Tessa ReneePeople see softness and assume permanence, like being gentle means I’ll always stay small, quiet, and forgiving. They mistake patience for passivity, compassion for compliance. And honestly? That’s their downfall. Because yes, I’m gentle but only until I’m not.
Gentleness is my default. I’d rather soothe than scream, comfort than confront. I’ll listen without judgment, hold space for tears, and meet anger with calm. I don’t need to dominate every room I walk into, that’s not strength, that’s insecurity dressed as volume. True gentleness comes from control, from choosing not to unleash everything I’m capable of.
But here’s the part people forget: choosing gentleness doesn’t mean I can’t be something else. It means I’m deciding to. And when that decision shifts? When my patience runs out? That’s when people learn that softness is only half of me.
I can be sharp. Brutal, even. I can cut off conversations, relationships, entire connections in a single breath. I can turn silence into punishment, clarity into weaponry. I know how to stand up without raising my voice. And when gentleness fails, I have no problem pulling out the harder parts of myself.
The scariest thing about someone who’s soft is that they already know how to hurt. They just choose not to. Until they’re forced to. And when that day comes, the people who underestimated me won’t even see it coming.
So yes, I’m gentle. Until I’m not. And by the time you realize the switch has flipped, it’s already too late.
Final Word: My softness is grace. My edge is consequence.
Disclaimer: This is reflection, not instruction. Don’t weaponize gentleness if you can’t live with the fallout.
Tessa Renee
