You weren’t drawn to submission because a man demanded your obedience—you were drawn because somewhere inside, the thought of setting down your crown whispered like relief.
The tragedy wasn’t in your desire. The tragedy was in the one who twisted it. He used your brilliance as a window display, when in truth, you were the whole cathedral.
Some people mistake power for the ability to bend others—but I think real power is when someone trusts you enough to set something precious down in your hands. A crown. A secret. A silence.
It isn’t about being less than. It’s about knowing the weight you’ve carried doesn’t have to be carried alone. That’s the part most get wrong. They take. They display. They break what was never theirs to break.
But what lingers with me is this: maybe the truest form of strength is choosing when—and with whom—you’ll finally rest. Not because you couldn’t stand on your own, but because you see someone who won’t let you fall.
Because I’ll tell you this—
A real man doesn’t want your obedience cheap. A real man doesn’t want what any man could trick or coerce from you.
A real man wants the kind of surrender only a giant could give—the woman who commands rooms, topples giants, and still chooses to bend only for him.
That isn’t control. That’s devotion. That’s power freely given.
Some men mistake domination for display—turning women into trophies, costumes, or roles. But that isn’t strength; that’s theft.
Real power is quieter. It lives in the moment someone looks at you and decides to put something down—not because they are weak, but because they’ve found the rare one who won’t let it shatter.
Maybe that’s why the question “Why submit?” lingers so heavy.
It isn’t about being less.
It’s about finally finding a place where the armor can rest. Where the fire doesn’t burn you, but warms you.
And I wonder… perhaps the truest measure of strength isn’t how long you’ve carried it alone, but who you finally decide to hand it to—
and why.
But you’re Precious enough to already know the answer