Slower, Wealthier, Happier

Hello Beautiful,

This week I learned something that I did not fully understand before. Building a soft life does not mean life stops asking you to do hard things. It does not mean pain disappears. It does not mean you never have to raise your voice. Sometimes building a soft life means standing firmly in your softness while doing the hardest things you have ever done.

Right now I am in the middle of healing between two surgeries. Surgery number one is complete, and surgery number two is approaching. In between those two moments, there is care that has to happen. The wound from surgery requires treatment, and part of that treatment has included a wound vac process. For those who may not know, this means a nurse comes into your home, cleans the surgical area, and reapplies a device that suctions the area to help with healing while we prepare for the next surgery. It is clinical. It is necessary. And in my case, it has also been excruciatingly painful.

The first time this process happened after surgery, I expected discomfort. I knew my body had been through something significant. But when the first change took place days later, the pain was beyond anything I could have prepared for. On a scale of one to ten, it was easily a twelve or fifteen. I communicated that clearly. I explained that while I understood there would be some discomfort, intentional or unmanaged pain was not something I was willing to accept. My care team listened. They provided additional instructions. They adjusted medications. We all agreed we would try again with a better plan.

Round two came, and I followed every instruction. I did everything asked of me. I prepared myself mentally. And still, the pain returned with an intensity that felt like someone was trying to rip part of my body away. It was shocking. It was overwhelming. It was not what I had agreed to experience. In that moment, I realized something important. Being soft does not mean staying quiet when something is not okay.

There was a time in my life when I might have accepted that experience. I might have told myself to push through. I might have worried about being difficult. I might have softened my words to avoid confrontation. But softness is not the same as silence. Softness is not the same as surrendering your voice. Softness is not allowing others to decide what level of pain you must tolerate.

I also became very aware of something deeper. There is a documented history in the United States medical system where African American women’s pain has been minimized, dismissed, or misunderstood. Knowing that history, and being in a position where I was experiencing intense pain, made it even more important for me to advocate for myself. I was not trying to challenge my care team. I believe they were doing their best. But my body is my responsibility, and my experience matters.

At one point, a nurse told me that it was supposed to hurt and that I should expect pain. Hearing those words was devastating. Pain from surgery is one thing. Unnecessary pain during care is another. The purpose of proper medication and planning is to minimize suffering, not accept it as inevitable. When a Black woman doctor later entered the room and adjusted my care in a way that significantly reduced pain, I felt a sense of relief and validation. I felt seen. I felt heard. I felt protected.

By the time the third change was scheduled, I had reached my limit. My husband and I made a decision together. We would not go through that experience again without a completely new plan. When the care team contacted me to schedule another visit, I clearly and calmly stated that no one would be touching my body again until a different approach was in place. I asked them to coordinate with the rest of my medical team and return with a safer plan. They understood. They respected it. And for the first time, I realized how powerful softness combined with clarity can be.

Doing hard things does not always look loud. Sometimes it looks like calmly saying no. Sometimes it looks like protecting your body. Sometimes it looks like asking questions. Sometimes it looks like refusing to accept what does not feel right. All of that can exist within softness. All of that can exist within grace.

As I sit here preparing for surgery number two, I am reminding myself that softness is not weakness. Softness is not passivity. Softness is not stepping aside. Softness is choosing calm while standing firm. Softness is advocating for yourself without losing your gentleness. Softness is trusting your body and honoring what it tells you.

You can build a soft life and still do hard things. You can speak up and still be kind. You can take a stand and still be gentle. You can demand care and still remain graceful. Those things are not opposites. They are partners.

Right now, my life is quiet. My movement is limited. My days are slower than I imagined. And yet, in this space, I am doing some of the hardest work of my life. I am protecting my body. I am advocating for my care. I am learning to trust myself. I am staying soft while standing strong.

And maybe that is what building a soft life really means. It is not about avoiding difficulty. It is about moving through difficulty in a way that honors who you are becoming.

You are allowed to be gentle and powerful.
You are allowed to be calm and firm.
You are allowed to protect yourself without hardening your heart.
You are allowed to remain soft and still do the hard things.

You are still soft.
You are still strong.
You are still worthy of care.
And even here, especially here, you are still magical.

Love,
Your Most Magical Self ✨