softness

"Strength alone leads to burnout, but flexibility, adaptability, and softness ensure resilience." Marine Sélénée

For my 20th birthday, I asked my family to write something for me in a notebook. One of my cousins chose to write The Oak and the Reed, a poem by La Fontaine. At the end, he wrote: Marine, you are this reed.  

At the time, I was touched but didn’t fully understand what he meant. Did my younger cousin see something in me that I was still blind to?  

Twenty years later, I finally see it. I now embrace being the reed rather than the oak. And funny enough, I actually enjoy being under an oak—its strength soothes me. But rather than trying to be that strength, I lean into surrender, allowing its masculine energy to nourish my feminine one.   

What about you? Do you still believe you have to be strong? To be a good trooper?  

Because chances are, that belief didn’t start with you. It was passed down, inherited, ingrained. Maybe you were taught that to be respected, you had to be strong. But when you look at your family, are the strongest ones really the happiest?  

What happened to the "weak" ones? The dreamers, the creatives, the ones who chose their own paths, embraced their sexuality, followed their own destiny?  

And what became of the strong ones? Did they find frustration? Anger? Addictions? Emotional avoidance? Silence?  

What’s the real story? And more importantly—how can you become the reed? How can you embrace softness, whether you're a man or a woman? How can you surrender to life instead of gripping so tightly out of fear?  

Why are we so obsessed with being strong? Why do we keep ourselves constantly busy? Were you told as a child that resting was laziness? That procrastination was failure? That unless you worked hard like your parents or grandparents, you wouldn’t succeed—or worse, wouldn’t be respected?  

And for the mothers—were you taught never to complain? It’s almost amusing how some men today say, But my mother never complained! She worked, raised three kids, and never said a word—why are you so tired?  

The difference? Our mothers had no choice. We do. And we’re done being silent.  

Motherhood has always been exhausting. So has pretending to be a “tough guy” with no emotions. How many men have taken their own lives because they were too afraid to be vulnerable, too afraid of how they’d be perceived?  

We all carry fears of not being seen as capable adults. But what does that even mean? Pretending everything is fine while numbing ourselves with food, alcohol, or medication? Or does it mean being honest, vulnerable, and embracing softness—the real kind of strength?  

Because when one person opens up, it creates a ripple effect. Vulnerability invites connection.  

A male client once shared with me that by opening up to a friend, they bonded in a way they never had before. The conversation was tough, but in that moment, they both felt seen, heard, and understood.  

So, how can you break free from the illusion of strength? How can you rewrite the story—not just for yourself, but for the generations to come?  

Much Love, 
Marine Sélénée