Human Interest

I’m Not Ok… Time is Paused

Reba Nietert

I carry a composure so seamless it has become my own curse; because I make survival look easy, the world assumes I am lying about the wreckage beneath my feet. Most people might face one world-shattering loss in a lifetime, but I have stood at the epicenter of fourteen in a single decade, watching my foundation turn to ash time and again until the very concept of “home” felt like a taunt. I move through my days with a silence so heavy it should be deafening, yet my own children—the very hearts I hold together with my last shred of strength—meted out selfish remarks and flip indifference, oblivious to the fact that their parent is a ghost haunting her own life. It isn’t the trauma itself that breaks me; it is the staggering inhumanity of being expected to function while drowning in the thick, visceral despair of a life sacrificed. I walked away from my beautiful home and every root I had planted to move to Texas, spending a year watching Jennifer wither away, only to inherit the monumental task of raising three special-needs children who were not my own. I became a voice of reason in a chorus of chaos, comforting the grieving while my own mourning was deferred, buried under the immediate needs of the living.

The avalanche began with Dwight, followed by the jagged succession of his wife, father, and mother—people who were the fabric of my Christmases and birthdays for thirty years. I leaned on Cheryl Dingman as I watched Jennifer die, only to turn around and find Cheryl gone, too. Then came the man I believed was my father; at his funeral, I stood in a line shaking hands with 150 strangers who didn’t even know I existed, forced to swallow the erasure of my own identity while they wept for a man I was only “possibly” related to. The hits kept coming—Nick Robinson, dead before thirty, leaving a void that rocked my son’s world and mine; Doug Jackson, whose passing was met with such chilling apathy by a former best friend that she asked for his car’s trade-in info before his body was even cold. In the midst of this, my mother’s death shattered the protective seal of my dissociative amnesia, unleashing a flood of memories so dark they required professional intervention to survive. From the sudden theft of Marie Hendricks to COVID, to the estrangement of Aunt Gloria, to the funeral of Gary Wilson where I stood as a failed pillar for Ernie and Ashley, I have been a professional mourner in a cycle of death that refuses to break. Now, I look at Ernie’s aging face and Sharon’s terminal diagnosis and realize my grieving cannot even begin because the funeral march hasn’t stopped playing. My cortisol is a poison in my veins, my body is heavy with the gravity of a hundred goodbyes, and while I stand tall, I am screaming into a void that only offers more silence in return. I am not living; I am a masterpiece of endurance, crumbling from the inside out while the world wonders why I look so tired. I’m not ok.

Imagine a house where, every year, a support beam is removed. Eventually, the structure feels shaky. That is how I feel. This isn’t just “unlucky”—it is a traumatic overhaul of my entire social and emotional map.

In addition to the loss and the grieving, comes a plethora of emotional instability with the changes that occur when someone passes. Life’s simple daily interactions become fraught with identifying behaviors and setting boundaries. When that becomes difficult because of other peoples emotional needs, that’s when life gets to be too much.

What I have described—losing 12 people in 10 years—is often referred to by therapists as “Bereavement Overload.” It is physically and mentally exhausting because your nervous system never gets the chance to return to a baseline of safety. That’s where I am right now and I have one more sick on a bed promising more grief any day now.

Journal Entry

The Alchemist’s Amen: A Declaration of Repentance

Reba Nietert

There is a specific kind of exhaustion that comes from carrying a past you’ve already outlived. Lately, I’ve been wrestling with the ghosts of my own choices, feeling the weight of things I thought were buried. This post is my exhaling. It is a declaration of where I’ve been, what I’ve done, and the mercy I am finally choosing to accept.”

If you are carrying a weight that was never meant for your shoulders, I invite you to leave a piece of it here. What is one thing you are ready to forgive yourself for today? Let’s walk toward the light together.

For days, my mind has been a battlefield where peace went to die. I have been breathing the stale air of a “past long gone,” dragging old ghosts into the present until my soul became heavy with the haunting. I felt it in my marrow and in the “second brain” of my stomach—a rising acid of remorse, a conflict of the ego that no medicine could soothe.

I realized that to swallow this bitterness any longer would be to drown.

Today, I choose the only way out: The way of the Alchemist. I am turning my culpability into a present accountability. I am not merely apologizing for my struggle; I am honoring it by allowing it to become a testimony.

The Confession

I walked a path of shadows and ill repute,

Weaving webs of manipulation for a life of gilded ease.

I cost men their kingdoms to furnish my own,

Trading integrity for a view few ever see.

I asked for love, and when the Great Provider gave a seed,

I let fear bloom where a child should have grown.

I cast away the miracle to keep the ghost of my freedom,

Choosing the cold silence of “no” over the warmth of “yes.”

I have been the architect of my own envy,

Comparing my reflection to a world of curated lies.

I have been lazy in my promises and a shortcut-taker in my craft,

Slandering the innocent and dismissing the weary with a judge’s gavel.

I have lacked the very character I claimed to possess,

Wounding the seen and the unseen with the sharp edge of my ego.

The Surrender

But the acid has reached the brim, and I am finished with the burning.

Heavenly Father, I stand before You stripped of my pretenses.

I confess the stains, the shortcuts, and the intentional hurts.

I ask for the blood of Jesus to act as a holy solvent—

To wash the “ill repute” until only the “reputation of Grace” remains.

Forgive me for the pain I caused that I cannot see.

Forgive me for the years I spent coveting what was never mine.

Take the lordship of every broken room in my heart.

The New Spirit

I exchange my “second ego” for Your first-rate Peace.

I thank You for the courage to look at my reflection without flinching,

And for the mercy that refuses to run dry, even when I am parched.

Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.

The struggle is honored. The sin is covered. The testimony begins.

I’ve learned that my body was never meant to be a warehouse for my regrets. It was meant to be a temple for my peace. How are you tending to your temple today?

Journal Entry

The Long Goodbye: Navigating Anticipatory Grief and Chronic Illness

Reba Nietert

When we think of grief, we often think of it as a destination—a place we arrive at only after a loss has occurred. But for those living through the chronic or terminal illness of a loved one, grief doesn’t wait for a final breath. It settles in early, making itself at home in the quiet corners of the caregiver’s heart.

This experience is known as anticipatory grief, and it is one of the most complex layers of the human experience. At The Soft Armor, we believe in acknowledging these heavy truths so we can better equip ourselves for the journey.

Understanding the “Invisible” Loss

Anticipatory grief is unique because it isn’t just about the fear of the future; it’s about the losses happening in the present. It is the trauma of watching someone’s world shrink. You might be grieving:

• The loss of a role: Moving from partner or child to full-time caregiver.

• The loss of shared dreams: Letting go of travel plans or future milestones.

• The loss of personality: Navigating the way illness can change a person’s temperament or cognitive abilities.

The Trauma of the “Wait”

Living in a state of constant high alert—waiting for the next phone call, the next scan, or the next dip in health—creates a specific kind of physiological trauma. Your nervous system stays “on,” prepared for a crisis that hasn’t fully arrived but feels inevitable.

This sustained stress can lead to “caregiver burnout,” but it’s more than just exhaustion; it’s the soul’s reaction to holding onto someone who is slowly slipping away.

Finding Your “Soft Armor”

How do we protect ourselves while remaining open and present for those who need us?

1. Grant Yourself Permission: Understand that feeling grief right now doesn’t mean you’ve given up hope. It means you are processing the reality of the situation.

2. Acknowledge the Secondary Losses: It is okay to be sad about the “small” things—the lost Sunday morning coffee routines or the quiet house. These are the threads of your daily life being pulled away.

3. Create Pockets of Stillness: When the trauma of illness feels loud, find a ritual that grounds you. Whether it’s a heavy blanket, a specific scent, or five minutes of intentional breathing, find the “armor” that makes you feel safe.

4. Seek Community: Grief is isolating, but you are not alone. Sharing your story with those who understand the “long goodbye” can lighten the emotional load.

Moving Through, Not Over

There is no “getting over” the trauma of sickness and loss. There is only moving through it, one heartbeat at a time. By acknowledging the grief we feel before the loss, we honor the depth of our love and the difficulty of the path we are walking.

Be kind to yourself today. You are doing the hardest work there is.

Inspiration

Thirty-Two Years of the Leap

Reba Nietert

I look at this picture and I can still feel my knees shaking. I remember the weight of the question hanging in the air: would this marriage last for months, for decades, or for a lifetime? Behind my smile, I was a whirlwind of emotion—deeply honored to be Scott’s wife, yet breathless from the whirlwind of it all. “Do you want to get married today?” he had asked just hours earlier.

An elopement at the Rockwall wedding cottage, a quick trip to Dillard’s Travel, and suddenly we were on our way to San Antonio. We didn’t have much then, just a weekend at SeaWorld and each other. In this photo, I was four months pregnant and, if I’m honest, I was scared to death. I was terrified that I wasn’t ready for motherhood—that I wasn’t up to the monumental challenge of raising a child.

And yet, I felt safe.

Wrapped in his arms, I found a sanctuary. Scott brought with him a history of steadiness that I leaned on completely. I trusted that he could navigate us through the unknown; I believed he was capable enough to help rewrite the parts of me that felt broken. I took the leap because of the man he was—a product of a home filled with honor and intentional love. I saw his mother, a woman born to parent, and his father, a jovial and present man whose every move was rooted in kindness. I knew Scott would bring that legacy into our home.

For thirty-two years, he has done exactly that.

Our journey hasn’t been perfect. Anyone who truly knows us can attest that there were seasons of selfishness, moments where we prioritized our own interests over the “us.” But whenever level heads prevailed, the love that sparked that first impulsive “yes” brought us back to center. It kept us learning, growing, and moving in the same direction.

Today, he is my absolute best friend. Our lives are a tapestry of shared ideas, a common moral compass, and a deep, aligned faith. Whether it’s our hobbies or our values, we simply enjoy life more when we are doing it together. Looking back at that shaking girl in the photograph, I wish I could tell her: Don’t worry. You chose well.

Uncategorized

The Decade Vigil

Reba Nietert

“They tell you that as you get older, the circle of life begins to close. You expect to say a slow, quiet goodbye to the generation before you. But no one warns you about the stolen decade. No one tells you what it feels like to trade ten years of your own life for the fluorescent lights of a hospital corridor and the rhythmic, hollow beep of a heart monitor.

I am a person of deep empathy. I believe with my whole heart in the dignity of the dying and the comfort of the sick. But I am also just a human being. Why does it feel like the universe has decided my shoulders are the only ones strong enough to carry the grief of an entire lineage? I am not just a witness to death; I have become the custodian of it.

I have watched them leave, one by one. I have seen the light go out in eyes I’ve known since childhood, often in ways so tragic and horrific they leave scars no one else can see. And the cruelty of it is that I don’t even have the luxury of sitting with my own mourning. I am forced to grieve the dead while I am still physically holding the hands of those who are fading.

I find myself looking at the horizon, wondering: When is it my turn to breathe? When do I get to wake up and belong only to myself, rather than being tethered to a diagnosis or a palliative care plan?

I am not angry—I am simply hollow. I hate the suffering. I hate that I have become an expert in a language I never wanted to speak. I am unregulated and overwhelmed today because I am tired of being the only bridge between the living and the lost. I just want to be free.”

What I’m experiencing isn’t just “stress”; it is compassion fatigue and anticipatory grief rolled into one. I am allowed to feel “unregulated.” When I spend all my time regulating the comfort of others, my own soul eventually runs out of steady ground. 💔

SoftArmor

Lost in the Fog? It’s Time for Your Personal “Identity Audit”

Reba Nietert

We’ve all been there. That heavy, sinking feeling where you look around at your life—your job, your habits, your relationships—and something just feels off. You’re functioning, you’re busy, but the question keeps whispering: “Who am I, really, and what am I doing?”

This isn’t a failure. This feeling of being “lost” is actually a profound call to action. It’s your soul telling you that the map you’ve been following no longer leads to your true north. And the way to find your bearings again? It’s time to conduct a personal Identity Audit.

What Exactly is an Identity Audit?

Think of your life as a large, beautiful home. Over the years, you’ve filled it with furniture, decorations, and even junk—some of it yours, some of it inherited, and some of it just things you bought because everyone else had them.

An Identity Audit is simply a compassionate, systematic inventory of that house:

  • The Inventory: You look at your core values, your day-to-day actions, the roles you play (parent, professional, friend), and your deepest beliefs about yourself and the world.
  • The Alignment Check: You ask: Does this item truly belong to me? Does this belief still serve my highest good? Does this role truly reflect who I want to be now?
  • The Re-Centering: It’s the process of deliberately shedding the things that don’t align and intentionally choosing to nurture the parts of you that have been waiting to be seen.

It’s not about judgment; it’s about alignment. You’re not “fixing” a broken person; you’re simply clearing the clutter so your authentic self can finally shine through.

Why You Feel Lost—And Why the Audit is the Antidote

That “lost” feeling is often a sign of misalignment. Here are three common culprits that an Identity Audit helps uncover:

1. Wearing Someone Else’s Armor 🛡️

For years, you may have been wearing an identity—a soft armor—that you built for protection or to meet someone else’s expectations. Maybe it’s the “successful executive,” the “perfect partner,” or the “easy-going friend.” This armor worked for a time, but it’s become too heavy, too tight, and it’s obscuring the real you. The audit asks: What beliefs am I holding onto because I think I ‘should’ be someone else?

2. Your Values Have Evolved, But Your Life Hasn’t 🌲

You are not a static being. The person who valued hustle and external achievement at 25 may now, at 35 or 45, yearn for presence, creativity, and deeper connection. When your daily life and commitments are still based on your old values, the disconnect causes that feeling of emptiness. The audit helps you articulate your current core values and shows you where your time and energy need to be redirected.

3. You’re Living on Autopilot ✈️

Loss of identity happens when you stop asking questions. You just keep going through the motions. An Identity Audit forces you to take the stick back. It’s a moment of radical self-reflection where you become the active architect of your life, not just a passenger in it.

Reclaim Your Center. Step Into Your Soft Armor.

The journey from “lost” to “found” is less about finding a new destination and more about realizing you were never truly gone—you were just hidden beneath layers of outdated narratives.

An Identity Audit is the gentle, yet powerful process of remembering who you are at your core, and building a life that feels authentic, sustainable, and right. It’s about designing a life that feels like a comfortable, protective embrace—your Soft Armor.

If this resonates with that quiet, yearning part of you, you are exactly where you need to be. There are tools, resources, and a supportive community ready to guide you through this process of self-discovery and realignment.

Ready to gently begin the inventory of your beautiful, complex self?

Find your way home. Click here to explore the path to your most aligned self at thesoftarmor.com.

Where your strength lies in your softness.

Human Interest

When Others Judge – Holding it Together

Reba Nietert

These past weeks have been a DOOZY for me. While I used to be a bad ass during stressful situations, I have come to learn with experience that loss, real loss, devastating – change – your – life -loss can happen in a moment. Sometimes I think I am one more change away from losing my mind. The older I get the more the fear of loss is real. There’s been a great deal of trauma involved, and that lends itself to more anxiety. Faith. I must have it. God’s got this I tell myself. Naturally, I must learn to believe that.

People often get mad when they’re afraid because anger can be a defense mechanism to cope with the uncomfortable feelings of fear and a sense of vulnerability. If trauma has taught them they cannot trust an unknown outcome, this can be very scary for the people on the other side of that fear. Both fear and anger trigger the “fight-or-flight” response, releasing stress hormones and preparing the body for action. When the nervous system is activated by fear, an individual may unconsciously choose to express this heightened energy as anger, a way to regain a sense of control and protect themselves from a perceived threat.

Anxiety and anger activate the body’s fight-or-flight (stress) response, which triggers the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal (HPA) axis to release cortisol, the primary stress hormone. Specifically, the hypothalamus releases corticotropin-releasing hormone (CRH), which signals the pituitary gland to release adrenocorticotropic hormone (ACTH). This, in turn, prompts the adrenal glands to produce and release cortisol into the bloodstream, providing energy to deal with the perceived threat.

I am not sure what the answer is to make sure people around me feel loved. If I lose my shit, something awful has just happened. I am in the thick of cortisol jet streaming throughout my body, and I am one comment away from either losing my mind or walking away because the emotion is too great for me. Horrible but true.

Breathe Beck. Just Breathe.

Inspiration

The Informed Choice: What No One Tells You About Staying Home

Reba Nietert

When I first chose to stay home with my babies, I thought I was making the best, most loving decision for my family. I was educated, informed, and determined to give my children the care and presence I never wanted to outsource. But what nobody tells you—what no one warns you about—is the invisible contract you’re signing when you make that decision. And unless you sit down and have a brutally honest conversation with your significant other, you may find yourself in a position you never intended: servitude.

Let me be clear—I’m not talking about the joy of raising your own children or the privilege of being there for their first steps, their giggles, and their scraped knees. I’m talking about the *other* job description that comes with “stay-at-home mom.” The one that’s rarely discussed, but always expected.

When you choose to stay home, unless you draw boundaries and set expectations, you’re not just agreeing to childcare. You’re silently agreeing to every single household duty—inside and out. That means:

– All the cleaning, every day, top to bottom.

– Home maintenance, pest control, window washing, laundry, linens, towels, annual curtain cleaning, sofa scrubbing.

– Taking care of pets, organizing PTA meetings, volunteering at school, managing play dates and social calendars—for the kids, not yourself.

– Cooking dinner night after night, planning meals within a budget, and somehow making the money stretch.

– Managing the “allowed” income, often with no guarantee that anything left over is truly yours.

– And after all that, you haven’t even begun to address your own needs, friendships, or personal time.

The most insidious part? There’s no clocking out. It’s a 24/7 job. The minute you finish the dishes, someone dirties another. The laundry is never-ending. The sense of accomplishment is fleeting, if it ever comes at all.

I remember the days when I would schedule cleaning baseboards, prep dinner so it was hot when my husband walked in, have the kids bathed and in bed so all he had to do was eat, relax, and watch TV. My home was spotless, my children were cared for, and my partner’s only job was to recover from his day. If that’s the life you want, and it works for you—embrace it with gratitude. But make sure you know what you’re signing up for.

If you haven’t talked to your spouse or partner about who does what—about who handles the lawn, the dinners after 7pm, the late-night emergencies, the never-ending chores—you’re not making an informed decision. My advice? Write it all down. Decide together who’s responsible for what. Make room for your own time, your own needs, your own life.

Because here’s the truth: nobody in their right mind would sign up for a lifetime of servitude to someone who works an eight-hour job, unless they truly understood what that means. And for the women who do all of this *and* work outside the home? You are my heroes. I did it for 15 years, and it’s a different kind of stress—one that no one is prepared for until they’re living it.

So before you make your choice, talk. Plan. Write it down. Make sure your decision is truly informed. Because loving your family shouldn’t mean losing yourself.

Human Interest

Possession vs. Obsession: How Control Can Ruin Relationships (And What Healthy Love Looks Like)

Reba Nietert

When we talk about love and relationships, words like “possessive” and “protective” often get tangled up. It’s easy to mistake one for the other—especially when emotions run high. But there’s a world of difference between caring for someone and trying to control them. That difference can make or break a relationship.

The Fine Line: When Does Protection Become Possession?

It’s natural to want to keep someone you love safe. But when “protection” becomes a reason to monitor, restrict, or dictate another person’s choices, it crosses into obsession and control. This shift is rarely obvious at first. It might look like:

– Constantly checking in (“Where are you? Who are you with?”)

– Deciding who your partner can talk to or spend time with

– Making all the decisions “for their own good”

– Feeling anxious or angry when they assert independence

While these actions are often justified as “caring,” they can leave the other person feeling suffocated, distrusted, and emotionally isolated.

Cultural Roots: Why Some Behaviors Are Normalized

Culture plays a huge role in shaping what we see as “normal” in relationships. In many societies, traditional gender roles have favored male dominance—sometimes subtly, sometimes overtly. Historically, men have been encouraged (or expected) to be the “head of the household,” the protector, and the decision-maker. In some cultures, this is still seen as a sign of strength and love.

But these norms can blur the line between protection and control. In patriarchal systems, controlling behaviors may be excused or even praised—while women are taught to accept or accommodate them. In contrast, cultures that value equality and autonomy tend to view such behaviors as red flags.

Examples Across Cultures:

– Western cultures: Increasingly value individual autonomy; controlling behavior is often called out as unhealthy.

– Traditional societies: May emphasize family honor, obedience, or male authority, making it harder to recognize or challenge controlling dynamics.

– Modern urban cultures: Younger generations are questioning old norms, but systemic biases can linger.

The Psychology of Male Dominance

From a psychological perspective, men raised in male-dominant systems may internalize beliefs that:

– Their role is to “lead” or “protect”—even if it means overriding their partner’s wishes.

– Jealousy or control is a sign of love.

– Vulnerability or equality is weakness.

These beliefs are reinforced by media, family, and sometimes even laws. Over time, they can create patterns of obsessive control, justified as “caring” or “protective.”

How to Recognize Obsessive Control (Even If You Think You’re Being Loving)

If you’re wondering whether your protective instincts have crossed the line, ask yourself:

– Do I trust my partner to make their own choices?

– Do I feel anxious or angry when they’re independent?

– Do I need to know where they are at all times?

– Do I make decisions for them, believing I “know best”?

– Would I be okay if they set the same rules for me?

If any of these questions make you uncomfortable, it might be time to reflect.

Moving from Control to Care: What Healthy Protection Looks Like

Healthy relationships are built on trust, respect, and mutual support. Here’s how to shift from control to genuine care:

– Communicate openly: Share your concerns without accusations or ultimatums.

– Respect boundaries: Allow your partner space to be themselves, even if it feels uncomfortable.

– Challenge old beliefs: Ask yourself where your ideas about “protection” come from. Are they rooted in love, or in fear?

– Seek support: Therapy or counseling (individually or as a couple) can help untangle deep-seated patterns.

Final Thoughts: Love Without Chains

True love isn’t about possession or obsession. It’s about partnership—where both people feel safe, respected, and free to grow. Cultural traditions and personal history shape how we love, but we always have the power to choose a healthier way forward.

If you’re struggling with these issues, know that you’re not alone. Seeking help is a sign of strength, not weakness. Love should lift us up, not hold us back.

Human Interest

Why Partners Feel Differently About Sex as They Age—And How to Stay Connected

Reba Nietert

As couples grow older together, it’s common for their feelings about sex to shift. Sometimes, one partner’s desire changes more than the others. This can feel confusing, even isolating—but you’re not alone, and there’s a lot of research (and real-life wisdom) to help make sense of it.

The Clinical Perspective

For Men:  

Testosterone levels naturally decline with age, which can lead to a gradual decrease in libido. Medical issues (like heart disease or diabetes), medications, or even stress can also play a role. Many men report that physical intimacy becomes less about performance and more about connection as they age.

For Women:  

Women may experience hormonal changes due to menopause, leading to symptoms like vaginal dryness, discomfort, or a drop in desire. Emotional factors—like self-image, life transitions, or caregiving stress—can also impact how women feel about sex. But for many, intimacy grows richer and more meaningful, even if the frequency changes.

Clinical Proof: 

A 2020 study in the Journal of Sex Research found that while sexual frequency often declines with age, emotional satisfaction and intimacy can actually increase for many couples. Open communication and empathy were key predictors of satisfaction, regardless of physical changes.

The Human Side

Let’s be honest: aging brings a lot of changes, and not all of them are easy. But it also brings wisdom, patience, and a deeper appreciation for true connection. Sometimes, what partners need most is simply to feel seen and accepted as they are in this chapter of life.

From a Male Perspective: 

It’s normal to feel vulnerable if your body isn’t cooperating the way it used to. You might worry about disappointing your partner or losing a part of your identity. Remember, intimacy is about more than just sex—it’s about feeling close, valued, and respected.

From a Female Perspective: 

You might feel frustrated by physical changes or a shifting sense of desire. Or maybe, for the first time, you feel free to express what you really want. It’s okay to grieve what’s changed and celebrate what’s new.

What Can Couples Do?

– Talk Openly:  

  Start with honesty and kindness. “I’ve noticed some changes, and I want us to talk about how we’re both feeling.”

– Be Curious, Not Critical: 

  Ask questions, listen deeply, and avoid assigning blame.

– Explore Together:  

  Try new ways of being close—touch, massage, cuddling, or non-sexual intimacy.

– Seek Support:  

  A therapist or doctor can help with physical or emotional challenges.

– Stay Playful: 

  Laughter, flirting, and shared adventures can reignite connection.

Communicating Your Needs

– Use “I” statements: “I miss feeling close to you,” or “I’d love to try something new together.”

– Schedule regular check-ins—these don’t have to be heavy, just honest and caring.

– Remember, your needs matter—and so do your partner’s.

Aging changes a lot, but it doesn’t have to mean losing intimacy or connection. With understanding, empathy, and a willingness to adapt, couples can find new ways to love—and be loved—through every season of life.