I was barely out of kindergarten the first time someone told me to think like a wife.

I was seven. Just seven. Complaining about the onions in my food when my aunt threw out, “What if your husband likes onions?”
Husband? At seven? I was more worried about cartoons and scraped knees, not a man’s food preferences.

But that was the seed—the beginning of a long, uninvited script written by everyone but me.

As girls, we’re not just raised—we’re prepped. Conditioned. Groomed. It’s subtle at first, then all-encompassing. Don’t talk too much, men don’t like loud women. Don’t be too successful, you might intimidate him. Smile more. Be soft. Learn how to cook—not for yourself, but for him. Dress “decently” for his respect. Be everything… for someone else.

And the question starts to whisper louder in your head as you grow:
Am I allowed to live for myself?

At some point, I realized the world wasn’t just teaching me how to be—it was teaching me how to fit. Into a mold. A role. A fantasy that never really included my freedom.

My mom once asked why I won’t bother pounding yam. I told her the truth—it’s exhausting. She laughed and said, “What if your husband likes it?”
This time, I didn’t hold back: Then he’ll pound it himself. Or we’ll order it.

Her silence said everything.

And it’s not just food. It’s life. We’re made to believe our worth is tied to someone else’s comfort. That our choices must be filtered through the lens of a future man’s preferences. That independence is fine—as long as it doesn’t threaten “his place.”

But I’m tired of being told to shrink. To wait. To mold myself for someone I haven’t met. To be a shadow in a story that’s not mine.

What if I never want to marry?
What if my dreams don’t come with a plus one?
What if I’m enough—on my own?

The truth is, some people get uncomfortable when a woman dares to exist outside of a man’s orbit. When she says “no,” not out of rebellion, but out of clarity. When she says, “I choose me,” without guilt.

And if that’s what discomfort looks like, so be it.

Because I’m not living in the waiting room of someone else’s future.
I’m not here to earn love through obedience.
I’m not here to soften every edge until I disappear.

I am not here for him.

I am here for me.