of the plan.

Love,
M