“You’ll have a hard time finding a man,” my mother used to say, half-joking, half-serious. As a child, I’d roll my eyes or laugh it off, dismissing her words as just another one of her offhand remarks. But as the years passed, I started to wonder if she had seen something in me long before I ever recognized it in myself.

Maybe she wasn’t trying to discourage me but rather preparing me for the reality that I was never going to fit into the mold of traditional love. I was never the girl who dreamed of a white picket fence, who longed for a man to complete her. From a young age, I craved freedom—the kind that let me chase adventure without looking back, the kind that didn’t require me to ask for permission. I had opinions, strong ones, and I never mastered the art of softening them to make myself more appealing. I never wanted to bend too much, to mold myself into someone else’s expectations.

Sometimes, her words echo in my mind, making me wonder—was she warning me, or was she challenging me? Was she telling me to change, to make things easier for myself? Or was she simply acknowledging that the love I seek—the kind that doesn’t require me to shrink—would be harder to find?

I don’t want her words to be true. But if they are, I hope it’s only because I’m meant to find someone truly worth waiting for—someone who doesn’t just tolerate my wild spirit, but loves me for it.