On Breaking Free from Tradition, Trusting My Readiness, and Honoring the Life That Feels True

There’s a quiet tension I’ve carried for most of my adult life.

It doesn’t scream, but it hums beneath conversations, behind glances, in the pause after someone asks, “So when are you getting married?” or “Don’t you want children before it’s too late?”

They don’t mean harm. These questions often come wrapped in concern, in culture, in care. But each time I hear them, something in me recoils—not because I’m afraid of love or motherhood, but because I refuse to be rushed into either by fear, deadlines, or tradition.

The Invisible Script I Never Chose

Growing up, it always seemed like there was a path already carved out for me:

Be a good daughter. Be agreeable. Be soft, but not too soft.

And when you reach a certain age—get married. Have children. Build a family.

Because that’s what a “fulfilled” woman does.

And for a while, I tried to follow that path. I tried to make myself want what I was told I should want—at the expected time, in the expected way.

But the more I tuned in to my heart, the more I realized…

This life isn’t one-size-fits-all. And my soul doesn’t bloom on command.

I don’t want a love born out of urgency.

I don’t want a marriage rooted in pressure.

I don’t want to bring a child into the world simply because I’m running out of time on someone else’s clock.

Love, Marriage, and Motherhood on My Terms

I believe in love. Deeply. Softly. Fiercely.

But I also believe in waiting for the kind of love that makes me feel safe in my softness. The kind of love that doesn’t need to be chased or forced—it becomes, like sunlight breaking through after years of clouds.

If I marry, it will be because I’ve found someone who truly sees me—not the polished version, not the girl who fits the mold, but the woman who lives from her soul.

I want to marry when I’m ready, not when the calendar says it’s time.

I want to marry someone I can share a life with—not just a house or a last name.

And if I choose to become a mother, it will be a sacred decision.

Not something I do to keep up with others or to make my family proud.

But something I choose with my whole heart—with reverence, with readiness, with love so deep it becomes the very soil my child grows in.

Breaking the Cycle, Choosing My Own Rhythm

Sometimes I still feel trapped in the weight of expectations.

The subtle suggestion that a woman isn’t truly complete until she’s a wife. Until she’s a mother.

But I’ve come too far to reduce myself to a checklist.

I am already whole.

Not because of what I’ve achieved, or who I belong to, or what title I hold—but because I wake up each day and choose truth over fear.

I know that my life may look different from what others imagined for me.

And I’m learning to be okay with that.

Because the life I’m building isn’t for anyone else’s approval.

It’s for the version of me who once felt like she had to fit in just to be loved.

With love, trust, and full permission to bloom in my own season,

Seraphine Duong

I am not against tradition.

But I am against timelines that steal joy.

I am against rushing something as sacred as love, as motherhood, as becoming.

So I wait.

Not in stillness, but in strength.

Not in fear, but in fullness.

Not because I’m unsure, but because I know myself now.

And when love comes, when life calls, when motherhood (if ever) arrives—

It will not be because I was told it’s time.

It will be because I heard the quiet whisper of my soul say, Now, I’m ready.