For the Women Who Feel Deeply and Hide It

• There are moments in childhood when something small breaks, and you realize the world is not as safe as you hoped. That’s when the armor begins.

 

When I was little, all I wanted was a doll. A Baby Love doll.

Something that was mine. Something I could hold close, love, and care for. I longed for her with all my heart.

On my sixth birthday, I got her. I slept with her, carried her everywhere. She was everything to me.

But two months later, she was gone. Where I was going, dolls weren’t allowed. My parents divorced, and my sister and I were sent to boarding school.

I didn’t understand where I was, or how long I would stay. The concrete steps were cold, worn down by years of children before me. The dormitory was lined with metal beds—stark, no sweetness, no softness, no little lamp by the bed.

I began having recurring nightmares. Some nights, I woke at the bottom of a white cupboard that stood outside our dormitory door, confused and scared. In those dreams, my parents were sailing away in a boat, and I was certain I would never see them again. I prayed each night not to dream it, but it returned, heavy and terrifying.

In those days, there were no mobile phones. Only call boxes we weren’t allowed to use. There was no one to call for help if something went wrong. No one to talk to. No one to tell when something cruel or frightening happened. I fell asleep carrying it all inside me, and the nights felt endless.

In the beginning, I cried. I thought maybe someone might come, notice, care enough to hold me. But no one ever did. The only response was: “Come on now, you’re a big girl. Don’t cry.”

So I realized: no one was coming. If anything happened to me, I would have to take care of myself.

I had my sister, but mostly, I was alone.

So I adapted. I bit my lip. I stopped crying. I learned never to show when I was hurt. Because in that jungle, tears were dangerous. Softness was a target.

That’s where the lesson began: it was unsafe to feel. Unsafe to be tender. Unsafe to let anything show.

And yet, inside, I still felt everything. I was the girl who saved lizards, who dreamed of being a doctor. Every unkindness, every sharp word, every unfulfilled longing—I felt it all. I just learned to bury it beneath armor.

My nervous system locked into survival. I believed I’d get further if I pretended nothing hurt. If I stayed polished, strong, untouchable.

That’s how the armor began. Not because I wanted it, but because I needed it.

And for years, it shaped me—how I spoke, how I loved, how I carried myself in a world that didn’t feel safe for tenderness.

But here is the truth: the armor is not who I am. It is who I had to become.

Underneath lives someone who feels deeply.

Feeling deeply is not weakness. It is strength. It is sensuality. It is magnetism. It is the divine intelligence of the soul.

And I know I’m not alone. Many women walk through this world with wide-open hearts hidden beneath well-worn armor. Women who cry in secret but speak with fire. Women who carry both sword and rose, but only let the sword show.

Because we were taught that softness is dangerous. That to be open is to be used. That to be real is to be too much.

But that is a lie.

Yoga began to unravel this for me. It showed me that feeling is not only safe—it is holy.

Feeling is a portal.

When we allow ourselves to feel—joy, ache, tenderness, rage, longing—we awaken to the fullness of our feminine selves. That is where our strength lives.

The world may not always honor this. So we must be discerning. We keep what is sacred, sacred. We share only with those who can hold it.

But we must not keep it from ourselves.

Because even if no one else feels safe, we are. We can be refuge for our own hearts. We have God. We have angels. We have the Sacred Mother Energy—not only from our mothers, but from something much older and wiser. A frequency of unconditional love that holds us when no one else can.

We can embody that energy for ourselves. We can mother our own hearts. We can clothe ourselves in softness. We can speak gently to our souls.

So may you mother your own heart today.

May you wrap yourself in tenderness.

May you remember the girl you once were—she is still here, waiting to be held.

Sonia XO