My mother used to tell me a fable. One passed down from mother to daughter, about a woman who would get trapped in her mind more and more as she aged. She’d return less and less to the present with each year. The only solution was to find a savior to pull her from her mind and ground her before it was too late. If she didn’t, she would get stuck forever.
Lost to wonder in memory alone.
I think the only fault of my mother and all the women before her was their belief that it had to be another, that they alone couldn’t save themselves. For many of them, I’m certain they didn’t have a choice, the time requiring dependency, but I do. The solution to the story is that the savior is now and always was themselves. It was never about finding the right person; it was realizing you were the right person all along. I couldn’t save my mother, and that is okay. But I can and will save myself, and if I ever have a daughter of my own, she will not hear the same story.