I really don’t know if I’ve ever been better than I am now.

I’m writing here because a few of my followers have recently mentioned they miss when I write, which is so incredibly sweet to me, since I always assumed no one read these articles. I guess I stopped writing so often because it never felt “good enough” or rather something to put in a journal than online. However, that’s a silly mentality about something that makes me so happy and challenges me to practice writing.

So, what have I been up to? Quite a lot actually. I may have Carrie Bradshawed too close to the Sun. Lots of wine, cigarettes, getting hurt by men, and most definitely putting myself out there. Although I cannot lie, just this little bit of success really has changed my life.

I know all my dreams are coming true, and every day I feel proud of myself for doing so. Let alone, independently.

A recent thought for me, possibly a struggle, is how many unimportant things we have made important in our society. And I, no better than anyone, am definitely a victim of it. However, when we see it day to day, and then in our friendships and relationships, it becomes evident how silly it all is.

I’m still struggling with judging others, being severely unimpressed by most people. And as we change, grow, try to better ourselves, and honestly become a new person, all our people from the past and previous places are suddenly so different. Were they always like this, or am I different now? Or am I the same, and they’ve changed? I’m not sure which; most likely it’s a combination of both.

I do know all these feelings are completely okay and normal. It doesn’t mean we need to shut anyone out, or remove such relationships. But find new people as well, who feel aligned with who we are now, not who we were then.

And I’ve found this solution works best for me. I have loved ones from all stages of my life, who will always be in my life, only in different ways, amounts, and reasons.

I’ve been thinking a lot too about what I provide as a friend, partner, family member, coworker, even stranger. What do I want to provide? Unconditional support, kindness, empathy, tough love, laughter, knowledge, Faith, and more.

The past year, I have been in a fiery phase, finding so much empowerment in speaking my mind and sharing my beliefs. But I’m realizing now, maybe there is power in staying quiet when I’m not in agreement. And emphasis on whether this person is ever really going to change their ways.

Most people will change in many ways, but there are quite a few things every person will probably never change. That is because, inherently, we are who we are; our beliefs are made up of a sum of every experience we’ve ever had and will have. Our first kiss, hometown, grocery list, parents and siblings, dollar amount in our bank account.

It doesn’t mean someone is stuck in their ways if they’re never going to leave their hometown, venture out, study religions, etc. But in my experience, it does mean they’re less likely to change in the future. And nothing is wrong with this; so many people are happy and content where they are in life.

Learning this, when friends, family members, or strangers speak now and say it’s something I disagree with, I smile and think this thought. They are a product of their own life, while I am of my own. I try to close my eyes and pretend I’ve lived their entire life up until this point, and I always open my eyes thinking — yeah, I’d probably say the same thing.

However, I do find people who match my soul more closely every time I change, and I think that’s a beautiful thing that I’d only ever like to continue. I encourage you to as well.

Or stay the same, and I will still smile and love you so.

But alone - Oh, I love to dance. In fact, I pick up my full-length mirror, which is very heavy, and put it across from where I dance (the kitchen), so I can watch myself. My studio is small but after 1.5 glasses of wine I dance in just about every spot I can. I play my music as loud as I can on my speaker or headphones, depending what time of night it is — and I feel and look the sexiest I’ve ever been. I imagine if I smoked weed, this is when I’d probably get as high as a kite.

I reposted a TikTok not long ago, that was a girl sitting on the floor - it said, “When he thinks I like male validation, but I feel sexiest when I’m alone.” This is exactly how I have always felt. Nothing compares to being sensual alone to me. I mean a man is always nice, but I also have never felt sexier than when I’m by myself.

Not even just sexually, I find myself truly struggle to even get myself to go spend time with anyone. Even the people I love most in the world, people I want to want to be with. I have no struggle interacting in social situations; I truly enjoy serving strangers all day long. But there gets to be a point in independence where you wish you wanted to constantly be surrounded with family and friends, like so others many do. I ask myself, What’s wrong with me? Why do I make an excuse every time I’m asked to hang out or go on a date? There’s moderation in everything, obviously. I crave friendships and physical connection but when it comes to the alone time I do have — it’s sacred to me.

As for dancing alone in my room, I believe I’ll do that until I’m 99. Married, I hope I’ll still be doing that and get mad when my husband comes in.

Maybe this is just a phase of wanting to be by myself constantly. Maybe I’ll be in love again soon.

I think of sweet girlfriends from work.

I think of California.

I think of the boy at the beach.

I think of past loves.

I think of all my secrets.

And then I dance.

Where does it start?

My baby pink bedroom as a little girl, frilly and full of babydolls. The room was completely controlled by my mother; as this was my first bedroom, where my round crib sat as a baby.

As a teenager — I then chose a horrific teal and neon pink paint combo. With a princess twin bed, albums I painted hanging, and printed photo collages, poorly taped upon the wall. Something specific I remember of this room was a ornate decorative mirror hanging with a pink lace bow above my bed. Also, that family board games were delegated to my upper closet always, which was not too bad.

In the baby pink room, I believe I was happy because I was too young to know anything otherwise. However, the turquoise room I’ll always remember as my first experiences of depression.

So you are aware — in between the next few, I have my dorm room and an ex boyfriend’s apartment. All you need to know was the dorm was cozy and I was in a very put together, studious time of my life. And for the ex, I was in a very insecure, always do as he said time of my life. I was surrounded by a lot of weed and Grateful Dead hippies, which wasn’t too bad actually. Until it was really bad.

Anyway, the next real bedroom on my list will be my Ram’s Village room. A three bedroom, one bathroom apartment for cheap — next to my collage campus. I was a very happy, slightly manic, then extremely depressed, and eventually non existent girl in this space. I thrifted the cutest, grandmother-like floral yellow bedding, used the ugly prefurnished furniture, and loved living here with a girl best friend of mine.

Next, we have another three bedroom, one bath apartment where I had a teeny bedroom: all white, with surrounding shelves, so all my items were always on display (would not recommend). I was even more depressed, unwell, and at my wits end during this time. Honestly, I don’t even like to think of this bedroom of my time living here. Not sure why I even brought it up.

Next, more in-betweens include moving back home to Texas and staying in temporary bedrooms between my divorced parents, which was honestly a good gig for me for about a year. All you need to know about these rooms are that they were not personalized; this year was meant for healing, taking time with myself, a lot of tears, and even more family time. I couldn’t be more grateful for this year.

Following, we have an adorable, quaint room in the heart of Fort Collins, CO, I decorated full of flowers, paintings, pottery, records, trinkets, with a motif of yellow. This was a happy, happy room for me. First half of the year in this room I worked my ass off in full time school doing an architecture capstone, alongside working part time. Second half I spent waitressing full time and saving, taking a pottery class, and spending as little time as I could here due to my roommates. It was also very hot towards the end with no AC and I had a sweet boyfriend at the time I could stay with who had both air conditioning and love for me. Who would say no to that?

Today, my bedroom is white, light pink, with a large mirror closet and long windows. My princess room I like to call it, and is most definitely the most organized room I’ve ever had. Also the most kept clean room I’ve ever had, which means a lot for my mental stability. It is heavy rainstorms in Hawaii this week, which has gifted me quite a lot of time in this room. Perhaps this is the reason I’m writing this essay of bedrooms.

Long story short, every version of myself has been tied to the room in which I lie, cry, dance, sleep, and sing in. I’ll update you on my next room (hopefully I beautiful fairy girl studio), but for now know that I am happy.

Whoever reads this thank you for looking inside my mind, and thank you for listening to my heart as I write this.

Nay

There’s no kind way to say it; I find myself constantly unimpressed with others.

This manifests itself in many ways — others’ ambitions don’t excite me, their critical thoughts don’t provoke me, goals don’t inspire me, and aesthetics appal me. I constantly try to quiet this voice in my head, tell myself to quiet my ego, and hear others.

As I am getting older and losing and gaining more and more relationships, I have learned this silent judgement is not always a reflection of anyone’s character. To not be impressed by someone is not to say they lack value, but that simply their value system does not align with yours. Arts, hobbies, writing, films, travels, goals, life choices, and etc. will always make us who we are in a sense. If you do not feel in agreement during conversations, would you say that’s a lack of effort or connection?

I find myself in the latter most times, and increasing my effort only in turn increases my frustrations. If others sense you disagree, they may then think you are in resentment towards them. That’s when you truly no longer align with someone. Every conversation holds silent judgement, holding back your true thoughts, and waiting for a phone call to end.

You can respect someone, love someone, and still feel zero pull towards their world.

A problem with morality arises when ego gets involved — thinking statements such as, “I’m better than this, this no longer nourishes me, or we’re just on different levels.” Because no one’s goal, interests, and loves’ are “better” than another, but only different.

I think this gap only feels larger when you no longer accept mainstream culture and in turn feel even more so disconnected from many people. Differences in taste can be misinterpreted as being shallow, unoriginal, or a lack of depth — when we judge eachothers’ interests.

I prefer to be alone most of the time in order to avoid faking interest, excitement, or pressure to become agreeable for the sake of kindness. As women, we are taught to be quiet and well, agreeable. It is a masculine trait to disagree, to assert your opinion and dominance. In that way, I am very masculine.

When we each go through our own struggles and experiences it becomes very hard to not judge one another’s life choices/actions, as we all compare our own to others. It is inevitable, yet something we should always subconsciously be aware of. As well as we can hear another’s life stories, we never truly know what we would do in their shoes, but only our own. At the end of the day, what matters is what we chose to do with our own lives.

I wanted to write this to explore this topic of compatibility being different from morality, and remind myself and others it is okay to be disinterested. It does not make you a bad person unless you begin to think of yourself as better than.

Relationships should never be transactional, but we can only hope to learn from each other, teach one another, and grow together. To give and to receive on both ends in a positive way. After all, we take bits and pieces of the people we love and call it our own.

So continue to let your intuition guide you to what your soul gravitates towards, and remember to listen to your heart as well as you do your mind.

Love,

Naomi

So how can I hold someone tight, as I let them go? That’s all I want to do. To be close, to take care, to monitor their heart.

I think of the question Carrie asks in Sex and the City, “If you loved someone and you break up, where does the love go?” And I ask this to myself right now. Her answer was, “to their next girlfriend.”

My answer is that it never leaves. Love never leaves us, we just keep it close to our hearts. You can speak of it to others, and they will judge you. You can tell your ex, and they will ignore you. Or you can do what everyone else does; think of it alone in your bedroom at night. I don’t want to do that, and to me you’re strange if you do. I want to talk to everyone about love, I want to write of love, and dream of love. So I will.

To the boy who loved to do my soap for me in our showers and wash my body clean. To the boy who made me feel like the prettiest girl in the world. To the boy who would never hurt me. To the boy who felt like I was his home. I love you and will always carry your heart with me.

I wish I truly could hold you tight as I let you go, just as I wish you could come give me a kiss goodnight.

I believe there are the Heavenly Angels who protect us, who watch over us, and listen to our prayers. I believe our past loved ones and the spirit realm consist of so many bright lights who make sure we make it home safe every night.

I also believe there are many Angels living right among us. The people who smile when they are hurting and cry tears of happiness. The people who aid in other’s pain, who use the God within them as their internal compass, and follow their own moral code. God and religion is a personal topic, one I believe should never be forced upon another but one I love to study.

Through my short 24 years, I have actually found the people who try to “force” their religion or egotistically boast their closeness with their God, are people I find to be least connected to any form of a Holy Spirit.

I ask myself this question and encourage you to as well. If you could not label yourself as a Christian, say you go to Church, read the bible, etc. - Would others know you to be devoted to a higher power? To be close with your God? How might they know?

Do your actions prove you to be kind, honest, loyal, unconditional, and understanding?

When someone is struggling, do you make them feel better or worse?

Do you make things about yourself, rather than caring for others?

Do you see the light in others, or do you focus on darkness?

Are you pessimistic or positive?

To me, it is very easy to tell when someone is connected to this light within and genuine in their intentions. No one is perfect, I find myself all the time needing to ground myself and return to source.

But there are people who are close. I never hear my father talk about his faith, but I’ve always watched him practice it in every interaction he has. My mother preaches her own, but I notice it most when she nurtures others. I love speaking of my spirituality, but know it shines most when I just follow my moral compass, even on a mundane day.

The people who try to turn you to their God, their Church, their friends, sometimes prove themselves to be unlike how you’d ever truly want to be.

Growing up in the South, I knew many people who labeled themselves as Christians, led Young Life groups, and tried to redirect everyone to be like them. Only then to prove to be the most unkind people; people who made fun of others for the color of their skin, weight, beauty, sexual orientation, disabilities, or economic status.

Ever since then I have always separated a person’s religion with their actions and morals in my mind, as I have found this is what matters most.

I watched an older interview of Dolly Parton the other day, in which she was speaking on her Spirituality.

I’ve always idolized Dolly, but realized I’d never heard her speak on any religion. In which I then heard her say, “Oh, I live my spirituality. You know, that's how you practice it. Mostly. You just live it and be it. A lot of people overthink spirituality, you know? And they, therefore they think it has to be some big ritual, but the kingdom of heaven is inside. It's right inside of you. And you can draw from that wisdom, whether you call it God or higher wisdom or a higher knowing, there's something bigger than you.”

She finishes by saying you don’t need to go to Church, be a Saint, not have fun, but what truly matters is the “intent of your heart.”

I find this to be a Universal Truth, underlying within every religion.

So in every action I now encourage myself, I encourage you, and any others, to recognize the intent of your heart.

If you want to help others come to your beliefs, convince them through your actions they should want to be like you. With that, they will listen. Without, they will only see you as someone using your Faith as a means of seeming as though you are a better person than others.

When you really follow Spirit, you will realize no one is better than one another, we are all equal, and your Ego was only working against your favor.

Your soul wants to help others, so let it and choose to live through your light instead.

When he threatened to send me home on trips because I didn’t act how he wanted was it?

When he locked me in the car because he didn’t like my outfit was it?

When I lied to the police the first time to protect him was it?

Oh, but when he threw me around the room like a ragdoll was it?

No, but when he broke my phone with his bare hands when I tried to call the police was it?

When he peed on all my clothes and farted in my face like I was a piece of trash? Yes, a man really did this to me.

But don’t forget when he constantly compared his family’s wealth to my own.

When he made fun of my entire family our last night and then bragged to me of the hottest girl he met at the hot springs with me.

When he found out I hung out with a black man and felt comfortable saying the n word.

When he told me he could say so many things that would make me cry all night.

When he said he would ruin my life just because he could.

When his entire phone was naked women and his messages to them begging for their attention.

When he threatened to stalk me at my work, kill himself if I left, and refuse to let me leave on my own no matter how many times I tried.

When he called me being in the hospital out of depression and pain that he drove me to, while knowing how I have always struggled, my “rock bottom in life.”

I actually laugh when I think back to how I thought I was in love with this person so evil and disgusting.

What lies did I tell myself when he cheated on me constantly? When I was never allowed to wear what I wanted? When I was called a whore and a slut?

I was a 19 year old girl, who had never been loved. I never came from healthy love; I’ve never known healthy love. That’s why I forgive myself. I forgive myself because I was kind. Because I was me. Because I’ve only ever craved love and connection. I had no self-worth and he knew that. Because I showed him what being a kind soul is. I showed him what having light from within is. And he will always remember me as that.

He found me as a girl so vulnerable, so innocent to life, and unaware of how she deserved to be treated. A girl with open eyes and a heart full of life. A girl so beautiful on the inside and outside yet with no idea the power that I held. He must’ve thought he’d hit the jackpot! The perfect girl to take all her happiness for himself! To feed his ego until he could break me.

I lied to every person in my life that it was okay, it was normal, everything was under control. I isolated myself, changed myself, broke myself down until I couldn’t even get back to who I was. For a year I couldn’t get out of bed or look at myself in the mirror after. I know that made him smile.

At 20, I didn’t know better. At 30, he always did. An insecure liar, cheater, and abuser is all he’ll ever be. A person run by ego and driven by money. With a thousand fake friends but yet not a single real one. A low-life addict that will never think he has a problem with the pain he causes every person in his life just by being near. A person so uncomfortable in his own skin and secrets. I used to feel so much empathy to heal and help a person who always planned to ruin me on purpose.

I sit and wonder how I ever could’ve thought this was love. I fell in love with everything he pretended to stand for. A boy who I thought was a flower child, a hippie from Texas. Someone who loved people for their souls, rather than their exterior. For wanting to experience this world, to travel, and be one with nature. Someone who didn’t “care” for money, but chose experiences instead. To see the divine within every being and pray for peace. He is the furthest thing from that in the world. The connection he does have to the universe is a dark one at that. A karmic cycle reflected through his own actions. With eyes so evil I could never look into them again.

In reality, with time, I have found that who I dreamed he was - is who I have always have been. Connected to source in the lightest of ways, which I truly say in a humblest of ways, as I have accumulated through serving with kindness, light, empathy, and love.

Why I clung on so desperately when I wish I could tell that girl she always had that within herself. I thought I needed him to be in tune, when I needed myself to just connect and have faith. But I know I was meant to teach him this, as he was for me.

He was always a bad person, he hides behind his facade, but I chose to pretend that he wasn’t. I always knew he would never be the one for me but needed to find out why for myself. He showed me he was a man who cared for no one other than himself; a man who cheats, lies, hurts others with satisfaction and no remorse, and will never spend a day sober in his life.

And I wouldn’t if I were him too.

Some girls dream of a big wedding, a beautiful diamond ring, and three-tiered cake.

I dream of having a baby. I dream of painting my big belly on the beach. I dream of breastfeeding my baby in the sun. I dream of holding their little hand while they take their first step. I dream of singing to my baby every night until they fall asleep. Of dancing with them and making them giggle. Of giving them kisses and anticipating their first words. Of buying little overalls like my mother dressed us in. I dream of waking up to make my family their favorite breakfast.

Every bone in my body wants to nurture and love.

I still want to be with myself and travel and live a hundred lives but I can’t help but dream about the day I have my own little babies.

More photos of me as a baby, also wanting a baby, because they are too cute to not share:

When I think back to this time period of my life, I think people might have thought of me as the girl who cried all the time. But I wish everyone knew I was just a girl who felt so deeply. My entire life I have felt the most beautiful, mesmerizing highs and the most equally beautiful low periods of depression. I am not bipolar and I am not dramatic; I am a girl with a heart too big for her body.

When I am happy, I feel as though I am walking on air. I sing and I skip and I cry out of happiness and I laugh until it hurts. I dance in my bedroom and I paint the beauty flowing though my mind. I write poetry and express my light in every way I can. I truly feel as though I am the most beautiful girl in the world and the world is mine to play in forever. I feel sensual, magnetic, and ethereal. I want to befriend everyone around me; I want to fall in love with someone new every day.

When I am sad, I feel as though my world is crumbling around me. I think of every hard time I have ever been through and I truly do not feel life is worth it. I think of watching my family fall apart. I think of the boy who I thought loved me and chose to abuse me. I feel as though I am the ugliest girl in the world and no one will ever love me the way I hope to be loved. I need medicine and a hospital bed and therapy and to cry until I can’t breathe straight. I don’t want to talk to anyone because I don’t feel the confidence to stand behind anything I say.

I cry on the keyboard I type this on, because I know my heart. I am a girl who feels so deeply. I feel so delicately intertwined with everything and everyone around me. The energy and spirit of anything I come into contact with becomes a part of me.

I feel for the mom who was no longer in love. I feel for the husband who clung on too hard. I feel for the mother who had to do everything by herself. I feel for the father who’d rather work than come home to an unhappy house.

I feel for the girl scared to speak up. I feel for the boy who was scared to lose her.

I feel for the dad who orders waters for the table because their family is on a budget; I feel for the child who wanted a Root Beer. I feel for the mother who orders a salad.

I feel for every person and the reason they make their choices.

I feel for the girl crying on the floor of her AP Physics class.

I feel for the girl in the hospital bed.

I wish I could sit down and tell her; you are kind, you are beautiful, and you always have been. You are just as mesmerizing and magical as you dream you are on your happiest days. You will never need anything else if you have yourself.

Years later, I laid on a boy’s bed and asked him if he thought I was pretty. He looked me in the eyes and told me I was, and said if anyone ever told me otherwise they were lying. The girl who cried on the floor of her physics class fell in love with him that night.

He then learned my heart too.

The story is set in the 1970s, in a more wealthy, suburban neighborhood located in Grosse Point, Michigan. The houses are classic and old-fashioned, and the greenery and flowers are abundant. It looks as though the perfect place to grow up, and the perfect place to raise a loving family.

The Five Lisbon sisters, Cecilia, Lux, Bonnie, Marie, and Therese range from thirteen to seventeen years old, consecutively. They are mystical and desired by everyone; thin, blonde, fair-skinned, and kind, beautiful girls. Their parents are very strict and traditional, as straight-edged as can be; the father is a high school math teacher, and the mother a religious homemaker.

The movie starts out with the youngest, Cecilia, and her recent suicide attempt. She slit her wrists and is found in the bathtub by her parents. Everyone in the town struggles to understand it, blame the parent’s strict leash on the girls, and Cecilia undergoes psychiatric care. Other than this, the attempt is then treated as though it never happened within the family.

In the hospital, Cecilia is asked why she attempted to unalive herself and the doctor states that she’s "not even old enough to know how bad life gets", to which she responds, "Obviously, Doctor, you've never been a 13-year-old girl." As a 23-year-old girl, I felt this connection to her.

The girls all daydream of love, against their parent’s wishes, and pursue after all the boys entranced with them. The overbearing parents can’t handle the wildness that is a teenager girl’s desires. Sweet, pivotal teenager moments such as losing your virginity, smoking your first joint, and pure rebellion drives the mother into taking extreme measures. She pulls all the girls out of school, isolates them from all social events, in which they are left house-bound, and even burns all of Lux’s rock records as she deems them to be too inappropriate.

Cecilia, Lux, Bonnie, Marie, and Therese are left isolated, depressed, alone, and emotionally distraught.

A recurring motif throughout the film is an old Elm tree in the Lisbon’s family yard. Symbolizing the sister’s grief and isolation, this diseased tree is marked for removal after Cecilia’s first attempt at suicide. Lux carves the word love into the tree, representing the girls’ pure intentions, and the neighborhood boys protest it’s removal with the city in order to defend their admiration for the girls. An iconic scene happens towards the end of the movie, where all five of the girls, dressed in their nightgowns, link their arms together to make a ring around the tree before it is eventually chopped down. The removal is even broadcasted by local television reporters, showing also the community’s admiration for the girls.

During their long period of isolation and confinement, as this was before smart phones, the only communication the girls have is with one another, as well as hand signals, with the neighborhood boys.

One night the girls use light signals to convey to the boys to come over that night, when it gets dark and their parents have gone asleep. Fascinated by their dream girls, of course the boys arrive on time at the Lisbon’s house. They are greeted by the mysterious and frivolous Lux, who I only say this about because they’ve seen her through their telescope making love to several boys on her rooftop - as well as the fact that she writes Trip Fontaine, a stoner jock at school, name along with a heart in red marker on the band of her bra and panties. More reasons why I love her character. Don’t you admire these dreamy, journal/love note writing girls? The boys pretend to travel with them in their heads, reading the same European catalogs they knew the girls had received in their mail, in order to feel closer with them. I especially love the scene where they speak in silence, only through old records shared intimately with one another through home rotary dial phones.

Furthermore, Lux greets them in the night, smoking a cigarette and flirting with the boys, who all tell her they have a car with a tank full of gas to take them anywhere they’d like. Perhaps they thought they’d been summoned to help the Lisbon girls escape their tragic home. But Lux invites them in to see her sisters instead, and then tells the boys she’s going to go wait in her car. The neighborhood boys’ daydreams are then shown; a freeing road trip with all five sisters, their blonde hair blowing in the wind.

So, the boys enter the house in search of the rest of the sisters, only to find each of their precious girls gone.

1. Bonnie had hung herself in the garage.

2. Therese overdosed on sleeping pills.

3. Cecilia jumped from the home’s second story window, becoming impaled by a fence post.

4. Mary put her head in the oven.

5. Lux locked herself in the garage with the car running, dying of carbon monoxide poisoning.

All five girls were pronounced dead, never to be seen again. The boys could not understand what was going through their minds and are forever in search of answers. The parents are shown choosing to move away, stating their house “had never lacked love.”

At a school assembly earlier in the movie, a statistic is shared that 80 suicides a day occur in America. Which, I am sure this statistic has gone up since the 70s. People do not want to speak about this subject because it makes us uncomfortable - to think of another human being’s pain being so unbearable they simply would choose to no longer live. While of course this is both a vulnerable and sensitive topic, I truly believe it should be talked about more often and admire this movie’s way of doing so. We are not always attached to the idea of being alive in this life, and it can make us feel less alone to admit that.

I find this movie to be a brutally honest and tragically beautiful depiction of what it feels like to be young, in love, and yet so broken and misunderstood - even for people you’d think are as picture perfect such as the Lisbon girls.

I like think of myself as a very happy girl, a girl who is in love with life and all it’s possibilities, but of course I have struggled with feeling depression in this life’s overwhelming tragedies. Life is beautiful and mystical, but with all beauty comes pain.

A customer I served once asked me in conversation, “What do you have to be so sad about? You’re a beautiful young girl?” And I felt that as though I was Cecilia being asked that same question by her doctor. Such a simple answer, for such a simple question, came to my mind; I have a lot to be sad about. We all have a lot to be sad about. This life is full of heartbreak and when you feel so deeply, you get hurt just as hard as you love.

If you have ever felt unattached to the idea of being alive, I want you to know you that you are not alone. I want you to know that it is freeing to admit this, and it is welcoming to be met with another’s admittance to the pain that we hide so carefully from the world.

The Lisbon girls did have a lot to be sad about, just as we all do. And what is one human’s right to tell another what they feel?

The boys end the movie saying they will never forget the Lisbon girls or trying to find the pieces to put them back together, but they will always love them. As will I.

I hope you take the time to read this book, or watch the movie, because it made me think so deeply and I hope it will for you to. Enjoy and feel free to message me with your thoughts <3

What is an act of love? Thoughts that come to my mind: 

The guitar player who hand shaped prosciutto into a rose for our picnic board he orchestrated.

My father telling me he missed me something fierce after helping me move into my new home in Colorado.

My roommate buying a hanging bed for the window for her kitten to lay in and stare out at the backyard.

What is the opposite of love?

To make a joke at the expense of the hardest time of one’s life.

To tell the person you “love” the cruelest things they’ve ever heard about their family.

To put your hands on another person.

What does being in love feel like?

To wake up and want to make another person’s coffee before your own.

To feel as though your soul is intertwined with another’s.

To want to take care of your lover because you see the child inside them who’s always needed it. 

What does falling out of love feel like?

Like everyone you spoke to was right, like realizing they really never did love you like you’d always thought and hoped they did. 

Like your heart is being ripped out of your chest.

Like you are alone, and you wonder if you will ever love someone so dearly again.

What does loving yourself look like?

Knowing you deserve someone who only wants you.

Knowing you deserve someone who would never put their hands on you.

Knowing you deserve someone who never made you feel like the smallest version of yourself on purpose. 

So, what is love to me?

Love is unconditional light. Love is pure intentions and a genuine soul connection.

Love is a deeper energy that we are so lucky to experience in this life. Love is beautiful and from another dimension than the one we exist in. 

Love is caring so deeply for one another you see them as a reflection of yourself.

Love is pure, and my love comes from within, from God, and from the heart. 

Love is praying to the Universe every night since I was a little girl, that I will have my own little family one day, who is full of love and light.

Love is all knowing. Love is humble.

My mother, a dedicated Christian, tells me God is who you learned about in Sunday school as a child. The father of Jesus Christ, our savior. He, who died for our sins, embodies the Holy Spirit, and is prominent throughout the Bible.

Jeanne Marie, a spiritual Interior Designer who let me intern for her last summer in Hawaii, tells me God is energy; Energy that exists within us all, in which we can always channel.

Nancy, an enlightened friend of mine, teaches me everyone has “a god of their understanding.” She is a beautiful soul, and very wise in the ways she has loved, lost, and traveled the world. She has found underneath every religion, one belief stays constant; There is a higher power that is greater than us all. She tells me that this energy is “light” and we can spread it throughout the world as light workers.

All three of these women exemplify God. They are kind hearted and nurturing. They live in the light, always acting for the greater good, and channel the God that resides within them.

No matter the religion you abide by, I find it so beautiful we each have a god of our own understanding. I find it so beautiful so many of us have such strong faith in the unseeable, and higher morals to follow in this life.

I now strive to live in the light and love, to be an Earth Angel and a light worker. I pray to God, and I can feel God within me. Thank you to the Universe🌙

Under the same moon as my father, who taught me what it means to be a good person.

Who cries every time he hears butterfly kisses.

Who picks up trash on the sidewalk every chance he gets.

Who always pulls over for someone in need of help fixing a flat.

Who keeps a photo of me in preschool behind his car’s dash.

I find comfort in knowing I’m under the same moon as the boy who taught me what love is.

Who took me all over the world with him.

Who surprised me with dark chocolate and flowers often.

Who tipped waiters kindly and generously.

The same boy who taught me what heartbreak is.

Who made me feel so small.

Under the same moon as my mother, who taught me strength.

Who feels so deeply as I do.

Who has held me when I’ve cried and cried.

Who looks for love in all the wrong places.

I find comfort, and I always will, knowing we’re all under the same moon.

Maybe we’re singing the same song at the same time.

Maybe thinking of each other on the same day.

Or maybe not, but we’ll always be under the same moon.

I daydream of living in Hawaii, off the grid. I have a beautiful garden with colorful fruits and vegetables. I get fresh eggs from my chickens, have a swinging daybed overlooking the ocean, and paintings of mine decorate my home’s walls.

I have a loving husband. We travel the world together, elope, and have little beach babies. We spend our days going to the Farmer’s Market, waterfalls, volcanoes, and the beach. We spend more time outside than inside. When I am indoors, I’m baking for my family or taking a bath full of flower petals.

Life is simple, sweet, and lovely. Gratitude is abundant, kindness is taught, and presence is practiced. In my head this is where I live, and in my life this is where I will be one day.

When did you stop being allowed to go to the gym by yourself?

To go out by yourself?

To feel like yourself.

When did he start?

When did he start to betray you?

When did he start to make you feel so small?

To criticize you, your family, your upbringing?

To judge your hair, makeup, and clothes?

How many times?

How many times did he message other women?

How many times was he intimate with other women?

How many times was he intimate with you?

Perhaps the same, and you’ll never know.

When did he start to feel less like a gift, and more like a curse?

When did you start to feel less like yourself, and more like his?

If you know when it started, know it has to stop.

Then you can tell me when.

When did you feel free?

But I just want to feel connected to the Earth. Rather, I stare at a screen all day. To earn a degree, to be praised. To stop serving on the weekends.

I trick myself into thinking this is me, this is my dream. As though I love to work, simply because I am a hard worker. In truth, I like serving more than staring at a screen. It is simple.

But I daydream and I wait! Oh, because the ocean is waiting for me. My hair will lighten, my freckles will darken. I will feel at home, at peace. Some lose all their ambition being so far from the busy world, but I know mine will deepen.

I want to feel in tune with myself, in alignment. The sun, moon, tides. To eat fresh fruit. I want to have less, so I worry about less. I want a simple, sweet job I love. And why is that wrong? Can’t I appreciate the girl boss without wanting to be her? Can I love a sweet boy and want to have babies and still be feminist? Why should I feel embarrassed for such a pure life?

Oh, I don’t. I never will. So, I want to run away to an island and lighten my hair. I want this new phase to be the most important one of my life. I’ve worked up to this life since I have been on my own. I am proud of wanting this life, knowing I will have it. It’s a daydream that will never stop for me, because one day it will be my days.

I close my eyes and I love this life.

If you would have asked me a few years ago if I would consider taking SSRIs I would have answered no. I wouldn’t say I judged others who took them but was most definitely disturbed by how unnatural they seemed to me. The thought of taking a “happy pill” every day just to make it through the day. The thought of changing my brain’s serotonin levels, and more importantly what followed in turn: my emotions, feelings, and personality.

After struggling with depression for the entirety of my young adult life, I was constantly advised by my doctor, family, and some friends to try antidepressants. Before I gave in, I tried everything else I could. I ate only healthy foods, and I researched and incorporated “superfoods” into my diet religiously. I spent most days on my feet and worked out twice a week. I journaled every night and went to therapy regularly. I became spiritual, I practiced gratitude and positivity.

And I was happy! I really was. Many days. But that’s not really what depression is. They say most people that commit suicide seemed as though they were always the happiest in the room. Because with all my happy days combined, my saddest day alone didn’t make any seem worth it. Feeling alone, scared, and helpless never seemed worth it to me. So, I took the pill.

It helped. A lot. More than I probably wanted it to. I had a normal appetite, and hobbies of my own again, and actually found myself wanting to leave my house. There was this newfound motivation to get out of bed and enjoy the little things: the sun on my skin, having rosy cheeks, trying new recipes, curling my hair, and cute earrings! But things also felt different: I never felt a song so deeply again, I couldn’t laugh until my stomach cramped up anymore, and I didn’t stay up all night feeling a spark of creativity big enough to finish an entire project at once.

So, was it worth it? Sure, I no longer spent all day overthinking a comment I made to a stranger that morning. But, I lost the urge to dance crazily or sing loudly. I wasn’t sure I ever had it to begin with. I mirrored the age-old question, “Would you rather feel everything or nothing at all?” 

In which I respond, everything. But I only know two lives: life without medicine, and life with it. And I can confidently say that I am happier with it. Then again, I’ve also been in a better place in my life since I started taking medicine, so perhaps it’s circumstantial? How can I know? I can try to get off, but no matter what I’ll feel awful from the withdrawals alone. This is the dilemma I have been having with myself.

One day I do hope to be fully off my medicine. However, I know that it is okay if today, tomorrow, or even a year from now is not that day. I want everyone to know taking antidepressants is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength! It is self-care. It is holding yourself accountable. It is being there for yourself in a time of need.

Or as I call it, a love affair.

1. I went to sleep in the heart of Venice, with wooden boats and gondolas floating outside our little apartment. I woke up in a fairytale cottage, in the mountains of Lake Como, Italy. The only access to us being: a thousand pebbled steps or a miniature road that could only fit (at most) a four by four-foot car. Here my affair with Italian food was born: homemade plates of pasta, red wine (fresh from the vineyard), fruit and chocolate pastries of all sorts, coca-cola in a glass bottle, croissants, dark espressos, and Stracciatella gelato. Yum.

2. I flew in a rickety helicopter (most likely from the nineties), with the doors off, migrating over the Hawaiian islands. My lover and I hiked to a secret, hidden waterfall here known as Ana’s pond; I skinny-dipped underneath the rushing water.

3. I somehow ended up at a party in the mountains of Spain at 4 in the morning. I learned their culture truly never wants the night to end; people begin partying as early as 7 pm and don’t end until as late as 10 am. Something I could never do, but a beautiful thing to observe. Tossa de Mar is here too, the most heavenly beach I have ever visited. I painted the dearest view I could remember; a single bonsai grows upon the rocky cliffs, with perfect golden sands and quiet waters in the shape of a peninsula. My diet here consisted of seafood paella and berry sangrias.

4. I laughed while riding horses with my love and best friend through the mountain villages of the Greek island, Santorini. For 10€, we sailed (roundtrip) from white to red to black sand beaches one afternoon. I loved on all the stray dogs and cats roaming the island, and ate fresh mussels as though my life depended on it.

5. I basked in awe of Costa Rica’s butterfly and waterfall gardens, with hot springs flowing nearby from the Arenal volcano. I witnessed here also the cacao + coffee bean farms bloom, with sloths swinging in the trees above. I grew to love the sweet fried green plantains, Patacones, in La Fortuna.

6. I ruined a rental car, with the help of my boyfriend (Europe does not tell you your car should not be filled with regular gas, but diesel). Full insurance fixed this problem long-term, but short-term we were left with nowhere to stay that night. Our hotel was over an hour away, and there were no taxis to take us without spending a fortune. So, my love decided to spend a fortune on a place to stay instead. (I was very much okay with sleeping in the car, or road, or park for that matter). But, alas, we spent one August night in a castle in the vineyards of Montalcino, from the 11th century. Local hot springs water flowed from the tub. The tiramisu was made by the chef at our very table upon ordering. And it was delicious.

These are just a few of many, many breathtaking moments I’ve been lucky enough to receive recently. On this Earth exists an abundance of places compared to the little slices of heaven I’ve described in my list above. I still have yet to see a fraction of what I hope to in my lifetime: for Bali, Paris, Amsterdam, Reykjavík, and so many more await.

In other words, my Eat, Pray, Love era is far from over. If you have not seen this movie, first: do. Second, the theme of this movie is a translation of travel as a spiritual journey, a form of self-discovery, and reflection. I find this interpretation to be both accurate and beautiful. As Julia Roberts so gracefully portrays.

This letter is prescribed to those suffering from feelings of loneliness, or a lack of purpose/meaning in this life. I’ve felt that way so many times, myself. And I feel as though this is the answer. Traveling. Gift yourself your own Eat, Pray, Love era! Whatever you need to heal from, a year of travels will cure it. View another way of life. Experience the simplistic way many still live. Recognize how happy another is, with much less than you have. Indulge in new foods. Music. Art. Nature. Your soul will thank you.

Why, you might ask, did I do that? Well, it started as a compromise for my love, and boyfriend’s hatred, for bikini photos.

Before you interrupt, yes, I know. All women, single or not, should be able to wear or post whatever they want. The suggestion of this plan was not from my boyfriend, but from myself. So please hear me out.

Around a month ago, I was asked for sex in the grocery store. I had previously noticed a car of men, staring at me before I went inside. But honestly, that’s not too strange for a young woman, so I just looked down and walked at a faster pace. What was strange, however, was the fact that a man was then following me. Right there, in the protein bar aisle, he came up to me. Beginning with some horrible lines about how sexy my legs were, he then asked if I would have sex with him. (Definitely not in that polite manner, but I’m a lady).

Anyway, what hurt me most about this situation were the bystanders. Men and women, older than me, were standing right next to me while this occurred. I guess, in my mind, yes I know there are shitty people. I know there are people who say and do awful things, but I like to believe there are more good people than not. On this day, it didn’t feel like it. And before you ask, I was wearing a long sleeve jacket and shorts.

A week ago, a man asked me to turn around for him so he could take a picture. A stranger, not a man I knew. His exact words were, “turn around”, while motioning with his finger in a circle, “stick your butt out!” I already knew I hadn’t liked this man; he snapped at me whenever he needed something, such as a refill. Now, when he said these words I was silent. I walked straight over to my manager, told him what happened, and more so, expressed how much I hated this man. The nod of disapproval, and the look in my manager’s eyes gave me confirmation. His words did not: “That’s awful. Cut them off drinking.”

They were done drinking already.

Granted, I do work at Hooters. Which does NOT mean I am “asking” for this attention, but I don’t want anyone to think this is normal behavior. Even at such a restaurant.

But why would you work at Hooters? Because I am a 21 year old girl, paying for out-of-state college tuition. I wasn’t born into any kind of money, (which by no means is a bad thing), and I’m making the best money I’ve ever made.

The point is, it doesn’t matter if I’m wearing my Hooters uniform or a literal trash bag; one man will always find a way to objectify you.

Being harassed, objectified, catcalled, or worse = bad. Right? So, just cover up as much as you can. Simple! This is how my boyfriend, and many other men think. It’s easy to want to hate them for it, and you’re not wrong if you do. That same mindset implies rape victims “asked for it” if they happened to be wearing a mini skirt, that night. (Which is very wrong, and also very inaccurate. Women, and men, are raped wearing every type of clothing).

I, myself, am not saying I don’t notice the changes in eyes depending on how I choose to dress. Sure, the days when I roll out of bed and bundle up to go out, I do feel a bit safer in my skin. But, that does NOT mean I shouldn’t wear my v-neck dress with my favorite lipstick whenever I want to. In fact, if you want to wear that outfit everyday, you should! Makeup is something some take on as an art form, while to another, could feel like the biggest chore. Just as some women prefer to dress more feminine, masculine, sexy, modest, mysterious, edgy, classic, bohemian, etc.

We are each such different, complex beings in this life. Each with our own unique style, both personalized and manifested by our roots and past experiences. For me, as a heterosexual female, who grew up in Texas; I was taught girls were to be feminine. To be pretty was to have curled hair and rosy cheeks. I was raised by a beautiful mother who embraced her curves, rather than covered them, as I love to do. As an adult, I now know that beauty is far less narrow than the previous ideals I had. And ultimately, we are all free to choose what beauty will be to us. I threw out some beliefs, such as spray tans, and held on to others.

For instance, I have always felt a strong connection to the divine feminine. If you are unaware of this concept: spiritually, this is our feminine, or yin, energy, that exists in all men and women. It embodies the nurturing, sensual, intuitive, artistic, and softness within each of our beings. We all have different combinations of both masculine and feminine energies, and I have always felt flooded with feminine. From painting to crying.

After enlightening myself of the divine feminine, I found connections already occurring within me. After numerous fights over my clothes, my boyfriend, and truthfully I, at times, couldn’t understand why I loved all my mini-skirts, dresses, and bikinis so. Why I loved my eyelashes curled and my hair highlighted. Why I simply loved the feeling of being confident in my body, sexiness, and thought my breasts were beautiful. These were my feminine energies pouring through me. I’m in love with being young, and feeling beautiful. As everyone should be. I wanted to shout it to the world, while my boyfriend wanted to put me in an Amish outfit to go to Costco. We had fought time and time again over this, and I seriously started to question myself. Do I just like attention that much? Am I insecure? Why isn’t my boyfriend just enough for me to wear a one-piece?

The thing is, you can just wear the one piece, and I did. You can suppress yourself, but only for so long. Until you burst. So, as silly as it may sound to you, I was becoming depressed without my bikinis. I felt as though I were a mother of 3, wearing my new one-piece. Longing for the days of the past. Watching other girls post on Instagram in their stupid strappy triangle bikinis, like a little kid who watched another get the last scoop of ice-cream. Jealous and bitter. She’s just looking for attention. When you neglect to be your authentic self, your soul, the ego will take over and find judgment within others. And that’s what I was then doing with every girl. I hated being this way. I then thought of my sweet boyfriend, and how I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. In his defense, yes, I could understand his paranoia surrounding other men. The grocery store moment justifies him.

I needed to prove to him, others, and most importantly, myself: that sensuality within women is a way of expressing ourselves, for ourselves, and cannot be silenced. While it may gather attention, it is not done for attention. Like myself, your authentic being may align, more so, with the divine. Or it may not. Either way, do not feel shame; express yourself, your sensuality, for no one but your own self. That is what beauty truly is.

So, today, I removed every follower of mine that was a man.

Why?

Because it’s easier to love from a distance.

Like many American childhoods, I slept under the same roofs that my family did, for the first 17 years of my life. In my 18th year, my main goal was to no longer be under this roof. So, I moved to the furthest mountains I could, but really couldn’t, afford (thank you to my mother for cosigning my loans).

Once I settled in Colorado, rosy retrospect settled upon me as well.

Up close, I hated my mother’s anger. From a distance, I suddenly missed her singing with me like when I was a little girl.

Up close, I hated my brothers’ pessimism. From a distance, I missed their laughter. Their sarcasm too.

Up close, I hated the politics, and the conformity that surrounded me. The heat that melted me. From a distance, I missed that same Texas sun on my skin. The pink-orange sunsets I never knew were so special. Dancing to country music until 2 AM, with a boy I’d just met.

Up close, I found comfort in my father. From a distance, I cried as quietly as I could while my roommate slept. Running cold water against my neck, and using my phone as a flashlight, I saw my body was painted with black hickeys.

Up close, I hated the oil, butter, and salt that was “Southern” cooking. From a distance, I longed for the days when I ate anything other than a dining hall salad. Especially a chicken-salad sandwich.

And here I am now, twenty-something, still in Colorado, and it’s three years later.

Now, is longing for my Boyfriend to return from Spain. Now, is learning how hard loving someone from up close really is.

Not only do you see their every imperfection, but you’re given a microscope to help inspect. Parts of them nobody else gets to see; as do they get with you. Which is terrifying, as no one is near being perfect. We hide our rather worst traits, best we can. For instance: once my social battery runs out, (which is frequent), I am no longer someone to be around. That I can cry upwards of ten times on my very worst days. The antidepressant I take every morning in preparation.

Loving up close, is comparable to seeing an obnoxiously high quality photo of yourself. You might think to yourself, “Do I really look like that? Do I really have that many freckles?” Every hint of asymmetry, dry patch of skin, or astray eyebrow hair seems to have been amplified.

Personally, I believe this is where our generation’s love for film photography and Polaroids stems from. The ‘nostalgia’, of a time when we didn’t exist, accompanies it; however, there is something comforting about the slightly tinted, lower quality photographs. Once our blemishes have been blurred, we can smile at ourselves. Just the right amount, of course. To where you know what you are looking at, without showing too much. And rather than depressing ourselves looking through hundreds of photos, that you would never dare to post, a single moment is captured.

And for that reason alone, it is perfect.