There’s a voice in me that says I need to have everything sorted.
The house spotless.
The social life full.
The relationship locked in.

It’s a pushing voice—anxious, restless.
It says: if you don’t act now, you’ll be alone forever.

But I’m starting to see whose voice that really is.
It’s not mine.
It’s my mother’s.

She’s one of the most anxious people I’ve ever known.
Not just because of life—but because of how she clings to anxiety like it’s keeping her safe. The constant news-watching, the catastrophizing, the sense that peace must be earned through suffering. That energy lived in my home growing up.

But now? There’s another voice emerging.
A gentler one. A wiser one.

It tells me:
There are more people out there than I think.
More women who’ve found peace in themselves.
More women who don’t want to settle either.
More women who would love someone who is emotionally available, financially stable, physically grounded, and family-oriented.

And I realise—I’m rare in that way.

I care.
I listen.
I protect.
And I leave when I’m not met.

I don’t need perfect.
I just need someone willing to co-create something real.
Something better than solitude.

And that’s the thing—I love solitude.
It’s where I heal, where I grow, where I feel most like myself.
So anyone who steps into my life has to be sweeter than solitude.

Not louder.
Not flashier.
Just… deeper.

And I’m not worried.
Because now I know—connection won’t come from pushing.
It will come from living. From being.

A conversation on a dog walk.
A moment in a course.
A quiet “hello” that somehow feels like home.

That’s how it happens.
Not from force. But from resonance.