The Potty Mouth Granny

Any man threatened by your independence, your intellect, your spirituality, your sensuality, or your refusal to play small is not for you. He may be fascinated by you. He may desire you. But he is not built to walk beside you.

Men like that don’t want a woman; they want a dimmer switch. They want brilliance they can brag about, but only if it stays quiet when their ego starts sweating. They call your power “too much” because it exposes everything they haven’t made peace with inside themselves. Your light doesn’t intimidate strong men. It reveals weak ones.

A man who is for you doesn’t compete with your mind or flinch at your voice. He doesn’t ask you to soften what made you extraordinary. He doesn’t need you to play smaller so he can feel larger. He meets you eye to eye, soul to soul, fully aware that loving you means expanding himself—or stepping aside.

As for me? At my vast age, I don’t think I’ve ever been accepted by a man. Not fully. Not without conditions.

That doesn’t mean I wasn’t loved in the ways they were capable of loving. I was. But love without appreciation is a narrow room. They loved what they could manage, what didn’t challenge them, what felt familiar.

None of them truly appreciated the woman I am—the depth, the mind, the evolution, the becoming. And that realization doesn’t break me. It frees me. Because now I know the difference between being desired and being seen.