Mabe It Was Never Daughters

I used to say I’d have daughters.
I thought it made sense.

I didn’t have a mother.
So somewhere along the way, I told myself a story—
I’ll become what I didn’t have.

It felt noble.
It felt healing.
It felt… expected.

But if I’m honest,
it also felt like a box.

Another quiet way of deciding my life
before I ever really lived it.

Lately, I’ve been freeing myself
from the cages I didn’t realize I built.

Letting go of the idea
that there’s only one path,
one story,
one way to make meaning out of my past.

Life isn’t one assignment.
It’s choose your adventure.

And I’m realizing—
I had been choosing an adventure
that wasn’t aligned.

That discomfort I felt?
That resistance?

It wasn’t confusion.
It was truth knocking.

This morning, I sat in my backyard—
sun rising behind me,
a quiet stream reflecting,
trees holding me in place.

And it became clear.

Not forced.
Not reasoned.
Just… known.

Sons.

I will have sons.

And suddenly—
everything opened.

My future felt wide instead of narrow.
Light instead of heavy.
Aligned instead of assigned.

Because the truth is…
the thought of raising daughters felt like pressure.

But the thought of raising sons?

Feels like joy.
Feels like purpose.
Feels like me.

Maybe it’s faith.
Maybe it’s intuition.
Maybe it’s simply choosing differently.

But it’s my story.

And for the first time,
I’m not writing it from what I lacked—

I’m writing it from what I feel.

I will raise boys.
And I will raise them well.

Because I already know how to love them. My sons will wear crowns.