Little Mama Boss Babe Still Needs Loving Too
- lthornton6
- May 20
- 3 min read
Last night, I had one of those dreams that stays with you long after you wake up. The kind where you open your eyes the next morning and still feel the softness of it sitting on your chest like a warm blanket. And honestly, maybe taking double Lyrica to calm my nerves helped a little, but whatever caused it, the dream felt peaceful in a way real life has not lately.

In the dream, somebody was lying beside me while the room stayed dim and quiet. No chaos. No pressure. No phone buzzing every five minutes. No mentally juggling work, advocacy, responsibilities, and everybody else’s emotions all at once. Just stillness. We were half asleep, tangled up in blankets, talking softly about absolutely nothing important. Laughing a little. Existing. And honestly, I think that was the part that got me the most. Nobody needed anything from me in that moment. I was not fixing problems or answering emails or trying to hold everything together. I was just resting while somebody held me close and reminded me that everything was going to be alright.
There was something almost healing about how simple the dream was. Somebody is brushing my hair back gently. A forehead kiss. Quiet reassurance. No grand romantic movie moment. Just softness. The kind that makes your nervous system finally unclench for a second after staying in survival mode too long.

And when I woke up this morning, I realized something.
People forget sometimes that the “little mama boss babe” still needs loving, too.
People see the polished version first. The confidence. The iced coffee in one hand while I’m handling business with the other. The meetings. The social media work. The advocacy. The humor. The ability to keep going even when life feels heavy. People see capability and assume that capability cancels out softness.
But it does not.
The truth is, strong women still need rest. Independent women still need reassurance. Women who spend their lives carrying responsibilities, supporting others, and proving themselves to the world still want gentleness, too. Somewhere along the way, people start admiring your survival skills so much that they forget survival itself can be exhausting.
And honestly, disability advocacy adds another layer to that feeling.

When you spend your life proving your competence, proving your voice matters, and proving you belong in spaces people never expected you to enter, you can accidentally become emotionally overdeveloped in public and emotionally touch-starved in private. You become “the strong one.” The inspirational one. The dependable one. Meanwhile, your nervous system is quietly sitting in the corner whispering, “Can somebody baby me for like… five minutes?”
I think that is why the dream stayed with me so much. It was not really about romance. It was about relief. About feeling safe enough to relax for once instead of constantly preparing for the next thing. About being comforted before reaching complete burnout.
Because softness and strength were never opposites.
Wanting comfort does not erase independence. Needing reassurance does not make somebody weak. Rest is not laziness. Tenderness is not failure. And being capable does not mean somebody stops deserving care.

I think a lot of women, especially the ones constantly holding everything together, secretly crave gentleness more than they admit. Not because they cannot survive without it. They absolutely can. That is the problem. They have become so good at surviving that people forget they deserve softness, too.
So yes, the little mama boss babe can lead meetings, advocate for change, juggle deadlines, survive disappointment, keep everybody laughing, and still want peace. Still want warmth. Still want somebody to calm her nervous system and remind her she does not have to perform strength every second of the day.




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