Sprint board in one window, thermometer and washcloth in the other. At 10am, I’m hunched over my laptop juggling timelines and blockers for a software launch, the classic project manager hustle. At 2am, I’m a different animal: forehead pressed to my daughter’s cheek, counting her breaths, whispering “ya mero, mi amor,” almost over, sweetheart. Somewhere in between, I started believing I had to pick a lane: strength at work, softness at home. Don’t mix them. Keep it together by day, melt down only when no one’s watching.
Who taught us that strength and softness should live in different rooms?
Where did we get the idea that holding the line, making decisions, wrestling deadlines, is a face you put on, only to peel off the second you cross into your kitchen, your kid’s doorway? For most women I know, especially those holding the map for two worlds, the split shows up everywhere. Project-manager mask on; caretaker mask off. We pretend the two don’t touch.
But they do. Sometimes they collide. Sometimes they hold hands in the dark.
Living in the Gap
I’ve led daily standups with a gritty, gravel voice on three hours of broken sleep. Written careful status reports with a child curled up on my lap, burning up and needy. The guilt buzzes underneath, telling me I’m not measuring up on either front: too soft for business, too distracted for parenting, never enough of the “right” thing at the right time. At night, when every soul in the house is finally quiet, except mine, I replay all the places I “dropped a ball.”
And here’s the secret nobody told me: That exhausted gap isn’t failure. It’s information. It means you’re alive in all your roles. Sometimes the boundaries you think you’re supposed to maintain are impossible, by design. This dance, weaving strength and softness, is survival, not a shortcoming. It’s strength to pause, to admit you can’t fix everything, to say, “I need ten minutes, a glass of water, a walk outside.” It’s softness to hold a fevered hand, but also to say no to another midnight email, no to the voice in your head demanding perfection.
The Real Cost of Splitting Yourself
The real cost? Acting like strength and softness are two costumes. When we buy that lie, we shrink. We put ourselves outside our own lives and wait for permission to re-enter, only when we’re “centered enough”—whatever that means.
Bring the Pieces Closer
Let’s bring the pieces closer. Here with me: Put your hand on your heart, right now. Breathe in. Ask yourself honestly: Where am I spending all my strength? Where is softness calling me back? Can I hold both without apology, at least in this small moment?
You can chase balance forever and never find it on a chart. But you can make a little space for your own needs today. Even one honest breath counts. Your schedule can start with you, corazón. That’s not selfish. That’s human.
– Karla
