Still, I know he is not my savior. I know I am. I know it’s not his word above my own, even if he says really lovely words. I know, if his actions start to show a lack of care, the love I have for myself will carry me away. I don’t lay in my bed at night and fret over that. I don’t pick fights in anticipation of that happening.

Spite doesn’t sustain the evolution, it just lights the fire.

He shows up for me in ways younger me would have leaned on completely. I probably would have seen him as some sort of savior.

So sure, I have scars that remind me of men. But I have a heart that reminds me of me .

Men have come in fits and bursts. I won’t downplay the impact because it has been too large to express. Our relationship to men, inside or outside of romantic contexts, has a quantifiable impact on our health. Mental, physical, even spiritual.