“The Yearning for Autonomy.”

 The Yearning for a Room of My Own

Once every week or fortnight, a thought comes knocking.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough to disturb the peace I have carefully stitched together.

What if I earned enough to never have to seek permission from anyone? What if I had a safe place of my own? A little corner of the world where I could simply be myself—without explanations, judgements, or the constant need to prove that I am enough?

I am not yearning for luxury. I am yearning for freedom.

The freedom to make choices without feeling answerable. To have a roof that feels like mine, a space that holds no conditions, and a silence that doesn't demand an explanation. A place where I am accepted, not assessed; loved, not measured.

Perhaps that is why the thought keeps returning. Maybe it isn't greed knocking at my door. Maybe it is a part of me asking for financial independence, emotional safety, and the dignity of having choices.

But is this a myth? Or can a woman turn this quiet yearning into reality, even when life has already assigned her so many roles?

I don't have all the answers. Yet I know this much: dreams don't become impossible simply because they arrive late. Sometimes, they arrive late because we have spent years putting everyone else's needs before our own.

Perhaps I need to stop dismissing this recurring thought as restlessness and give it a name.

My yearning for autonomy. My longing for a home within myself—and perhaps, one day, a home of my own.

I may not know exactly how to get there yet. But I can begin: by earning, saving, planning, and slowly building a life in which my choices belong to me.

Because a safe place need not be a grand house with a beautiful view. Sometimes, it is simply a life where you no longer have to ask for permission to breathe freely.

And if this yearning keeps knocking, perhaps I should stop shutting the door.

Perhaps it is not a myth.

Perhaps it is me, finally asking myself to come home.

— Juju’s Pearls