Sable Monroe

I shouldn’t have been reading books like this at twelve.

But I was. And my mother knew.

She even said it out loud sometimes—that I shouldn’t be reading those kinds of books. That they were too adult. Too much.

But then she would look at my report card.

My test scores were high. My reading level kept climbing. Teachers were impressed.

So she made a decision.

She let me keep reading them.

Not only that—she eventually got me my own subscription. Because I was going through her books too fast and running out of material.

So in her mind, it balanced out.

Maybe it wasn’t appropriate… but it was working.

And that’s how I ended up reading Zebra romance novels at twelve.

Adult stories. Grown people emotions. Desire. Power. Protection. Love that looked nothing like what I saw at home.

That’s why my reading level was so high.

I wasn’t reading children’s books. I was reading adult realities.

Those books did something for me that my real life couldn’t. They showed me tenderness. They showed me men who didn’t yell, didn’t intimidate, didn’t put their hands on women in anger. They showed me a version of love that felt calm instead of chaotic.

I didn’t read them for sex.

I read them for safety.

And because I didn’t have real-life examples, I started building a template in my head.

He had to look like the covers. Long hair. Preferably dark. Soft but strong. Not overly aggressive. Not intimidating. I wasn’t into the exaggerated masculinity. Even back then, my brain rejected anything that felt too forceful.

I thought if he looked like that, maybe he would act like that.

Maybe he would be safe.

So when I started dating, I filtered through that lens.

And to be fair, I got something right.

I chose men who didn’t hurt me physically.

That was not an accident.

That was a standard I built early, and I held onto it.

But here’s what I didn’t realize at the time:

Not being harmed is not the same as being protected.

I thought I was getting close to the full picture. I thought I had found “good men” because they weren’t violent. Because they weren’t loud. Because they didn’t create fear.

But what I was actually finding were men who were neutral.

They didn’t harm me.

But they didn’t hold me either.

They weren’t dangerous.

But they weren’t protective.

And there’s a difference.

A man can be non-violent and still leave you emotionally unsupported. Still leave you to carry everything on your own. Still be passive when you need presence. Still disappear when things require strength.

So I ended up with something that looked like progress, but still felt like absence.

I got the non-violence.

But I didn’t get the protection.

And for a long time, I told myself that was enough.

Because compared to what I came from, it felt like a win.

And in some ways, it was.

But now I understand something I didn’t understand back then.

Peace isn’t just the absence of harm.

Peace is presence.

Peace is consistency.

Peace is someone who doesn’t just avoid hurting you, but actively makes you feel safe, seen, and supported.

Those books gave me a starting point.

They taught me what not to accept.

Now I’m learning what I actually deserve.