When Softness Feels Like Not Enough

Dear wild-hearted wanderer,

If you follow me on IG, you’ll have seen me obsess over Elon Musk and his Human Design for the last couple of weeks. I’ve also been reading his biography written by Walter Isaacson. Once that my Sacral with gate 9 finds something to focus on, it’s gone into the rabbit hole. Nothing to do but to follow the journey.

Yesterday, I finally published a new essay, a culmination of all the thoughts and reflections I’ve had on Elon Musk thus far, on power, projection, and the collective unravelling of the systems we once believed in.

And almost immediately, I started to spiral.
I doubted everything I had written.

Everyone is so vocal about him online. And I mean vocal in a hateful way. Whether they see him as a symbol of power, corruption and patriarchy, or they’ve taken a personal stance against him, I find my own thoughts on him don’t really fit into that space. And it makes me feel like an outlier, a heretic. (Secretly, I guess, that was the point of speaking my truth. Not controversy for controversy’s sake but more so about honouring that true voice within.)

For research purposes, I’ve scoured countless Substack headlines, media articles, podcast interviews, even Threads—to get a sense of how people truly feel about him. And that’s the key word: feel. Very few pieces approach him objectively. Most are fueled by anger, frustration, confusion, and betrayal depending on where you land politically. They seek out that behaviour that’s perceived as chaotic, reckless, and failure-ridden.

And I understand why. He’s a controversial figure. He pisses people off. He disrupts things. He’s far from neutral. After all, he’s a provocateur and a fighter.

But as I spiralled into doubt around how I had been publicly analysing him—through the lens of Human Design, projection, and global shifts—I caught myself doing something very familiar:
I was seeking approval.
I was looking for validation.
I was questioning my own inner knowing.

Seeing all the Elon haters made me question my nuanced perspective. I felt like—because I wasn’t shouting—I wasn’t doing enough. As if only outrage is valuable. As if we can only be heard when we’re loud. As if nuance, subtlety, and reflection don’t hold the same weight as anger.

But something in me—quieter, but clearer—reminded me:
There’s power in softness.
There’s strength in stillness.
There’s truth in not collapsing into one extreme or the other.

I don’t want to shout to be seen.
I want to write from the place where truth hums beneath the noise.
Even when that truth is soft.
Even when it trembles.
Even when it might not be what people expect to hear.

And here’s the part that lands like a stone in my chest:
It’s so easy for me to tell others to trust themselves.
To follow their inner truth.
To honour their rhythm.

I do it all the time in my sessions, in my writing, in my work. But to trust myself—my voice, my perspective, my timing? That’s a different beast altogether.

So if you’ve ever felt like your quiet wasn’t enough…
If you’ve ever wondered whether your gentleness matters in a world that rewards shouting…
If you’ve ever second-guessed yourself because you didn’t “take a side” loud enough…

This letter is for you.

You don’t need to perform your power.
You don’t need to speak with fire to be valid.
You don’t need to collapse your complexity to fit into someone else’s narrative.

What you carry—the nuance, the noticing, the subtle truths—that’s already a ripple.

And it matters more than you know.

Your softness is your superpower,
Silvia

P.S. If you're curious, you can read the essay I mentioned here. It’s not really about Elon Musk—it’s about the bonds we form with power, the discomfort of disruption, and what happens when we stop projecting our certainty onto others.

Thank you for reading today’s letter. If my words resonated and you want to learn more about how to work with me, please check out my website, connect with me through a free discovery call, or book a recorded Mini Self-Discovery Reading.

I’d love to journey with you.