A Call for Softness

She Will Not Be Quiet: A (mostly unedited) daily writing practice

2/6/25

A Call for Softness

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My mom says that when I was 2 1/2,  

I used to stand up in my crib 

and say the words: 


Mommy, I don't understand. 

Mommy, I don't understand. 


Over and over again. 


She asked: What is it 

you don't understand? 


No answer. 


Maybe it was his red-faced rage, her 

silent submission, the way my big brother 

always looked so, so scared. Maybe 


if he had stopped trying so hard

to be what he thought a man should 

be, he could have pointed to his chest


and said—it hurts. 


Maybe then softness 

could have slipped in.

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