The Softness I Learned to Hold 

 

They say forgiveness starts at home, 
but what if home was where the hurt began? 

 

What if to forgive and forget 
feels like a betrayal? 
for the girl who still carries 
her mother’s words like shadows... 
in the way I pause before I speak, 
in the quiet ache beneath my ribs? 

 

She wounded me... 
with sharp silences, 
with words that cut deeper than a knife 
leaving marks I trace in moments of doubt. 

 

Do I forgive her? 
Not yet. 
Not fully. 
What if forgiveness opens the door to more pain? 

 

And yet, I love her, 
like as I was born to 
This love lingers, stubborn, 
as if I’ve wore this pain as a sleeve on my skin 
in the memory of her hands stirring rasam, 
the warmth of her palm smoothing my hair, 
her laughter, soft like morning light, 
her worry, hidden but heavy. 

 

Forgive and forget? 
No. 
Forgetting would mean losing her- 
and losing me. 
The girl who hoped, who stayed, 
who learned to carry both love and grief. 

 

Forgiveness is not surrender. 
It’s choosing to breathe. 
It’s claiming a softness 
that doesn’t break under pain. 
It’s saying: 
“This will not define me.” 

 

I forgive her, 
slowly, with care, 
with boundaries drawn like the equator. 
Nearby and yet so far away.  
I hold the lessons, 
the weight of what was, 
so I can protect what is mine. 

 

This softness, 
this quiet strength 
that cradles love and hurt together... 
I learned to hold it myself. 

 

Now, 
even with the fear, 
even with the ache, 
I carry it forward... 
soft, whole, awake, 
and free to be me. 

 

Image Credits - Pexels

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