What if much of modern woman’s gospel of independence is little more than a smokescreen for cowardice: the terror of needing someone too much - because her deepest love is so consuming, she must defend against it by pathologising it rather than surrendering to its beauty?

What if the obsession with self-reliance is little more than the fear of romantic totality disguised as virtue by the ego?

What if, the fiercest and most courageous women then aren't the ones most fortified in their self-reliance, but the ones who are truest to their hearts, and so dare with the entirety of their being to love fully, deeply, and with complete abandon?

What if feminine potency is to refuse to play it safe, to walk willingly into the fire and say "I want the best this existence has to offer, so give it to me, let me earn my place!"