The Truth Of Tenderness

Have you ever looked around your life and realized that most of the people in it right now weren’t there a year ago? Five years ago? Ten?

Maybe you’ve looked back at wedding photos or a big birthday and noticed that half the people in the pictures aren’t people you’d even call anymore. I know I’m not the only one — so many people talk about how their bridesmaids or groomsmen are now strangers.

A question I've been sitting with lately is: how do you know when you’re upleveling? The answer I keep finding: your circle gets smaller.

What No One Taught Us

For most of my career, I’ve had a lot of people in my life. I’ve walked alongside more people than I can count as they stepped into themselves — their businesses, their personal lives, their growth. I love being able to see the inside of that transformation.

But I’m finally seeing something I haven't wanted to look at: how much I’ve been giving and how little I’ve received. Not because others couldn’t give — but because I was constantly overgiving with very little coming back.

I used to make myself bad or wrong whenever someone walked out of my life. But I also didn’t notice how often I walked out of theirs.

Most friendships just fizzle. Others end because something happens and neither person is willing to have a conversation about it. Little things pile up until blame gets thrown around and responsibility disappears.

And what I've found: most of us were never taught how to be friends. We were never taught how to start friendships well or end them with honesty. As adults, both of those things are incredibly hard — especially when we’re not as conscious as we like to think we are.

Because honesty in friendship usually looks like blame or cutting when all it really needs to be is awareness and tenderness.

The Knife I Used to Carry

I’ll be the first to admit — I used to use honesty like a knife. I would be truthful and straightforward in a way that hurt people. Not because I wanted to hurt them, but because I wasn’t being curious or loving. I was being honest without tenderness. And honesty without tenderness is just cruelty.

As I’ve become more conscious, I’ve learned that no matter what I do, there’s always a chance someone will take what I say through their own filter. That’s just how being human often works. We can only see things through the clarity of our lenses.

But I’ve also learned that I can hold truth and tenderness at the same time. That I can see clearly while also being aware of someone else’s wounds, their questions about themselves, their blind spots.

And I feel like it’s my responsibility — not just to share the truth, but to share it with love. While also taking responsibility for my part. For who I am, how I show up, and what I say.