The Softening of the Body, the Heart and the Soul : when Hardness Becomes a Way of Being

Have you ever noticed how hard we can become?

Hard in our bodies.

Hard in our words.

Hard in our opinions.

Hard in our behaviour.

Hard in the invisible walls we build around our hearts.

I don't believe we are born this way.

I believe, over time, we learn to harden.

Not because there is something wrong with us.

But because, at some point, hardness became a way of surviving.

It became protection.

It became armour.

It became a strategy that once helped us feel safe.

The child who learned to survive.

Imagine a young child growing up in a home filled with shouting.

Arguments.

Aggressive harsh words.

Perhaps violence.

Perhaps emotional absence.

Perhaps a messy separation where the adults are consumed by their own grief and the child quietly disappears into the background.

That child's body doesn't simply witness these experiences.

The body responds.

It may fight.

It may flee.

It may freeze.

It may fawn.

The nervous system learns.

The heart breaks.

The soul hides.

The child begins to believe:

It isn't safe to disagree.

It isn't safe to express how I feel.

I must keep the peace.

I must look after everyone else.

My needs don't matter.

I have to do everything on my own.

These aren't conscious decisions.

They are intelligent adaptations.

Ways the body, heart and mind learned to survive.

Over time, those strategies become patterns.

And those patterns become identity.

The child grows into an adult.

But the body still remembers.

The need to be right

One expression of this hardening is something many of us recognise.

The need to be right.

Not because we simply enjoy being right.

But because, somewhere underneath, being wrong feels dangerous.

This is one I know intimately.

There was a time in my life when I needed to be right as though my life depended on it.

I would argue until I was blue in the face.

I had to prove my point.

I had to convince the other person.

I had to be understood.

Looking back now, I can see it wasn't really about being right at all.

It was about feeling safe.

Somewhere deep within me was a frightened part that believed being wrong meant something terrible.

Perhaps I wouldn't be loved.

Perhaps I would be rejected.

Perhaps I would be alone.

Perhaps there was something wrong with me.

So I fought.

Not because I wanted to hurt anyone.

But because I was protecting a wound I didn't yet know was there.

Perhaps being wrong once meant being criticised.

Being shamed.

Being punished.

Being rejected.

So we defend our opinions.

We argue.

We justify.

We convince.

We stop listening because we are so busy protecting ourselves.

Our words become hard.

Our tone becomes hard.

Our bodies become hard.

The invisible walls around our hearts become stronger.

What once protected us slowly begins to separate us.

From ourselves.

From one another.

From life.

Sometimes I wonder whether the conflicts we see in families, communities and even across our world begin with this same human tendency.

The tendency to defend, to protect, to harden, to stop listening.

The circumstances are vastly different, but the movement towards separation can begin in surprisingly familiar ways.

The tragedy of protection

There is something profoundly sad about this.

The very strategies we created so that we wouldn't feel alone...

often become the reason we feel alone.

The walls that once protected us become the walls that keep love out.

The armour that kept us safe also keeps us disconnected.

Disconnected from ourselves.

Disconnected from one another.

Disconnected from life.

Disconnected from God.

The medicine is softening

For me, healing isn't about becoming stronger.

It isn't about building better armour.

The medicine is softening.

Softening enough to notice when the body contracts.

To notice the need to defend.

To notice the urge to prove.

To notice the subtle tightening in the chest, the jaw, the belly.

To become curious instead of judgemental.

To ask gently,

"What am I protecting?"

"What am I afraid will happen if I let go?"

"What old wound is asking to be seen?"

This isn't about blaming ourselves.

Nor is it about blaming our parents or our past.

It is about understanding.

Because understanding brings compassion.

And compassion begins to soften what fear has held tightly for so long.

One of the greatest gifts of healing has been discovering that I no longer need to convince anyone...

although of course sometimes I still do but I am able to catch myself in it...

And

I can listen without needing to defend.

I can disagree without needing to fight.

I can remain open without losing myself.

There is a softness now where there was once armour.

Not because life has become easier.

But because I no longer believe my safety depends on being right.

Healing happens layer by layer

As many of us know but often forget...healing isn't linear.

It rarely happens all at once.

Sometimes we think we've already healed something.

Then life lovingly reveals another layer.

A deeper wound.

A subtler belief.

Another veil ready to soften.

I know this because I've lived it.

I continue to live it.

My own journey has taken me from hardness towards tenderness.

From stuckness towards freedom.

From survival towards presence.

From darkness towards light.

I am still walking.

The journey continues.

But where I stand today is profoundly different from where I once stood.

Returning to our true nature

I don't believe our deepest nature is hardness.

I believe our deepest nature is love.

Love doesn't need to defend itself.

Love doesn't need to prove itself.

Love doesn't need to be right.

As the walls soften, something extraordinary begins to happen.

We reconnect.

With ourselves.

With one another.

With life.

With God.

The body relaxes.

The heart opens.

The soul remembers.

As someone walking the Sufi Path, this is what I know from experience and deeply feel healing really is.

Not becoming someone new.

But gently laying down the armour we no longer need.

Returning to the softness that has always been there beneath the protection.

Remembering who we truly are.

An invitation

If something in these words speaks to your own experience, know that you don't have to walk this path alone.

I offer bespoke 1:1 healing sessions and journeys in person at Home House and online for women who are ready to gently unwind the past from body, heart, mind and spirit.

Through Sufi healing, embodied spiritual and life counsel, breath and bodywork, somatic awareness, sound, prayer and deep presence, we create a space where your own unique healing journey can unfold.

These sessions and journey unfold according to what your body, your heart and your soul are ready for.

Healing happens in layers.

In Divine timing.

And I would be honoured to walk alongside you.

With love,

Hawa