When I was a child, I used to fall asleep on a folding bed beside my parents. I remember feeling scared sometimes, but then I’d glance over, and there they were. My father, my mother. Just their presence made me feel safe. So I’d close my eyes and drift off, knowing I was looked after.

As I grew up, I was taught, subtly, sweetly, that one day I’d find someone else to make me feel that way. A man who’d love me, protect me, hold me through the storms. That love meant safety. That security meant someone showing up, someone staying.

But life, little by little, taught me otherwise.

It’s not wrong to want love. It’s not weak to need comfort.

But making someone else responsible for your sense of safety, emotionally, financially, even spiritually, is not love. It’s a weight.

Even the kindest partner can’t carry that forever.

I understand now why, when I once messaged someone here in the UK that I wasn’t doing well, she simply replied:

“Please look after yourself.”

At first, it felt distant. But now, I see the wisdom. It wasn’t dismissal. It was empowerment.

We don’t live in palaces anymore. We don’t have to sleep on one side of the bed, waiting for someone to validate our existence. We don’t have to stay small just to be loved.

So I am learning, at 35, to be the one who shows up for me.

To take up space in the bed.

To make seaweed soup when I need soothing.

To earn, to save, to rest, to rage, to reflect.

And if I find a love like Jinwoo’s or Tanjiro’s: kind, steady, genuine, I will look after him, too.

Not because I need him to rescue me. But because loving each other softly is its own kind of power.

Here’s to the women who waited.

And here’s to the women who don’t anymore.

I’m learning to be my own safe place.

https://open.spotify.com/track/0GMs3jq70wmCo12pavj4st?si=5mQgypgQSNCBGwx41dJvKg