For most of my life, I wasn’t brave. I was the cautious one, the mother who worried too much, the woman who tried to do everything right but somehow always felt like she was missing something. I raised my daughter with all the love I had, but in the process, I forgot about myself.
There were years when I buried my own desires—thinking only of survival, of bills, of keeping her safe. I told myself that being a good mother was enough, even if it meant being a lonely woman. But when I watched my daughter grow strong and fearless, I realized how fragile I had allowed myself to become. She was stepping into the world with fire in her heart, while I was quietly fading into the background.
Now that she has her own life, the silence in my home has become unbearable. I’ve achieved stability, yes. But I’ve sacrificed laughter, passion, intimacy. And I don’t want to keep sacrificing.
I don’t know what the future holds—whether I’ll meet someone who wants to build a life with me, or simply share a fleeting moment of tenderness that makes the night less cold. What I do know is that I’m ready. Ready to feel alive again. Ready to be a woman, not just a mother.
Because I’ve learned that strength isn’t about being alone. Sometimes, strength is admitting you need someone beside you.
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