I loved someone once
before either of us
had the words for who we were.

They were uncomfortable
in ways I could feel
but not name.

So I adapted.
I softened.
I respected boundaries
I didn’t fully understand.

And slowly,
I learned something
many people never do.

That love
is not the same
as compatibility.

That care
does not mean
you stay.

And that sometimes
the kindest thing you can do
is leave
before you both break.

—

Years later,
they found themselves.
And I was happy for them.

Quietly.

From a distance
that was necessary
but never quite easy.

—

I carried that lesson forward.

Into my children.
Into my home.
Into the way I hold space
for young people
who are still becoming.

I do not rush them.
I do not correct them.
I do not ask them
to be certain.

I let them be.

—

Because I have seen
what happens
when someone cannot
be who they are
fast enough
for the world around them.

—

I have opened my home
to those who needed somewhere safe.

I have stood between
fear
and a child
who did not deserve it.

Call it what you like.
I know what it was.

—

I watch this generation now
with something close to awe.

Their language is evolving.
Their boundaries are clearer.
Their understanding of consent
is sharper than ours ever was.

And some people resist that.

But I don’t.

Because I can see it
for what it is.
Not fragility.
Progress.

—

I am not perfect.
But I am safe.

And sometimes,
in a world that is still catching up,
that is enough.

— Frost ❄️