Saffron

I was adopted when I was four, and from that day, I never really knew who I was. Somewhere along the way, I started hurting myself—physically and emotionally—through self-harm and overeating. I fell into my first relationship at thirteen and honestly, I’ve barely known what it’s like to be single since.

I stayed—not because it was good for me, but because I didn’t know how to be without someone. I begged people to take me back after breakups, even when I was mistreated. From 15 to 28, my life was a mess of toxic relationships, addiction, chaos, and trauma. I lost myself in substances and the intoxicating pull of broken love. I endured miscarriages and assaults, found and lost jobs, and moved more times than I can count. I was constantly chasing the next high or the next person, anything to fill the hole inside.

At 28, I got clean. No drink, no drugs. But I couldn’t put down the desperate hunger for connection, for sex, for someone to want me. That craving stayed with me, loud and raw.

I tried casual, I have tried serious, I have dated men, I have dated women; still yet to find out how love works. 

The last 34 months have been an emotional rollercoaster filled with turbulent relationships, heartache, confusion, and moments of hope. It’s been a time of constant ups and downs—where love and pain often felt tangled—and where I battled to find stability amidst the chaos.

Now, I’m standing here—31, single for the first time EVER—caught between wanting to settle down and build a family, and feeling completely lost with no idea how to even begin. I’m stepping into this chapter blind, terrified of what’s coming, but holding on to a stubborn hope that maybe, just maybe, I can learn to love myself first.

This mess, this pain, this vulnerability—that’s my story. Not perfect, not neat, but real. And it’s mine.