I Want my Brain Cells Off When I’m With Him

don’t get me wrong, read what I mean.

After some things that happened in my life, heartbreaks, disappointments, lessons disguised as people, I made myself a promise:
I don’t need a man to feel whole.

And I meant it. I stopped building my self-worth around someone else’s presence. I stopped tying my future to anyone but myself. I started handling things, career, decisions, finances, emotions, on my own terms. No lifeboats. No daydreams of being saved. Just me, my spine, and my willpower.

But let me be honest. There’s a big “but” in this story.

Because for all that independence, all that resilience, what woman doesn’t want to feel safe in someone’s arms?
Not out of weakness. Not out of dependency. But because strength shouldn’t have to be worn 24/7.

I lead a department. I manage projects, deadlines, people. I make decisions, solve problems, stay composed. I wear the “strong woman” label like armor. And I wear it well.

But after a long day of being the woman who “has it all together,” I don’t want to keep leading.
I want to be held.
I want to fall apart a little.
I want someone who makes me feel like it’s okay to not be okay.

I want to come home, throw my bag on the floor, and curl into someone who doesn’t expect me to explain, perform, or impress. Someone who doesn’t see my tears as weakness, but as honesty. Someone whose presence quiets my mind, not because he fixes everything, but because he gets it. Because he sees me.

Someone who texts, “Be ready at 9, I have something for you.”
Someone who says, “You don’t have to cook today, I’ll manage.”
Someone who makes you feel wanted in bed, not like it’s something you’re supposed to do out of obligation or routine, but because you’re desired. Because you’re seen. Because you’re cherished.
Small gestures that say: You can rest now. I’ve got you.

I want to feel safe enough to stop thinking.
Safe enough to stop analyzing.
Safe enough to let my “strong woman” costume slide off and just… exist.

Call it softness, call it surrender, call it feminine energy, whatever it is, I crave that space.
Not because I’m incomplete, but because I’m human.

Because even the most independent woman wants a place where she doesn’t have to be in control.
Where she’s not the boss, or the fixer, or the hero.
Where she’s just… loved. Held. Heard.

Where she’s allowed to melt. To cry. To breathe.

So no, I don’t need a man to complete me. But I do want one who makes me feel like I don’t have to keep proving I can do it all, all the time.

I want to be strong in the world and soft in his arms.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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