Perspective is everything.

There’s one text from my ex-husband that’s been seared into my memory—not because it was romantic, or dramatic, or life-changing. But because it was… relentlessly Michael Scott.

It read:

“Michael Scott, too loud. Michael Scott, too loud. Michael Scott, too loud…”

Over and over. It just kept going.

Like some modern version of “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

At the time, I half expected him to burst through the bathroom door with an axe.

He was so sick of me watching The Office every morning as I got ready for work.

He didn’t understand the obsession.

He didn’t feel the comfort in Michael’s voice, or Dwight’s chaos, or Pam’s dry humor the way I did.

To me, it wasn’t just background noise.

It was ritual. A strange kind of emotional pre-workout.

A buffer between my softness and the world outside.

Sure, blasting it at full volume at 5 AM while he tried to sleep may not have been ideal (I’ll own that)… but it was my thing.

Fast forward to the darkest months of my separation, when nights blurred into dawns and I’d lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to regulate my breathing.

Trying not to spiral.

Trying to survive.

And there it was again.

The Office.

The show that once drove him crazy… saved me.

Irony is funny that way.

There’s one episode I’ve always loved more than the rest: the day Michael meets Holly.

She’s replacing Toby, the infamous HR rep Michael despised.

Now, if you’re a fan, you already know—Michael didn’t hate Toby for any real reason.

He hated him because he represented rules.

Structure.

Accountability.

All the things Michael didn’t want interrupting his chaotic joy.

But Holly?

She was also HR.

She was also structure.

But Michael saw himself in her.

The difference? She was structured with softness. A mirror of who he could be if he let down the armor.

And that changed everything.

I didn’t realize the weight of that scene until I stepped into the role of HR myself.

Today, I had to let someone go unexpectedly.

And as I sat there trying to balance empathy with firmness, it hit me—I’ve become what I used to avoid.

The person who makes tough calls.

The “Toby” in someone else’s story.

But… I also felt something else.

A strange, settled strength.

Like I was finally embodying what my old pastor once called his wife:

A velvet hammer.

Soft… but strong.

Compassionate… but clear.

Human… but whole.

I’ve had a hard time meeting myself in the middle lately.

I used to be the softest person.

Sensitive to everything. Crying at the drop of a hat.

And then came the heartbreak. The betrayal. The trauma.

And just like that, I hardened.

Not because I wanted to.

Because I had to.

To survive.

And somewhere in the rubble, I forgot how to hold both—

The sensitivity and the structure.

The Toby and the Holly.

The chaos and the calm.

But I’m learning now.

Sometimes, the thing we think we hate the most… is the thing that saves us.

Sometimes, we fall in love with exactly what we tried to run from.

Sometimes, it’s just a shift in perspective.

Michael didn’t hate Toby.

He hated what Toby symbolized.

But once he saw it differently—in Holly—he found love.

Maybe I will too.

Maybe after all the pain, all the armor, all the echoing silence of what I lost…

Maybe there’s someone who will see me as I am—velvet hammer and all.

Until then, I’m just grateful.

Grateful for the lessons.

Grateful for the growth.

Grateful that I can be the softness and the strength… even when I feel like neither.

And maybe—just maybe—I’ll find my Holly among all the Tobys one day.