I’ve seen what that “soft gooey stuff” you mock looks like when it’s buried in a casket. I’m a college professor. In the last five years, I’ve lost two students to suicide. Two young people—both gay—who were smart, compassionate, full of potential. You call it weakness. I saw hope. I saw kids who were trying to survive in a world that kept telling them they didn’t belong. A world that mocked their softness. A world that called their pain fake. A world filled with people like you.
You say words don’t hurt? I’ve watched words become weapons. I’ve seen them eat away at a student’s sense of self, day after day, until there was nothing left but silence and grief. I’ve had to look parents in the eyes and try to explain why their child couldn’t hold on. That’s what your “rock” mentality costs. It costs lives. So if choosing empathy makes me soft, so be it. I’d rather be soft and save someone than hardened and bury them.