When the “Nice Woman” Collapses: The Stories We Tell Ourselves

This week, I found myself again at the edge of a familiar cliff—questioning, spiraling, seeking direction through tears that came in quiet waves. Sessions of soul-searching gave way to the deeper waters of insecurity, followed closely by existential questions and old, hidden fears.

This is, without a doubt, one of the most transitional thresholds of my life.

I am adjusting to a new country, learning to navigate a different language. I face financial questions that arrive not with numbers but with pressure. I am learning how to be a mother to a son on the brink of adolescence—watching him repeat a school year, not out of lack of ability, but because of the weight of uprooting, of beginning again, of needing to learn an entirely new language of his own.

And these waves come with anxiety. Sometimes even with anger.

The Mask of the “Nice Woman”

But where did that anger really come from?

It rose from the bones of an old archetype I’ve carried for too long: the Nice Woman.

The one who doesn’t get angry, even when anger is valid and holy. The one who doesn’t ask for a raise, even when she’s worked herself breathless. The one who doesn’t demand more support from her ex husband, the father of her child, even when she’s drowning.

She is quiet. She smiles. She makes peace. She forgets herself.

And recently, I watched this “nice woman” shatter.

It happened with intensity and pain—after a family member, who for years had offered little support, spoke harshly to her, cutting deep. All of this unfolded while her child stood close by, watching.

The Birth of Boundaries

But something in me broke.

And in that breaking, something real was born. I finally saw the truth.

Being “nice” at the expense of my truth does not protect me. It does not bring peace.It does not teach love. It only dissolves my voice, opens my heart to wounds, and invites more attacks than tenderness.

That moment of collapse was not a failure. It was a fire. A sacred, burning gift.

Because I am still a lover of kindness, of open-heartedness.

But I am also now a student of boundaries. And I am learning—every day—that true self-love does not always wear a smile.

Sometimes it roars. Sometimes it says, No more. Sometimes love looks like closing the door.

A Prayer for All Women Learning to Rise

To all the women like me, carrying the weight of softness in a world that often mistakes it for weakness—I see you. Your love is not a fault. But your boundaries are your salvation.

Let us be tender. Let us be wild. Let us say no. Let us say enough.

And let the “nice woman” archetype dissolve like old petals in the rain—so that something stronger, more rooted, and more radiant can bloom in her place.