A Story About Being Tender and Not Broken

I used to think something was wrong with me.

Not in a dramatic way. Just in that quiet, lingering way you don’t always have words for—but you feel it. Like you missed a memo on how to be in the world.

I was always tender. Sensitive. The kind of kid who could feel the sadness in a room before anyone said a word. I’d cry if someone else got their feelings hurt. I couldn’t watch a sad commercial without it sitting in my chest for hours.

But tenderness didn’t get celebrated where I grew up.

It got labeled.

Dramatic. Strong-willed. Too emotional. “Hard to handle.”

So I got good at pretending I wasn’t any of those things.

I became dependable. Responsible.

I found ways to make people comfortable—even if it meant being uncomfortable in my own skin.

I didn’t know I was disconnecting from my own design.

Years later, when the physical symptoms started piling up—fatigue, digestive issues, weight that wouldn’t budge, anxiety I couldn’t pray away—I was still carrying that same message:

Don’t be too much. Be manageable. Be okay.

But the truth was, I wasn’t okay.

And pretending to be okay was making me sick.

Healing didn’t happen all at once. It came in layers. Slow and sacred.

God started peeling back the false stories I’d believed.

He didn’t shout at me to change.

He whispered.

Right into the place I’d spent years trying to hide:

My tenderness.

He showed me that my sensitivity wasn’t a flaw—it was where He had always spoken to me.

That the part of me I thought needed fixing?

That was the part He designed to feel, to discern, to connect.

Tender wasn’t weak.

It was how I heard Him.

It was how I loved people deeply.

It was how I noticed what others missed—

The look in someone’s eyes. The emotion behind their “I’m fine.”

I used to believe that to be strong, I had to harden.

Now I know that true strength looks like staying soft in a world that tells you to armor up.

True strength looks like staying soft in a world that tells you to armor up.

I don’t hustle for healing anymore. I don’t try to prove I’m enough.

I sit. I listen. I feel.

I let the Holy Spirit lead me through the tender places.

And friend, if you’ve ever believed your softness made you less—

if you’ve ever been told you were too emotional, too complicated, too much—

I hope you’ll hear this:

You’re not broken.

You’re tender.

And that might just be the most beautiful thing about you.

Let it be holy.

Amanda Surratt

Faith-Driven Chronic Illness Healer

Founder of Confidently Joyful

www.confidentlyjoyful.com

P.S. If you want to join a space where we have these kinds of real conversations and support one another in healing—body, mind, and spirit—here’s how to connect to Healing Through Faith Membership. Click here to join this beautiful, loving, grace-filled community at Healing Through Faith.