The hardest part was facing what this choice would mean—being parentless, fully and finally. One parent left when I was a little girl, and the other was someone I spent my entire life trying to earn love from. Cutting ties meant surrendering to a grief I’d carried since childhood: the grief of never having the parents I longed for. It meant acknowledging a painful truth—that sometimes love is given in ways that wound more than they nourish.

And listen, that’s just my truth. I know plenty of women who were born to be moms—women who can’t wait to cheer from the sidelines of a soccer game, who thrive on organizing school events, who find the very essence of fulfillment in raising tiny humans. And I believe them when they say there’s no greater love.

But I also believe that I would not feel the same.

Masculine energy is all about action: assertiveness, logic, goal-setting, rationality, and doing. It’s the drive to get stuff done. Feminine energy, on the other hand, is about intuition, empathy, creativity, receptivity, and connection. It’s the art of being rather than doing. Both are essential. But in a culture that glorifies hustle, independence, and non-stop productivity, it’s easy to lose yourself in the masculine. We wear burnout like a badge of honor, convincing ourselves that slowing down means falling behind.