DEDICATION

To all the women who have ever loved in silence.

To those who swallowed their "I love you" not because they didn’t feel it, but because they were afraid of what might follow. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of the consequences. Afraid of losing even the little piece they had. To those who kept their love tucked away in the corners of their hearts, hidden behind polite smiles and unfinished texts.

To the women who have ever loved without permission.

Without promises.

Without being chosen.

This is for you.

To the ones who were told they were too emotional, too intense, too complicated.

To those who were judged harshly for giving too much and receiving too little.

For staying even when your intuition screamed to leave.

For hoping when logic said “let go.”

For loving someone who only ever gave you fragments, while you were ready to offer them everything.

To those who felt guilty just for feeling.

For loving in a world that told them they should know better.

For falling into spaces that were already occupied.

For becoming “the other woman,” not because they wanted to, but because they saw something real, and chose to believe in it—even if it came in broken pieces.

To the ones who spent nights wondering if they were enough.

To those who stayed up replaying every word, every silence, trying to decode what they did wrong.

To the women who broke themselves into smaller versions just to be loved a little longer.

You were never the problem.

You were never too much.

You were never wrong for loving.

Loving is never a mistake.

The pain only comes from giving your heart to someone who didn’t know what to do with it.

Someone who didn’t know how to hold your tenderness, who couldn’t see your worth, who only wanted the version of you that didn’t make demands.

But even then—hear this clearly—the love you gave was not wasted.

It was real.

It was brave.

It was your truth.

And that truth deserves to be honored.

You are not weak for feeling deeply.

You are not foolish for believing in love, even when it hurt.

You are powerful—for choosing to feel, to give, to hope.

That is not a flaw. That is your courage.

This diary, this story, is not just mine.

It is yours too.

It’s a space to release the guilt, the shame, the silence.

To finally say the things you were never allowed to say.

To give your heart a soft place to land.

If you were ever loved in the shadows, today is the day you start loving yourself in the light.

With no apologies.

With no hesitation.

You do not have to shrink to fit into someone else's limited capacity for love.

You deserve fullness.

You deserve to be seen, chosen, and held—entirely.

So to the woman who has ever asked, “What was wrong with me?”—

The answer is nothing.

Nothing at all.

You were just someone who loved with her whole heart in a world that sometimes only loves in halves.

But even then, your love was never less.

It made you brave.

This is for you. For me. For us.

Because our stories matter.

Because our hearts deserve a voice.

Because silence is no longer enough.

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