She was always soft. Not weak-soft, not pretty-soft 〜 the kind of softness that can feel . A softness that sensed truth before it was spoken, that recognised hearts beneath armour, that felt people long before they ever felt her back. But her softness was filtered. Filtered through wounds that weren’t hers. Through centuries of silencing. Through inherited fear. Through the demand to be small, pleasing, careful, grateful. Through the belief that her depth made her too much, a

We’ve spent years diagnosing, rebelling and trying to fix what’s wrong in the world, but something deeper is calling. This isn’t about fighting the system anymore; it’s about remembering ourselves within it. The exhaustion before awareness is where collective transformation begins, in the quiet space between knowing better and becoming different