I always found the summer to be quite sexy, the season where everyone loosens up. Long days turn into longer nights when you find yourself on the dance floor until sunrise, wearing very little clothing, aperol spritz in hand, with sweat dripping down your face, enraptured by the deep rhythm of the music.

To me, there’s no greater feeling than coming out of the blistering chill of the frigid winter, getting properly fluffed by the spring, and entering summer fully charged.

I love the sensations the season brings: the warmth of the sun on my face, the stickiness of the air clinging to my skin, the refreshing feeling of plunging into the ocean, the juiciness of biting into a ripe watermelon.

I feel extra obsessed with myself during the summer months. I linger a little longer in the mirror, admiring the fresh tan on my skin, the new addition of sun-kissed highlights sprinkled through my hair, and the mermaid waves that form in tandem from the saltiness of the ocean and the humidity in the air. I love the way I smell after a night out, the way my amber perfume mixes with my sweat and pheromones; it feels slightly intoxicating.

Summer is when I feel the sexiest.

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For so long, I thought that sexy was something that you could be rather than something that you could feel. Sexy was a describing word, one often given to you by a person you’re trying to seduce.

“You look so sexy in that dress” or “It’s so sexy when you look at me that way” or “There’s nothing sexier than how much you want me.”

To me, sexiness felt external: a way of looking, acting, and being described.

But being sexy is one thing, feeling sexy is another. You can be perceived as sexy, but you’ll never fully experience your own sexiness until you feel it for yourself.

We’re sold this idea that you can buy your way into feeling sexy through lingerie, perfume, chocolates, and champagne. That these external materials will manifest something that can only come from within.

Sure, they can elevate the feeling when you already feel sexy. They can enhance what already exists. But these alone will not do the trick.

You can feel sexy alone in your bedroom at 2pm in the same way that you can feel sexy on top of someone at 2am. The feeling doesn’t exist in a vacuum, nor is it exclusive to the act of sex, and, often, you can discover it in the simplest of ways – I feel sexy after having an everything shower, lathering myself in coconut oil, and slipping into my purple Victoria Secret silk robe.

Feeling sexy is internal and experiential, often intertwined with sensuality.

Sensuality does not rely on the perception of others but rather on the pursuit of physical pleasure through your senses, connection, and expression. It requires deep presence and comfort, only achieved by getting out of your head and settling into your body.

You experience sexiness with all five senses.

The texture of your silk dress when it glides against your warm skin. The cooling sensation of pressing ice against the back of your neck on a hot, summer day.

Enjoying the taste of a freshly brewed coffee on a slow morning, taking account of its nutty undertones. Letting a rich piece of dark chocolate melt onto your tongue, and savoring its rich flavor.

Catching a reflection of yourself in the mirror while getting ready. Feeling almost voyeuristic. Like an outsider looking into something they’re not supposed to see.

Smelling your skin after a long day at the beach. Breathing in the aroma of sweat, salt, and sunshine.

Getting lost to the sound of Spanish House music, relinquishing the control of your mind and submitting your body to the beat, allowing it to guide your movements.

When you allow yourself to romanticize these moments and sensations, you force yourself to slow down. In turn, you start to appreciate the journey instead of focusing on the outcome.

Drinking coffee no longer feels like a solution to sleepiness, but rather a beloved morning ritual where you connect with yourself. Your post-shower routine turns into an act of self-care. Letting yourself feel the music will allow you to move more naturally.

While sensuality relies on comfort, it’s important to avoid falling into the flaccid safety of the cozy life.

The familiar can feel like a safety blanket, providing us with the feeling of comfort and peace. But a lot of the elements that nurture our home life can often work against us in our pursuit of feeling sexy.

How sexy can you really feel when you’re lying in bed, wrapped in four blankets, eating take out Chinese food, and binging Love Island?

Falling into repeated patterns of staying in, wearing your ratty college sweatshirt that’s three sizes too big, and going five days without washing your hair will surely not result in feeling sexy.

Hibernating in your comfort bubble will suffocate any sense of personal intimacy or mind-body connection. Feeling sexy thrives in spontaneity, novelty, and presence. It grows when you step out of autopilot and become fully tuned to your physical body and your surroundings. Oftentimes this means exiting the comfort of your own bed, changing out of your pajamas, and finding an activity that doesn’t involve doomscrolling.

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The feeling grows by cultivating a life that feels exciting and pleasurable—life is supposed to be fun.

Allow yourself to book a trip to Sardinia and speak your Duolingo-learned Italian in between sips of Chianti. Take yourself out on dates to do hyper-specific activities that only interest you. Stay out dancing until the wee hours of the morning. Have animated conversations with your friends over multiple rounds of cocktails. Pay attention to what makes you light up, and pursue it for enjoyment.

Do things solely for you. Not everything needs to be shared; some parts can even remain a mystery. But nourishing this personal intimacy will allow you to intentionally connect with yourself. In doing so, you’ll uncover a limitless supply of sexiness you can tap into.

When you learn how to find that feeling, you can use the outside world as your very own playground. Every object can serve as a vehicle in connecting deeper with yourself. Taking pleasure in a ritual brings you back into your body. Because once you experience sexiness within, there’s absolutely no turning back.

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“We’re all a little weird and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.”

-Robert Fulghum

The coolest person you know was an absolute weirdo as a child.

They once made rock pets with googly eyes, played horse in the backyard, mixed potions in the shower, and folded origami swans in their free time. Their obsession with dinosaurs brought them to learn about every species in the Mesozoic Era before their interest switched to planes and they could identify every model they saw flying in the sky. They secretly collaborated with their siblings to invent a new language that they spoke to each other when playing survivor in the woods.

Children hold a profound wonder and amazement for the world, finding the extraordinary in the ordinary. They become consumed in intricately new interests and activities, and hold a strong desire to share their excitement with others.

In adulthood, we tend to lose the innocence our childish minds have. Somewhere along the way it’s socialized out of us. An adult rolls their eyes at the mention of our interests. We get called childish and told to act our age. A classmate laughs at an activity that brings us joy. Someone tells us that we’re being too loud, too obnoxious, too much.

With time we start to pull away from what excites us. We stop performing dances in front of family and friends. We put the comic books on the shelf to collect dust. We stop drawing altogether.

The carefreeness, confidence, and freedom of expression slowly become buried underneath fear, insecurity, and self-consciousness. We shove our bodies into molds that don’t quite fit in hopes that conformity will bring us escape from judgment. In doing so, the colors of the world begin to feel less vibrant.

I think that the coolest people are the ones that never outgrew that side of them, rather they carried these traits into adulthood. Their niche interests may have pivoted away from origami swans, dinosaurs, or planes and changed to learning new languages, white-water rafting, or traveling. The subject matter changed, but the curiosity, the passion, and the excitement remained the same.

Despite the responsibility and general mundaneness of the everyday, they seem to find the magic in life in between sending emails, folding laundry, paying bills, and cleaning dishes.

They have the audacity and the courage to embrace their muchness, refusing to edit out parts of themselves when there’s an audience. Who they are alone in their rooms mirrors who they show to the outside world.

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When I think about the best parts of adulthood, it’s the ability to embrace what you once loved as a child with the freedom, finances, and resources of a grown up. We seek community within the niche interests that we loved as children. People join hiking groups, sign up for pottery classes, and start book clubs because it fuels the parts of themselves that used to wander in the woods, play with play-doh, and read until the wee hours of the night.

Growing up, we were fed this lie of being normal. Normal with its dull colors, lifeless shape, and flat outcome. But what even is normal?

Ask 100 people their definition of normal and you’ll get 100 definitions — not one of them will match. Normal is subjective. Normal is fleeting. And what’s weird today could be considered normal tomorrow.

It’s ironic really. How much of our lives we spend trying to fit in. To align or blend into the standards under the guise of “normality.” But when we look for inspiration we turn to the opposite.

We look for fashion inspiration from the people that found and curated a style outside of the “What’s Trending” module on a store homepage. We look to musicians who push their art beyond the envelope. We watch actors who shape shift into deep, complex characters whose performances make us feel something.

We look for things that move us. Things that make the quiet parts we usually hide feel seen. Things that provide the space to discover sides of ourselves we wouldn’t have otherwise known.

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The qualities that we celebrate the most in extraordinary and “cool” adults are often the same qualities we trained ourselves to suppress — traits we once deemed embarrassing.

In reality, whatever makes you weird is your best asset. It’s proof of actual personality.

So stop hiding the things that make you weird. Memorize the flight patterns. Go foraging for mushrooms. Learn morse code. Collect vintage spoons.

There’s freedom in weirdness. An empowerment that comes once you stop draining yourself of the very spirit that once made you feel the most alive.

When you look at yourself, your life, your behaviors, and think, “This doesn’t need to make sense to anyone else because it makes me happy.” That’s freedom.

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“Experience is the hardest kind of teacher. It gives you the test first and the lesson afterward.”

In my recent years I’ve found myself in the role of the agony aunt serving as both a sound board and confidante to those around me. I joke that many of my conversations are spent talking someone off of a ledge or helping them out of a spiral.

I sometimes receive comments that I am an old soul. Not in the way that I feel I was born in the wrong generation or refuse to engage in what the kids do nowadays. But in the way that my perspective on life signals that this may not be my first time on earth.

Am I an oracle? Or perhaps a collection of fifty souls who lived very robust lives all trapped in the body of a 25 year old girl?

The answer is actually much simpler.

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People call me wise, but I’ve just had the privilege of making a lot of mistakes very early on in life.

I’ve had the honor of learning about consequences through the decisions made by a younger, more audacious version of myself who could have benefitted from a little bit more anxiety.

Caught by a police officer with two water bottles of pineapple vodka in my bike basket? Check.

Dated someone I didn’t like? Check.

Fell for someone who didn’t like me? Check.

Unsuccessfully tried to go drink for drink on a first date with a man twice my size? Check with a side of morning scaries.

Got scammed out of $3,000? Unfortunately, check.

From friendships, finances, romance, and more. I’ve made enough mistakes and gathered enough learnings to catapult my mental age at least a decade.

While some mistakes afforded me a slap on the wrist, others came at the cost of my reputation, feelings, or relationships. The silver lining of it all, should you choose to see it, is that every mistake provides you with life experience and a lesson.

You are not born with wisdom, you build it.

Growing wisdom comes from choosing to face life head on and leaning into its innate messiness. That exiting your bubble of safety will come at the price of making countless mistakes. And accepting that you will disappoint people just as much as they will disappoint you. In order to evolve into a level headed person, you may find yourself first being very problematic, reactive, and messy.

Sometimes you need to learn things the hard way.

If every decision went exactly as planned, you would live a flat life void of any character development or growth.

When you begin to view everything as a learning opportunity, not much can faze you. And when you finally accept that you don’t have all the answers, you can start looking for them.

Making mistakes teaches you resilience. They show you that something can blow up right in front of you and you will still survive.

These moments shape you into someone with perspective and lived experience. Serving as data points to reference instead of memories to cringe at.

One day you start responding differently, no longer defaulting to decisions that feel familiar, but from the learnings of past experiences. You no longer feel the need to entertain someone who looks like trouble because you know where their true intentions lie. You choose to spend time alone rather than with the wrong people because you know they drain your energy. You stop finding excitement from chaos and boredom from stability.

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True wisdom doesn’t come from reading a library of books or binging documentaries. It comes from being an active participant in your own life. By embracing the messiness. Letting yourself get bruised and scratched. Burning your hand on the stove. Spilling the water. Allowing your heart to be broken. By repeating the same mistake 15 times only to finally learn on the 16th. It’s allowing yourself to get messy and give yourself grace along the way.

For each time in my life I found myself picking up the pieces of watching something crash and burn right in front of me. For each time I called my brother to complain about the mess that I made. For each time I stared at a wall in disbelief of my own mistakes. I slowly began to collect my learnings.

Does this make me wise?

Maybe.

But wisdom isn’t about knowing the answer.

It’s about remembering what your mistakes taught you.

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I’ve substituted my late night dancing and tequila sodas for Saturday morning yoga and overpriced lattes. My nights out now end around midnight rather than 3am. And although my excursions feel much tamer in caliber, my hangovers have doubled in strength. If this is what your mid-twenties feel like, I don’t want to know what your thirties and forties feel like.

I will not fully throw in the towel on partying just yet, I’m much too young and hot for that. Plus hedonism seems to be all the rage these days and I don’t plan on missing out.

Rather I’ve evolved. I made a couple revisions to the lifestyle and updated the playbook. I created a new archetype, a tamer one, a version that holds the same core of the party girl I used to be: the Retired Party Girl. With this new persona, I’ve devised my very own Retired Party Girl Playbook. Read responsibly.

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The Retired Party Girl Playbook

Who is the Retired Party Girl?

The Retired Party Girl is a girl of any age who no longer finds herself waking up in her makeup from the night before and reeking of tequila, cigarettes, and regrets. She understands consequences, often because she’s faced them in the past. She’s pivoted her late-night rendezvous to more wholesome daytime activities that lower her cortisol levels rather than spike them – think hot girl walks, farmers market, maybe even a pottery class.

Make no mistake about the Retired Party Girl, she still knows how to have a good time. She is more selective of when and where she chooses to go out. When she’s out, she brings the energy and the vibe.

The fundamentals of the Retired Party Girl fall under three categories: she’s elevated, finds balance, and seeks novelty.

Part One: Elevate

The Retired Party Girl is a woman of taste. Her improved discernment allows her to refine how she goes out. She knows how to upgrade the experience: better places, better drinks, better decisions.

1. Skip the Chaos, Keep the Vibe

If you’ve found yourself burnt out from clubs, a bar with good music or a cocktail lounge are a great substitute. Personally, any place that’s dimly lit, plays great music, and can be described as swanky is a place that I want to be. Look for places that make great specialty drinks and even better classic ones. The drinks may cost you $25, but they elevate your evening and lead to a night of dancing, riveting conversation, or painting the town red.

2. Pick Your Poison

Carrie Bradshaw has her Cosmos and James Bond prefers his martinis shaken, not stirred. You, the main character of your life, also deserve a signature drink or two.

There’s something quite chic in having a drink of choice – sexy people have a signature drink. It symbolizes so much about you without you needing to say anything. Perhaps even adding to your allure. Do you prefer sweet or smoky? Classic or specialty? Pick your poison.

My current preferences include an extra extra dirty martini (with gin NOT vodka) or a classic negroni. A night with one of these in hand bodes for a wonderful evening, despite my friends often asking me, “How can you possibly drink that?”.

3. Bottom Shelf is Behind You

If you’re above the age of 23, I highly recommend that you stop purchasing bottom shelf liquor and start to pay at least $10 - $15 more. Your drinks will finally stop tasting like rubbing alcohol and your hangovers will thank you. Leave the Svedka, New Amsterdam, and Jose Cuervo back in college and wave goodbye to vodka crans and Long Island Iced Teas. You don’t need to start buying bottles of Veuve or Clase Azul, but a slight elevation of your alcohol game will go a long way.

4. STOP DOING SHOTS

With the exception of special occasions, remove shots from the menu. Taking shots is a slippery slope that usually ends in blacking out and poor decisions. If you do end up taking a shot, pick one that’s just liquor. A mixed shot goes down like juice, tricking you into taking more than one and leading to a night of questionable behavior which results in the scariest hangover you can imagine. At least the pure, straight liquor can kill a bacteria or two.

Part 2: Balance

The Retired Party Girl focuses on longevity and sustainability. She still loves dancing and socializing, she just makes sure that she doesn’t ruin her entire weekend on one night out. She knows that restraint actually makes the nights she chooses to party that much more fun.

5. Finding the Balance

Rather than going on a three day long bender, the Retired Party Girl fills her weekends with a mix of work and play. Friday night might be dinner and drinks with friends. Saturday starts with a workout class and ends with a night out. Sunday is reserved for brunch, errands, and fighting off Sunday scaries. She still makes room for adventure, but is no longer paying the consequences for back-to-back days of debauchery.

When she goes out she may stop after two drinks rather than indulging in five. On vacations she understands that it’s a marathon, not a sprint and preserves her energy to ensure that she enjoys every moment. In understanding moderation, she allows herself the opportunity to experience more.

6. Know When to Leave.

The Retired Party Girl knows when to call it a night and so should you. The minute you feel the urge to leave, leave. It doesn’t matter what time it actually is, whether it’s 10:30pm or 4:30am, in your head the night is over the moment you decide it is. Don’t try to stick it out in hopes that you will feel differently in thirty minutes. Spoiler, you won’t. Waiting any longer immediately makes you less fun to be around. You’re wasting your time and killing the vibe.

Bonus points if you Irish exit.

7. FOMO is a Construct

You don’t need to say yes to everything. Lest we forget that the party girl gets better at choosing when to show up. Heavy emphasis on choosing.

Sometimes your nights are better spent in the comfort of your own home or a chill night with friends. Not every occasion will be worth a celebration. That’s okay. You likely will not miss a crazy night where Harry Styles makes a surprise appearance or your ex shows up and professes everything that they did wrong in the relationship and how they will spend the rest of their lives kicking themselves for losing such a catch like you.

Save your time, energy, and money by staying in if you really don’t want to.

Part 3: Novelty

The Retired Party Girl doesn’t play it safe when she’s out. She redirects her appetite for chaos into something much more interesting. While her nights may feel tamer, they could never be labeled as boring.

8. The Art of the Alter Ego

Take this time to practice your communication skills and ability to think quickly on your feet. Acting lessons are expensive, but real world experience is priceless. When you find yourself in conversation with a stranger whose path you’ll likely never cross paths with again, use the opportunity to create your own entertainment by spewing lies. Fun lies. Innocent lies. If you’re a pro, try to make them layered and complex.

Adopt an alter ego for the night and live out a persona entirely different to yours. Perhaps even take on an accent. Say you are eighteenth in line for the Spanish throne. Or that your great great uncle invented the Jet Puffs marshmallows. The more creative, the better.

In my younger years, I took on the persona of Sasha J who worked as a hacker in the cyber security space. I’ve recently shifted to Genevieve, a distant relative of Quentin Tarantino. The people I talk to can’t prove anything, so they have to believe me.

9. Party in Places With a Diverse Crowd

Your wildest, weirdest, and most enjoyable nights will come from being around people that are completely different from you. I absolutely despise being in a place with the same demographic and prefer to go anywhere where I am at least 5 years younger than everyone else. Why talk to a carbon copy of five of the same person when you can chat with people that come from different walks of life and hold experiences wildly different from your own?

You will find yourself in the most beautifully random and intense conversations and meeting the most interesting people. Plus you’ll always leave with a great story – one time a man taught my friend and me how to “legally” evade our taxes (I should’ve taken notes).

10. The Unplanned Night

Some of the best evenings happen unplanned. The times when you leave your house when the sun sets and due to a series of spontaneous and serendipitous events you come home once the sun rises. When the good times are rolling, lean in.

The beauty of the unplanned night lies in the fact that you go into it with zero expectations or obligations. You can’t be disappointed or overwhelmed when you don’t know what will come. On these nights you are entirely present.

Not every evening needs a pre-planned itinerary. Sometimes it’s okay to stay out past your self-imposed bed-time. And sometimes saying yes may lead to an adventure with new friends, different places, and fond memories.

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The Retired Party Girl remains the life of the party, just more selectively. She didn’t suddenly grow up and get boring. Rather, she learned that a good night out and a messy one aren’t necessarily the same thing.

In the past I’ve famously said that the party girl never fully disappears, she just gets better at choosing when to show up. Now you know how she shows up.

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There will be a time in your life where you are the worst. I can’t make that sound any better. You’re selfish, mean, bitter, rude, self-absorbed. A walking nightmare. A mess.

There will be a time in your life where you are a shell: fragile, cracked, broken. Unable to care for yourself or be any better. You find it exhausting to get out of bed in the morning or face the world in any capacity. Curling up and hiding seems like the only doable thing.

There will be a time when you are no longer you. You’re a version of yourself that you no longer recognize. That no one can recognize. All of the things that distinctly made you, you have dissipated into a withdrawn, hollow version of the person you once were.

I know this because I’ve been this. At 20-years-old this was me: self-destructive, selfish, attention-seeking, and reckless. I wasn’t taking care of myself. I willingly put myself in dangerous situations. And became a liability to others.

It got to a point where my friends told me that if I was going to continue acting in the way that I was, they wouldn’t continue being friends with me – a very harsh thing to hear but I couldn’t blame them. I don’t know if I could have handled a friend like me.

You can explain my poor behavior on a lot of things: unprocessed trauma, high-functioning depression, immaturity. Those reasons can help you understand my behavior, however it doesn’t make them any better.

Being the worst version of yourself is a bit of a domino effect. Once one thing falls, the rest goes with it.

You rarely know that you’re the worst version of yourself when it’s happening. More often than not, you only realize after the fact. Hindsight is always 20/20.

Think about your answers to the following questions: Are you showing up for your friends? Are you taking care of yourself? If someone you loved were acting the way you are would you be proud or concerned?

The times where I really learned my lesson was when I made a mistake that absolutely blew up in my face. It’s often easier to learn from the bad things. Success is the worst teacher, failure is the best.

As humans we are hardwired to remember bad things more than the good. It’s how we’ve been able to survive all of these years. With that context, sometimes you need to let things crash and burn in order to learn your lesson. You definitely won’t make that mistake twice.

Making mistakes and being the worst version of yourself teaches you consequences. What happens when misery stops having company? You get lonelier and lonelier until change becomes the only option left.

Once you hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up.

Over time you will collect a gallery of past selves. You’ll see the different iterations over the years: immature, naive, reckless, depressed, scared. You’ll see the ways that you evolved – feeling nostalgic for parts that used to be and grateful to be rid of old ones.

These previous versions of you didn’t change overnight, but rather slowly. From past selves that made the intentional decision to be 1% better: to practice moderation, to surround yourself with people that made you happy, to be more selective in where you put your energy. These changes were so minimal that you only witnessed the effects through years of compounded results.

One day you look in the mirror and see a new version of you. A better one perhaps.

You will meet hundreds of selves that will take you through life. They will be the ones that both put you in hard times and pull you out of them. After so many iterations, who you are now may be completely unlike who you were and sometimes that’s for the best.

Five years after once being the worst version of myself, I now feel like the best version to date. My life no longer feels chaotic, rather peaceful. I no longer am the person that people worry about, but look to for advice. I feel a strong confidence in who I am and the person I want to be.

It feels like my life has stabilized and I have mellowed out. At times I even wonder if I’ve become boring. Maybe boring is good. Maybe I’m confusing boring for safe.

Being the worst version of yourself gives you the hope of becoming better.

You can reflect on all of the past versions of yourself and love every single one of them even when they weren’t perfect. Especially when they weren’t. Without the version of yourself that hit rock bottom you would never have turned into the person who came out on top.

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You can’t judge a past version of you who didn’t have the knowledge, maturity, or experience you have now.

As much as you desire to cringe and poke fun at the previous, maybe less put together version of you. That was still you. That version still has your eyes, skin, hair, and memories.

You must love all the older versions of you that came to exist the same way you must love the present. Because one day you might reflect on who you are now and think, “If only she knew.”

So respect your past, enjoy the present, and don’t rush the future.

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My greatest vice in this life is men. No nicotine addiction. No dependence on alcohol. No obsession with weed or cocaine. The one vice that I’ve needed to shake was my dependence on male validation.

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A friend of mine once compared male validation to drugs. If it is, it’s not one of the fun ones. It resembles the kind that gets you hooked off the first hit. The kind that brings an initial, intense euphoric experience that becomes increasingly difficult to replicate, leading you to a never-ending chase for a high that will never feel as good as the first time. No matter how much you hope and pray that this time will feel different, it never does.

It makes you act irrationally and impulsively, the guiding light behind all your decision making. You prioritize immediate gratification, desperate to get your quick fix. Your distorted thinking allows you to justify your destructive behavior and the desire only grows stronger.

But each time you walk away, you feel worse than before – ashamed, guilty, embarrassed.

Early on, toying with male attention felt like a game. Male attention seemed to come in a surplus. Each time you pulled the lever, you would be rewarded with more.

You grow accustomed to knowing that certain behaviors will get you what you want. That being pretty could get you attention. Simply making eye contact from across the room would get someone to come up and speak to you. Merely existing could result in receiving compliments, free drinks, and the potential for a future date.

It also made it easy to avoid needing to engage with others and meet new people. Making new friends is hard, but getting a guy to flirt with you is easy. It seemed like an easy way to remain involved in the evening without opening yourself up to the potential of social rejection.

Over the years, this series of repeated behaviors became instinct. Unconsciously, I began reinforcing the dopamine rewards in my brain. This progressed into a compulsive pattern that I couldn’t break.

This desire began to feel overpowering. I would need to set rules for myself to feel a sense of control: turning off Hinge notifications, only allowing myself to check the app for an hour at night, changing names in phones or unsaving phone numbers to avoid making poor decisions. At times, I would go cold turkey for on-again, off-again periods where I would swear off men and commit myself to celibacy.

These stretches of intentionally disengaging from men would last a few months before I would inevitably fall off the wagon. These “relapses” occurred almost exclusively on nights out that involved one too many drinks.

Alcohol often served as the catalyst. My lowered inhibitions would lead me back to trouble in the form of a man that spoke in sweet lies and empty promises.

Once I got a taste, a hit, another fix, the cycle would begin again.

I always struggled to understand how some people could hold such a healthy relationship to the gender that they were attracted to. How people’s nights out weren’t dictated by their desire for attention. A night without getting hit on, flirting, exchanging numbers, or going home with someone felt like a failure. As if self worth was measured by prolonged eye contact, shallow banter, and flirty text exchanges.

It feels embarrassing to admit this as a self-proclaimed, confident, hyper-independent woman who values her individuality and healthy relationship to herself. I identify with all of these traits. However, multiple things can be true at the same time.

My desire for validation didn’t equate to wanting a boyfriend or a relationship. It had nothing to do with it.

I looked to others to provide me with something that I needed to find within myself. I would attempt to manufacture it through witty banter and forced chemistry. But this reliance never provided me with the result I was looking for.

When I entertained men who played a more consistent role than, “man at bar,” our lack of genuine connection made their attention feel cheap and inauthentic. I left each hangout with the feeling of emptiness and dissatisfaction.

I would claim to write them off, not wanting to waste more of my time. But when loneliness started to creep in, I would pick up the phone when they called, convincing myself that this time would feel different.

I felt a conflict in my values, my inner compass splitting in two. I didn’t long for a relationship. I held strong, genuine friendships. I was ambitious and driven. I wouldn’t bend or mold myself to be someone who I wasn’t. I wanted more for myself than to be someone’s girlfriend or wife.

I felt that I contained all of the characteristics of an independent, ambitious young woman with a bright future, but therein lay my Achilles Heel. The insatiable urge to feel validated remained my most vulnerable weakness. Despite my coat of armor, one point remained exposed.

In the most ego-centric way possible, the feeling of validation rarely mattered who it came from, I just loved the way it felt. It would bring on a rush, a warmth, and temporary bliss that put me into an overwhelming state of cloud nine. This state allowed the opportunity for imagination where I could fantasize for a moment of what could be. I could fabricate a hypothetical story line that would bring me the reassurance that I needed in that moment.

The curse of relying on external validation is that it’s fleeting. It comes as quickly as it goes. Each time you outsource it, the less capable you feel in providing it for yourself.

I hate to admit that most of my healing began the moment I felt properly loved by a man. That all the self-work and self-reflection over the years wasn’t enough on its own. Amidst all my efforts, I still needed a man to fix me. How can you not feel like a hypocrite?

I’ve been told over and over again that we as women need to decenter men. I read it in the think pieces, hear it in the videos, and see on my explore page that we need to reject the patriarchal norms that put men at the center of our worlds and shift our focus on self-fulfillment. That to decenter them from your orbit, you must break the habit of desiring their approval.

Yet in my quest to decenter men, I recentered another.

Getting a boyfriend was never the goal, but in gaining one it stopped the cycle of chasing the high. I stopped craving validation, no longer looking to get a quick fix.

It’s taken me some time to understand why the change in my relationship status contributed to my healing. But I think it was the first time I saw a mirror held up to me which confronted me with reality.

What seemed painfully obvious to others only became clear to me after experiencing a person accept the exact version of me, not a performance or a character. Someone who saw the rough edges of me and loved them anyway.

My loving and healthy relationship showed me what true care and respect looks like, healing so many parts of me that felt broken. Permanently rewiring my brain forever. Being in love should change you.

I stand by the belief that everyone should be responsible for their own healing, but maybe some people serve as an instrument of it. They show you an alternative route, and you get to choose whether or not you take it.

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For the past two years, I haven’t felt plagued by the incessant desire to seek out male validation. I feel the locus of control shift internally. It feels freeing.

Candidly, the desire for external validation never disappears. But giving my internal beliefs more weight and authority allows me to better navigate what type of power certain validation holds.

In healing, I rewrote the equation. If male validation came in a surplus, couldn’t I produce an unlimited amount within myself?

For the first time in a while I feel that my list of vices has shrunk. My vice for validation has begun to loosen its grip.

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In my second week of living in New York, I ran into Ex #2. At that point my knowledge of the city didn’t extend past my morning commute to the 96th street entrance of the 123 line. The only friendly faces I knew were one friend from high school and another from college. I quickly learned that the third person I knew in the city was an ex that I hadn’t seen in four years and spoken to in three.

My mom came in town for the long weekend and our morning adventure consisted of a very roundabout, out-of-the way loop through the neighborhood which led to the chance encounter to run into my ex.

We walked down a seemingly empty sidewalk before crossing paths. In the January winter chill, his coat covered the majority of his face, but the part that remained exposed triggered a gut feeling – I knew exactly who it was.

I called out his name, the words left my mouth before my brain processed what I did. He walked past me without flinching. For a split second I felt embarrassed but relieved to be ignored by a stranger. After five more seconds of walking, he slowly turned around, revealing that my gut instinct was, in fact, correct.

He looked like he had seen a ghost. Technically he did, the ghost of girlfriend’s past.

We engaged in about two minutes of the most painfully awkward small talk before going our separate ways. I walked away in shock and awe, floored by the comedic timing of the universe. If God is real, then he has a sense of humor.

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After walking away, a deep sureness settled in. Call it mysticism, call it my woman’s intuition, but when I walked away, I felt a deep, innate sense of confidence that I would never see him again for the rest of my life.

Seeing him for the first time in years reminded me how different my life was, how different I was. Enough time had gone by where I could see our relationship for what it was. Those two minutes of awkward conversation provided me with the closure I had chased all those years ago. That chapter of my life had officially been tied up neatly in a nice little bow, ready to be stored into the archives.

In the remaining four months that I lived in that neighborhood and the over one year that I’ve lived in the city, I have never run into him again. I can’t imagine that I ever will.

We serve no purpose for each other anymore – we haven’t for years. But maybe we needed to run into each other one more time, for the last time.

Moments like these challenge all logical notions of probability, representing a deeper, invisible architecture to the way people move in and out of our lives. Some things feel far too purposeful to chalk it all up to coincidence.

Maybe people don’t just randomly appear and disappear in our lives. If people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime, doesn’t that make their departure equally symbolic?

These moments capture the metaphysics of human connection. The unspoken agreement you share with another person that you’ll never see or speak to each other ever again. From that moment you both remain only memories to each other. People that you used to know and nothing more.

There’s peace in knowing that you will never see someone ever again. It doesn’t register in your brain as a loss, but a resolution. Your journey no longer requires their company. You move forward with what you’ve learned from them and the experiences that you shared. Maybe this even informs how you choose to proceed.

For the longest time, I believed in coincidences. I understood probability enough to know that most situations in life, even if unlikely, can happen by chance. That mathematically these things were rare, but possible.

I’ve now lived long enough to identify patterns and parallels that challenge my previous belief.

It’s why sometimes people will end things and walk away knowing that it’s not actually over. It’s why people seem to spawn back into our lives when we least expect it.

Sometimes goodbye doesn’t actually mean goodbye. And sometimes see you later actually means see you never.

A chapter closes. The circle completes. You can’t prove anything, but you drew meaning from it.

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In life, the skill that will take you the furthest, open the most doors for you, and reward you ten-fold will be the deep, unshakeable confidence in yourself.

Confidence is a misunderstood trait in our generation. We confuse it with arrogance, extroversion, or non-chalance, and because of this, most people never actually develop it.

While some people are born with a natural, innate confidence, others need to work for it. We often hear the phrase, “fake it til you make it” as motivation to develop it. However, I disagree with this philosophy.

A fake it til you make it mentality will only get you so far, but if you don’t genuinely believe in yourself, you’re simply playing a character rather than embodying a trait.

Confidence isn’t something that you’re pre-destined for. It’s not genetically passed down like your height and hair color. You can grow and develop it by changing your mindset and your actions.

I’ve never been one to coddle or sugar coat, so for those who feel exhausted of hearing the same cliches, I urge you to take a different approach. Here’s my comprehensive guide on how to gain confidence and stop caring what people think:

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1. People are going to have an opinion of you regardless of how hard you try to change the narrative.

My mom always says that everyone lives in their own cartoons. They tell themselves a story that makes them feel comfortable in their own life and the decisions they make. How you fit into their story remains up to their interpretation. Some may cast you as the friend, the foe, the villain, maybe even the threat. Their opinion of you may rely on the facts or just on what feels comfortable to them.

When people want to believe something about you or misunderstand you, their confirmation bias sets in and they deny any suggestion that their views may be inaccurate. They’ll feed themselves a narrative that aligns with whatever version of you they want to believe. The tighter the grip you have on the narrative, the more control slips through your finger tips.

2. You’re not that special (and that’s a good thing)

If your lack of confidence comes from an internal fear of being perceived or judged by others, let me level with you real quick. You’re not that special. I mean this not to bring you down or deflate your ego, but rather to provide a reality check. The only person who thinks about you 24/7 is you (and maybe your mom). I promise you that you are not at the forefront of everyone’s mind at every second of every day.

Most people are too involved with themselves to use the mental energy from themselves onto you. If you don’t believe me, look inwards. When was the last time you spent more than a couple minutes MAX thinking about someone? My point exactly. You may be a fleeting thought, a screenshot to a group chat, or a topic of conversation at worst. But once they have moved on you are out of sight out of mind.

You’re not that special and that should free you.

3. Confidence is not the absence of insecurity, rather the ability to push past it.

In my life people have described me in many words – loud, opinionated, outgoing, sassy, sarcastic, the list goes on. Some descriptors are nicer than others. A teacher of mine once described my personality as overwhelming.

I coined a phrase in my late teens which served as a mantra that I carried into my adulthood: Say what you want about me, you can’t call me boring.

This phrase allows me to shake off any fear of being seen, judged, or misunderstood and brings me the confidence of knowing that at the end of the day, no matter what someone thinks of me, they cannot describe me as boring. I’d rather be called obnoxious and loud instead of boring.

4. Stop focusing on if someone likes you and pay more attention on if you like them

People talk about this rule when it comes to dating, but this principle should extend to every external relationship in your life. Whether you’re going about the world or trying to make friends, look at every relationship at how this person aligns with you. It’s human nature to want to be liked and accepted amongst your peers, but if you look at the numbers there’s over 8 billion of us and counting. Statistically, there’s going to be people that won’t click with you.

During my study abroad in college, I tried on multiple instances to befriend another one of the girls. She constantly ignored me and remained stand offish. I felt so bothered by her cold behavior towards me. I didn’t understand how she could act so rude to someone she didn’t know. Over time, I found myself integrated with my people. People who treated me with kindness, respect, and who I enjoyed spending time with. After that, I didn’t think twice about that girl. Looking back now, my initial insecurity seems rather silly. From the looks of it, it doesn’t seem like she would’ve made for a good friend anyways.

You can be the juiciest peach in the orchard but somebody still won’t like peaches.

5. The more you force it, the less appealing you are

People tend to have high BS detectors and can smell desperation. When you force yourself to act in a way that’s inauthentic, it shows. It looks like you’re trying too hard and that tends to turn people off. You come off like an imposter and people begin to feel suspicious of your motives. You end up shooting yourself in the foot, where being yourself would’ve served you better.

A few years back, my friend and I bumped into an old high school classmate at our home town dive bar. We stood by a sticky table with a round of green tea shots in hand, exchanging formalities, catch ups, and remember-whens. “I tried so hard to be cool and nobody liked me,” he slurred after we took our shots. His words brought me pity, but I couldn’t entirely disagree.

I remember how he acted all those years back. How he tried to stir up drama to elicit reactions from others, his excessive showing of alcohol bottles on Snapchat, and pictures of late night drives with girls in his car came off as performative. This behavior didn’t incentivize others to think highly of him, but it did push people away.

6. The best kind of people are the ones that are so authentically themselves

I have a friend we’ll call AA who remains hands down, one of the coolest people you will ever meet. She’s the type of person the people flock to based on her energy – something I witness time and time again. Once on a night out at the club a complete stranger came up to her, rolled her a joint, told her she was beautiful, and walked away. Despite the fact that she emits effortless, cool girl energy, she remains unapologetically herself. She wears what she wants, acts how she wants, and isn’t afraid to be the only one in the room doing it. That type of energy is magnetic. People want to be around those types of people because it makes them feel free.

Rather than chasing an aesthetic, or forcing yourself to fit a mold of who you think you should be, focus on what you love and what feels so innately you.

7. Confidence is quiet, insecurity is loud

Confidence doesn’t mean being the loudest or chattiest person in the room. Extroversion doesn’t equate to confidence in the same way that introversion doesn’t equate to insecurity. Confidence is an all encompassing energy that spans and exceeds verbal, physical, and mental characteristics. It’s the quiet self-assurance that allows you to walk into a room with an aura. The ability to hold your own without relying on a drink, friend, or phone. The comfortability to embrace a silence rather than neurotically word-vomiting to fill it.

Confidence is quiet because it doesn’t rely on external validation. You don’t need to look elsewhere for an answer, to over explain yourself, or consistently ask for other’s inputs. You know in yourself that you are capable and that you will be able to handle yourself no matter what comes.

8. Confidence grows when you follow your intuition

Every time you ignore the voice in your head that guides you, the quieter it gets. If ignored enough, it will slowly fade into a subtle hum. With a weak intuition, you lose trust within yourself and become heavily reliant on the answers of others. With that, your confidence slowly dwindles away.

Luckily, that voice never fully disappears. It may lay dormant, but can always return. By actively listening and answering to yourself, your confidence begins to build. This growth has a cumulative effect – the more you listen to your intuition the louder the voice grows inside you.

9. The worst thing someone can tell you is no

You should never be the first person to tell yourself no! Do not stop yourself before you even have the chance to get started. Let yourself go out there and get rejected, it might be harder than you think.

Think of this like exposure therapy. Every time you act from a place of discomfort, take a risk, or do something you secretly always wanted to do, you grow the muscle that is confidence. Confidence doesn’t grow from comfort and complacency, rather it builds only after you’ve pushed yourself. When you let yourself take action, you realize that regardless of what the outcome turned out to be, you survived. Most of the time the idea of doing something seems far more daunting than actually executing on it.

In the beginning of the year, I was out with a few friends and we found ourselves wanting to enter a bar with the line wrapped around the building. Myself and another girl strutted up to the bouncer, fluttered our eyelashes, and cut the line. A few months later, I tried this again at the same bar and received a very kind, but very firm rejection. I survived both instances just the same.

On a larger scale this means asking for a raise, pitching yourself for an opportunity, or shooting your shot with someone you’re interested in. The worst thing they can say is no, but at least you’ll get an answer. The only way to find out is to try.

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The truth is, nobody is going to hand you confidence. There’s no shortcut, no affirmation, no aesthetic that gets you there.

At some point you can decide that your own opinion of yourself matters more than anyone else’s and that you trust yourself to handle whatever life throws at you. That decision will serve as the catalyst for a major transformation.

When I came up with my mantra of, “Say what you want about me, you can’t call me boring” all those years back. That phrase didn’t magically make me confident. My confidence made that phrase possible. And that’s the whole point.

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An ex is an interesting thing because there’s a person out there who knows some of the deepest things about you, has seen you in vulnerable moments, and shares a history with you. They get to roam around the earth knowing all of this information about you, despite them not being in your life anymore.

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I reference my two exes from time to time here. I’ve compared them to my career history and how I learned about relational power dynamics. Yet, I sometimes laugh over the idea of calling my exes, exes. Our relationships occurred during pivotal periods of my life, but also where you can look back at your behavior and justify it based on your age and immaturity. Oh that was so high school! That would only fly in college. You can admit to some pretty ludicrous behavior and follow it up with “But I was 18!” and most people will understand and move on without passing any judgement. That’s the beauty of your youth. You’re able to walk away scot free for most of the dumb things you do.

Of course there were people that came before and after my two exes, some whose names I can’t even remember like Michigan guy or chin beard. But I view most of these people that entered and exited my life as passer-byers. Most who wouldn’t receive a mention when they film the movie of my life. While Ex #1 and Ex #2 would have a mention, the toxic boy from Buffalo and dreamy boy from Boulder may not make the cut.

suck it toxic boy from buffalo

Both my exes occurred early on in life and the relationships had a shelf life in one way or another. We never lived together or planned a future, but I still consider them to be serious in the way that at some point in life, they meant a lot to me. Despite our youth, I guess I learned a thing or three from those relationships.

You don’t need to be in a relationship for the sake of being in one.

My biggest learning I took from Ex #1 was this. In high school, I watched people enter relationships left and right and felt insecure that nobody wanted one with me. I went to the same school from junior kindergarten until graduation and in those 14 years, I never once heard of a boy having a crush on me. If anyone ever did please let me know because it went way over my head.

By the time I reached high school, I was curious what it would be like to have a boyfriend given that my only frame of reference was this boy I dated for two weeks in the 7th grade who lived in Indiana. We went on one date to the movies with our friends and we didn’t talk the entire time. Two weeks later we broke up.

I wanted the milkshake dates, kissing under the bleachers, and sneaking into each other’s houses romance that I saw growing up on TV and the movies.

By sophomore year I began to notice the tall, lanky boy in my classes who was kind of nerdy but really cute. We’d gone to school together for years, but I only recently started to notice him. I mentally decided to crush on him.

When my best friend and I got invited to an upper classmen party, I saw that he was one of the few other underclassmen who got invited. Five jello shots in, I decided to approach him and make my move. At that party, we kissed and shortly after we started dating. This relationship lasted two years and really should’ve wrapped up after one.

He was a sweet boy and our relationship couldn’t ever be considered toxic but the fact of the matter was, I didn’t like him enough. I spent so much time trying to wrap my head around why I always got so annoyed and mad at him. Why some couples seemed like they were having way more fun together than we were. It came down to the sole factor that we just didn’t like each other like that. We liked each other as people and enough in a romantic capacity to date each other. But when the relationship finally ended, there was no fighting for it to last. We both knew that it reached its natural course.

I didn’t know what it felt like to truly like like someone until Ex #2.

If your friends hate your boyfriend, believe them

This seems painfully obvious, but unfortunately those rose colored glasses will lie to you. I was disgustingly obsessed with Ex #2 – obsessed to a point that embarrasses me. Ex #2 was the first boy that I genuinely liked. I fell for him fast and hard. Within the 24 hours I met him, I was on the phone calling home town friends about a new boy.

Most people in my life could consider me a black cat archetype, but for this boy I emulated a puppy who threw up from excitement each time I saw him. I couldn’t tell you what it was about him. We were incredibly compatible and shared strong physical chemistry. But I think I romanticized our two year age gap, thinking that it made him cooler.

My best friend/roommate couldn’t stand him. She didn’t hide it either. She found him condescending and arrogant. I chalked her dislike up to jealousy.

The first time he broke up with me I sat on my futon, with my two friends, bawling my eyes out. The weekend prior we went together to New Orleans with friends for Mardi Gras and told each other we were falling in love. I didn’t understand how he could say that only to end things the following week.

We went a few days without talking before he reached back out. He apologized for ending things so abruptly and missed me. He said he talked to his therapist and wanted me back. I willingly skipped back into his life and my friends wanted to slash me.

I thought they were being protective. That they didn’t want to see me get hurt. But they didn’t know him or our relationship. Turns out they just thought he sucked.

Post actual breakup and post healing, I looked back and saw it for what it was. Yes, we were compatible and he did seem more mature than the average college boy. But, he was also condescending and arrogant. He didn’t hide the fact that he thought he was smarter than me – he wasn’t.

I didn’t see all of this because of my feelings for him, but in hindsight, if my friend brought a guy like him back I would’ve hated him too.

What goes around comes around. Karma is real.

Everything that I did poorly in my first relationship, I received in my second relationship. I truly believe that Ex #2 was my karma for my behavior with Ex #1. I had a taste of my own medicine and it was bitter.

I accepted this karma as a learning experience. After Ex #2, I swore that I would never allow myself to be in a romantic relationship where conflict was met with silence and that the relationship could consistently be taken on and off the table.

And for Ex #2’s karma? That I can’t say for certain. But what goes around comes around and any man who has done me dirty has never glowed up afterwards.

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I write these narratives about my exes knowing that I am no better. It takes two to tango. I’ll never play innocent because I am painfully too self-aware for that.

I can only imagine the stories they have on me.

I wonder if they think about me from time to time. Have they told people about me? Their past or present partners? Their friends? Their therapist? How many strangers know a one-sided version of me that I cannot defend?

In the same way I can’t defend myself, neither can they. Being an ex automatically makes you an unreliable narrator. Every story and memory you share comes from a previous version of you. Even with reflection years later, you still only see it from one side. I can speak on how I dated Ex #1 for the sake of dating only after years of analysis, but it doesn’t negate the fact that I did think that I liked him then. I can rag on Ex #2 now, but understand my previous obsession with him whilst we were together.

The thing about an ex is that they stay frozen in time. All the memories, stories, and opinions we share about them years later are of a person of the past. We don’t factor in nuance and growth. Their age may go up, but in our minds they remain the same person from years prior.

I try to hold space and acknowledge that they are different people now. At least I hope so.

If my exes do see this, I thank you all for the great content. I hope nothing I wrote was too revealing. Thank you for the lessons and I hope to God I never run into you in the future.

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Hyper-independence is an unwavering insistence on autonomy. A type of self-reliance that forms early on in life, when you experience enough signals that teach you that no one is coming. It looks like competence, sounds like confidence, but it moves like self-possession.

Independence on its own is a beautiful thing, but when we approach extremes on either side, problems arise.

This extreme form of independence implies that a person feels an excessive desire to do everything alone, but the problem lies in their complete avoidance of relying on others. Even when drowning, they would rather sink than reach for someone’s hand.

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For most of my life, I remained the sole driving force behind everything I did. From the moment I could hold up my head and crawl, I ran my own show.

At three years old I demanded my mother to let me dress myself and from that day forward she handed over the reins. I showed up to school wearing pink dresses every day, no matter the season. I only compromised in the winter by wearing my dress underneath my snow pants and coat.

Growing up I was praised for my individuality and self-sufficiency. I wore my independence like a badge of honor.

I learned the term hyper-independence at the age of 22. Before then, I didn’t see a problem with being too independent. Isn’t it preferred to be an autonomous, reliable, intelligent, albeit a little stubborn and hardened individual? I’d rather be a little cold than completely codependent.

I never thought that one of my greatest strengths could actively work against my favor.

My hyper-independence formed early on as a means to escape the control of others.

In my early years I formed a core belief that everything came with a cost. No good deed came from an act of generosity. Rather, everything was an exchange and could be held over your head.

In my teen years, I learned that the first step in circumventing authority and control was making my own money. Obtaining a personal income brought me closer to autonomy. I remember cashing my first paycheck at sixteen years old, feeling proud of the $200 in my bank account. For the first time in my life I had cash of my own that I could use freely without needing permission. I took myself to get my nails done to celebrate.

My reluctance and distaste for authority formed a core belief that if I took control of everything, then nobody could control me. If I did everything alone, nobody could take credit for my success.

For a while I thrived in it. Hyper-independence breeds overachievement, ambition, and resilience–traits that will get you far. They allowed me to build a life that I’m proud of. One that got me into a great university, a few respected jobs, and allowed me to move to my dream city on my own at the age of twenty-four. I took pride in achieving all of this on my own.

The benefits are loud, but it extracts a quiet toll by eroding intimacy, softness, rest, and reciprocity.

My inability to relinquish control left me with a white knuckle grip on everything that I touched. I feared that any form of external interference would give others leverage over me. I never wanted to feel like someone was keeping score.

In early dating, I used to adamantly argue in favor of splitting the bill to ensure that my date couldn’t impose a sense of obligation later on in the evening.

I once moved apartments entirely on my own—furniture and all. It took me two weeks. A friend later told me he would’ve helped, but the thought of asking for assistance never even crossed my mind.

Every fiber in my body fights against co-dependence. Doing things alone feels like a safety blanket. It provides the comfort of knowing the job will get done, but this form of control is simply an illusion.

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My aversion to dependence creates an interesting dynamic being in a romantic relationship with someone that I love and respect. I find my internal belief system and my desired actions fighting in opposition. A battle between the head and the heart.

A romantic relationship requires a certain level of reliance and dependency. There’s a reason that it’s called a partnership. Yet, embracing vulnerability feels like submission. Like leaning in actually means giving in. Over the years I carefully curated this confident, sarcastic personality to shield myself from needing to be open and vulnerable.

Entering a relationship challenged this front that I put on, along with my belief that everything needed to be done on my own. I didn’t realize how much hyper-independence seeped into my relationship until I heard the words,“I know you hate relying on people, but…” come out of my boyfriend’s mouth. I felt confronted by the truth. I had no comeback. What can you say when someone hits a bullseye?

Throughout all these years I thought my hyper-independence was admirable. I felt an inflated sense of superiority compared to co-dependent people. I judged their lack of boundaries and inability to do anything on their own. I rolled my eyes seeing them get sucked in, flattening themselves into a two-dimensional character for the sake of potential companionship. I realize now that most of it was projection and I was no better in my own behavior.

By pushing my partner away, I interfered with both of our happiness.

When you enter into a relationship, you become a team. You create a space where you can grow and become a better version of yourselves with the support of the other. It’s truly a gift to be able to sit across from someone with your heart on your sleeve and say ‘This is what I need from you.’ Rather than expecting it or demanding it from the other, you do it because of the love and care you have for each other.

I realized that to be in a real, adult relationship where I wanted a future, I needed to be willing to risk more than I would allow in the past. That I needed to rewrite a more balanced story in my head and override a decade of ingrained beliefs. I needed to allow myself to soften and surrender because I no longer had to rely on this form of self-protection.

Avoiding situations that require the possibility of being hurt, that challenge your belief that you are not self-sufficient, that you can’t do everything on your own will result in a very unfulfilling life. You can run and hide all you want, but it will come with a cost.

The old coping mechanisms that kept you alive in your teens are killing you in your twenties. What you did as a means to protect yourself in a situation that you deemed unsafe is now haunting you. It’s impacting your ability to trust, connect, and rely on others.

I love my independence, but looking back I see how resistant and combative I acted towards others who simply wanted to help. In my attempts to maintain the utmost control, I took something away from others by not allowing them to be there for me.

In avoiding help from others, you deny yourself the opportunity to be cared for. You remove the possibility for others to surprise you. You isolate yourself from ideas, support, opportunity, and intimacy.

There comes a moment where it no longer feels empowering, it feels lonely. It no longer feels like self-protection, but punishment.

Relationships by nature are interdependent. In order to have successful long-term relationships–be it romantic or platonic–requires a healthy level of dependence. By clinging on to the idea that you must do everything alone, you risk losing any sense of community.

To unlearn a lifetime of maladaptive independence and learned behaviors occurs through ongoing exposure therapy. I’m slowly training my nervous system to relax by asking for help. By putting myself in a position to trust the intentions of others. Little by little, I learn that not everyone is keeping score. That you can tolerate dependence without losing your core self.

Because independence doesn’t equate to isolation. Just because you can do everything by yourself doesn’t mean that you should. Just because people weren’t there for you in the past, doesn’t mean others won’t be in your present. Learning to ask for help doesn’t make you any less capable.

I’m still learning to let people show up for me. Not because I can’t do it alone, but because I don’t want to anymore.

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I’ve never had a diagnosable eating disorder. I never required psychiatric or medical help for any body issues. I’ve never been a medically unhealthy weight – neither too heavy nor too light. Yet, since the age of nine, I’ve been acutely aware of my physical body.

I can pinpoint the exact moment I became conscious of the space I took up, no longer seeing my body as a vessel that carried me through life, but rather a volume of limbs, fat, and muscle that filled the spaces it entered.

In the third grade, I sat in class watching a video that our teacher put on. The classroom lights were off, but the screen illuminated my classmate on my left. I observed her composition in the chair. She sat normally, with both feet flat on the floor. I noticed how her legs looked the same sitting as they did when standing, even when they were pushed against the seat beneath her. I looked down at mine, in comparison, seeing a different result. Compared to hers, mine spread across the chair, doubling in size.

I began to monitor the appearance of my thighs while learning my multiplication tables. I trained myself to sit in every chair with only the balls of my feet touching the ground. I thought that keeping my feet in a relevé position would prevent my thighs from fully touching the chair, creating the illusion of thinner legs.

From an early age, people felt comfortable commenting on my body and sharing their unsolicited, non-medical opinions on my physique.

At 11 years old, my former gymnastics coach told my mom that I got bigger since quitting and needed to lose weight. This led to a habit of consistent body checks in the mirror, sucking in and assessing my body from all angles.

I struggled with this push and pull where I never hated my body, but never fully loved it either, resulting in a sort of middle ground of body dysmorphia that never warranted any red flags to those around me. I ate all my meals, never fainted from a lack of nutrition, and remained in athletic shape. Behind the scenes my body felt like a project.

At 13 years old, I began to source inspiration by following thinspo accounts on Tumblr, feeding myself an information diet of tips and tricks to lose weight and stay skinny. I longed for hollowed out cheeks, visible collarbones, and a three-inch thigh gap to emulate the stick-thin figures the platform idolized.

I would steal diet pills from the grocery store and hide them in my dresser, taking them in secret. The pills contained high doses of caffeine, meant to aid in curbing appetite. I didn’t question their legitimacy or fear any negative consequences, even when they gave me the shakes and spotty vision. They seemed like a tool to achieve the body type I longed for. If Advil could fix a headache, this could “fix” my body.

My body image lived rent-free in my mind, taking up significant mental energy. I would assess the bodies of others in every room I walked into, scanning to see how mine compared.

By high school, I developed an aversion towards scales and refused to weigh myself. During yearly physicals, I made an obvious point to look away, hoping that the nurses would catch on and avoid repeating the number out loud. When they didn’t, I would internally spiral. No number felt satisfying.

For years, my body confidence remained in flux. Some days I saw myself as a goddess, taking pride in my height, long legs, and perky butt. Other days, I wished I could customize myself like a Sims character: less muscle, smaller thighs, slimmer waist.

In my lifetime, I’ve witnessed body types go in and out of style like last season’s clothes. The stick-thin, heroin chic with Kate Moss as its poster child. Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. The curvy, busty, but still skinny body type, best defined as “slim-thick” and can be achieved via the BBL cosmetic surgery. The era of the big booty. The pilates princess toned physique with slim arms and washboard abs. The lean, yet “feminine” body.

I’ve lived long enough to see the term “fat ass” go from a cruel insult to a longed-for compliment.

At times these body trends would bring me a temporary sense of validation and self-acceptance. I would embrace my thicker thighs and curvy bum, appreciating them when they were celebrated. But I could never get too comfortable because the pendulum always swings back.

It seems like a universal experience, or maybe generational curse, of womanhood is the project management of our physical appearance. Growing up to view your body as something meant to monitor, evaluate, and optimize. Fixating on flaws. Constantly checking to see if your body type made this year’s “hot or not” list. Failing to shape shift your body into what’s trending without going under the knife or injecting a GLP-1.

Throughout my life it felt like I was beating around the bush of self-acceptance. There was always a but, something that could be altered or fixed. Like some kind of Goldilocks fallacy where some parts were too big, some were too small, but none were just right.

It felt exhausting how all-consuming it was. How a bad confidence day could impact my night, by indefinitely ruining my mood. No compliment or validation from others could fix it, let alone be believed.

What is the point of being constantly at war with your body?

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High school and college are environments where body issues thrive because it breeds comparison and promotes unhealthy behaviors. In adulthood I’ve found better discernment by filtering out my social media algorithm from content that promotes unhealthy living and understanding that most of the internet is fake. I can better comprehend that photos online are heavily edited or that people modify their bodies through surgeries or medications. I don’t judge those who do, but understand that that look isn’t naturally achievable.

At a certain point, I surrendered to the idea that I need to chase certain physical traits to fulfill a beauty standard. Trends will come and go, but my natural body is timeless.

I recently read someone describe how deliberately vague thinness is. That the reward for shrinking yourself only results in more shrinking because the goalpost will always move away from you. There is no “enough,” no final result that brings satisfaction. The journey to achieve bodily-acceptance through means of incessant modifications will lead you on a wild goose chase that results in little to no success.

I fear the transference of toxic, body communities from one platform to another. These spaces exist across different mediums. They don’t go extinct, but rather adapt with the times. What used to be thinspo, pro-ana, and pro-mia on Tumblr now moved to Skinnytok on TikTok. I refuse to acknowledge or look into that corner of the internet for fear of regressing to a younger version of myself. I worry for the younger generations of impressionable girls who experience the same level of brain-washing that the women before them faced.

At twenty-five, I can confidently say that I am the healthiest and most confident in my body. Rather than striving to achieve a specific look through means of restricting, I focus more on how my body feels. By prioritizing feeling strong and healthy, the confidence came with it.

But I think back to the nine-year-old version of myself. The innocent, little girl who grew insecure of her legs before she could fully write cursive. I think of the eleven-year-old who began to obsessively monitor her appearance in the mirror, when she needed to enjoy being a kid. I think of the thirteen-year-old who thought she needed to take pills to achieve her ideal body. I look at these younger versions of myself with such loving eyes and wish I could protect them from what they went through.

I won’t pretend that I’m fully healed. My relationship with my body, while better, remains complicated. Trying on clothes in a dressing room still gives me anxiety and god forbid I put on a pair of jeans that won’t go up my thighs. Although I don’t see my body as a project anymore, I’d be lying if I said I don’t smile when I drop a size or someone compliments my physique.

But, despite my complicated relationship with my body, I now sit with both feet flat on the floor in a chair. I no longer scan the bodies of those in the room with me. I don’t want to shrink myself anymore.

I let my thighs press into the seat the way they naturally do, and I don’t hide them.

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I recently received a seemingly harmless question with the best intentions about my knowledge and experience with sex. The question held validity, given that I wrote an entire piece on the sex talk everyone needs in their twenties.

I laughed nervously when asked, unsure how to respond without divulging the most intimate details of my life. I consider myself a fairly open person–with my friends I probably give too much detail–but when needing to “prove” my expertise on the subject, I found myself shying away.

Sex is a subject with a lot of nuance and complexity. Each person holds their own unique relationship to sex and their approach to it. Because of this, I view it almost like religion, seeing that both involve their own sets of practices and values.

I stand by the ideology that sex should be talked about free of shame and embarrassment–especially as women, since society has placed so much stigma on our participation in it. It’s why I’ve written about topics such as pleasure and self-intimacy in the past. Sexuality should be embraced so, in my attempt to stay true with my beliefs, I come here today to say this.

I have had a lot of sex. I can’t provide a specific number, I don’t keep a list with names, pictures, and social security numbers. But on a scale from the Virgin Mary to Samantha Jones I can say that I’m probably in the Serena Van Der Woodsen range. Take that information however you will.

Given all this context, you could consider me a sexually open and liberated person. But for years my sexual confidence was a hoax; a performative act, overcompensating for my desire to grow up too quickly.

Only in recent years have I discovered what true sexual empowerment looks like and have slowly grown into the confidence I now claim. This is what I know now.

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Sexual empowerment doesn’t have a quota

Between the ages of 16-22, I correlated sex with maturity. In my young, under-developed mind, I believed that engaging in sex made you cooler, more grown up, and superior to those around you. If I partook in more sex and advanced my skills, then it would bring me one step closer to feeling sexually empowered.

Entering college, I came in having slept with more people than most of my friends. I quickly learned that this didn’t make me more different, mature, or empowered. In fact I was just as clueless as them, if not more. The most sexually empowered girl I met my freshman year had only slept with her high school boyfriend. She spoke with conviction on the subject and understood the power she held when she engaged in it.

The truth is, sexual empowerment doesn’t require you to fulfill a quota. Craving sex and acting on that urge is one thing, saying yes for the sake of saying yes is another. Power doesn’t always come in numbers. There isn’t a certain number or partners or frequency of times that you need to partake in sex to gain sexual confidence. Hyper sexuality will not make you feel more empowered and practicing celibacy doesn’t make you any less.

Validation ≠ Desire

In early adulthood, most of my sexual endeavors were fueled on the basis of receiving validation rather than embracing sexual desire. I hate to admit this as I denied this exact statement for many years. I looked for approval in the wrong people, confusing compatibility for chemistry and validation for desire.

What took me years to learn and unlearn was what feeling fueled my actions. Validation comes from external sources, while desire comes internally. Everyone wants to feel wanted, but wanting someone to be sexually attracted to you is not the same as feeling sexual attraction for someone. I can have flirty banter with a brick wall, but that doesn’t mean that I should bang it.

Acting on desire may lead you to a passionate night, while acting on validation will leave you wishing you spent the evening alone with your vibrator. The emotional come down of acting on validation may leave you unfulfilled and checking your phone repeatedly for a text back that you may never get.

If you’re having sex to feel chosen, you’re not choosing yourself.

Sexual empowerment is self-selection

It is impossible to deny that one of the most iconic, sexually confident female characters in television is Samantha Jones. She spoke freely about sex, had it with whomever she pleased (man or woman), practiced self-pleasure, and never shied away from asking for what she wanted. While her character engaged in a lot of sex, her body count is the least interesting thing about her.

What I always admired about her was that she never waited to be picked, rather, she picked them. True sexual empowerment means understanding that you’re an autonomous being with choice; that you have the power to be sexual without needing to be sexualized. The real power comes in acting in favor of your needs rather than fulfilling someone else’s.

I used to consider myself the Samantha of the group, I thought my boldness and wild stories mirrored her closely, but I lacked her discernment. I would say yes in moments that I wanted to say maybe. I confused attention with intention. Truthfully, many of my experiences were never fully on my terms. My missing piece was the intention in selecting partners. The self-assurance behind your decision making unlocks true empowerment.

Desire evolves

I stand by my claim that sex gets better with age. Partly because with time comes experience. The other part is that you better understand the what, why and how of what turns you on.

In my earlier years, I would mimic what I saw in movies and TV in my personal experiences. I took advice that I heard on the then sex podcast Call Her Daddy and would test them out when my next opportunity arose. I would often feel disappointed with the outcomes because I didn’t know what actually did it for me.

Desire doesn’t get discovered in one full swoop. It doesn’t arrive packaged nice and neatly with a bow on top, rather it unfolds slowly. To know yourself fully takes time: your wants, needs, fantasies, kinks. Sometimes those are discovered alongside a partner, other times they’re unlocked through solo-play and exploration.

In understanding my own desire, I began to identify my previous misconceptions on the matter. To me, the best sex started well before my clothes came off. It included intellectual stimulation, soft touches throughout the day, lingering anticipation, and a strong, primal desire. I didn’t like aggression, I liked passion. I didn’t want dominance, but rather intensity.

The thing about desire is that it’s both vast and uniquely specific to each individual.

Knowing what I know now, sexual confidence doesn’t come with a check list. It doesn’t require a specific number, a performance, or a story. You don’t need to be constantly on and charged.

Sexual confidence develops over time. It grows with discernment, choice, and intention. It doesn’t require you to be loud and doesn’t need to be validated by another person for it to be real.

In understanding my own sexuality, I encourage others to embrace theirs by approaching it with curiosity and intention. Sex and sexuality is a fundamental part of being human and we don’t need to feel embarrassed about exploring it. In allowing yourself to lean into it, you may be pleased with what you discover.

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If you are a human who has lived longer than sixteen years, you have probably fucked someone over. You may not have meant it. Maybe you did. But at some point in your life, you were cast as the villain–and you deserved that title.

I’ve seen a lot of commentary around getting named the villain because you set a boundary, put yourself first, or didn’t fulfill someone’s expectations of you. I don’t mean this. I mean a time when your selfish or poor behavior came at someone else’s expense.

The truth is, at some point in your life, you will be the villain in someone’s story.

I don’t say this to excuse bad behavior or avoid accountability, but to provide a reality check. Humans aren’t perfect; in fact, we’re far from it. We make mistakes, hurt people, and act irrationally. Even the biggest people pleaser you know has a skeleton or two in their closet.

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I’ll be the first to admit that I have a scandal of my own. At nineteen years old, I kissed one of my brother’s friends, knowing he had a girlfriend.

I was 24 hours into a breakup–my first heartbreak–and in town visiting. That evening I attended his house party, sipping on strongly poured vodka crans to drown my sorrows. Upon introduction, his friend and I immediately hit it off. We interacted platonically, sharing friendly banter, chit chat, and even a round of beer pong.

Everything seemed in innocent, good faith until I found him standing at the door of the room I was sleeping in.

The party was long over and the time was well past midnight. Nothing good happens after 2am kids. With glazed eyes and lowered inhibitions, I listened to him confess his interest in me.

I stopped him twice, telling him what a big mistake it would be to act on anything. I reminded him who he would hurt in the process. On the third time hearing how beautiful he found me and how much he liked me, I caved. Feeling desired and wanted, I broke my moral code and leaned in.

Our kiss lasted one second and moments later my brother walked in, seeing the situation for what it was. There aren’t many excuses you can make when you’re caught hiding someone behind an office chair.

The next day his girlfriend was informed and I confessed what happened over the phone.

From the moment we got caught, guilt immediately settled in. I felt awful, ashamed that I was now that girl–the girl who knowingly engages other people’s partners.

I hate to admit that most of my guilt didn’t come from hurting his girlfriend. It wasn’t even being the “other” woman. It was seeing my brother–someone who respected and thought highly of me–look at me with such disappointment. Because he knew I was better than that. He knew that I knew better, but in that moment he couldn’t recognize the person standing before him.

I knew his friend was in a relationship–he’d spent half the night talking about her. I knew that kissing him would come at the cost of hurting her. The truth was, at that moment I didn’t care.

When I stood there that night, listening to him say everything I wanted to hear, I chose to be selfish. I chose to engage in a cheap thrill, a small act of validation, to make myself feel better. And I regret it.

We all find ourselves in moments when we choose to act selfishly. A time where we take a bite of the forbidden fruit, give in to temptation, and listen to the devil on our shoulder.

This wasn’t an act of being in your “villain era.” This was a time where you were the villain.

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If you have hurt someone, disappointed someone, or screwed someone over, that doesn’t make you a bad person. Intentionally and consistently doing bad things makes you a bad person.

You’ve made your mess and now you must clean it up: take accountability, admit you messed up without softening it, excusing it, or turning it into a self-care moment straight away. The worst type of person is the one who never takes responsibility for anything.

Even in doing this will not fully spare you from the consequences. People will talk about you. Make assumptions of their own by filling in the gaps. They’ll air out your dirty laundry without hearing your side of the story. All of this is out of your control and learning to live with that is punishment enough.

What you can control is how you move forward. Growth doesn’t erase your previous actions, but it improves your future ones.

While your guilt may make you feel like you need to serve a self-inflicted penance, banish yourself to a life of isolation, or walk around wearing a Scarlet Letter, it will only bring further harm. Rather than letting your mistakes haunt you, you can accept and learn.

Take the time to understand why you acted the way you did. Think about what factors could have played in your decision making. What made you go looking for trouble? Why did you justify it in the moment? Sitting with these answers may feel uncomfortable but can help you avoid making the same mistake again.

Forgiving yourself is difficult because it doesn’t require the other person to. Moving on doesn’t mean that you don’t care. Being honest and giving yourself grace, even in your worst moments, may allow you to extend that same grace to others in the future.

When I think back to my actions all those years ago, I know I was the bad guy. I wasn’t some innocent, clueless girl who was tricked. I actively made a bad decision.

But I forgive myself. I forgive insecure, nineteen-year-old me for going through her first heartbreak who just wanted the validation that she was worth loving. I accept being the villain in her story and I take responsibility for causing her pain and hurt.

I may be the villain in her story but I know that I am the friend in someone else’s. I am the trusted confidant in another. I am the good listener, the advice giver, and the loving one to others.

I accept that a poor decision and carelessness toward others will be a part of my past, but it is not a part of my identity.

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“I would like to pause the story a moment to talk about ‘nothing will change’. I’ve heard it said to me repeatedly by women I love during my twenties when they move in with boyfriends, get engaged, move abroad, get married, get pregnant. ‘Nothing will change.’ It drives me bananas. Everything will change. Everything will change. The love we have for each other stays the same, but the format, the tone, the regularity and the intimacy of our friendship will change forever.”

― Dolly Alderton, Everything I Know About Love

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One of the biggest lies we tell in adulthood is that nothing will change. We lie to ourselves and each other with this fallacy, holding on to the ignorant belief that things will stay the same despite the world around us being constantly in flux. We say this to protect ourselves, denying the inevitable.

From the very moment we came to exist, everything changed and continued to do so. In childhood, we outgrew our clothes year after year–pants too short and shoes too tight from our developing bodies. Our malleable brains possessed a significant capacity for change.

We flipped through friends, interests, and preferences like pages in a catalog. One month our favorite color was pink but the month prior it was yellow. One day we dreamed of being a superhero and the next we wanted to be a singer.

We constantly evolved and were the catalysts for it. Change didn’t happen to us, we happened to change.

Once we get older and things start to settle, change begins to feel uncomfortable. Our clothes begin to fit consistently year after year—our toes no longer smush against our shoes and our pants fit the same way today as they did two years prior. Our sense of self further develops but our brains become less malleable.

We become creatures of habit, finding comfort in the regularity of our little worlds. The relationships we hold with our friends and family have not only been built, but maintained. The consistent framework of the world around us makes us less receptive to change.

Now, change feels scary.

At 21 years old, I read Dolly Alderton’s words on the very real shift that occurs to your friendships in your twenties. I ignorantly believed that I would avoid this fate. That, unlike everyone around me, life would grant me immunity to its ever changing nature.

Nobody prepares you. It starts one day and then slowly continues to unravel. Slowly but surely, bit by bit, every relationship I once knew changed.

I struggle to accept this aspect of adulthood, desperately clinging on to what no longer exists. With everyone beginning their own journey in the so-called game of life, I started to lose access to the people closest to me. The relationships and friendships that I spent years tending to—the ones that played a significant role in my life—were changing in real time.

What once used to be days spent together turn into planned trips once or twice a year. Hours previously spent on the phone turn into texts, turn into occasional catch ups. The very nature of the relationships you share with the people you love most in this life will forever change in adulthood. Not due to a lack of love, not because you’ve outgrown each other, but because your individual growth requires change.

When I think about it too hard, I feel angry. The type of anger that puts a knot in my throat and forms tears behind my eyes. I feel resentful of their new friends and partners, regressing into a jealous child that’s competing for affection.

I feel parts of our relationships are now replaced or substituted by their partners. I become envious of good, well-meaning people, acting in ways I know are misplaced. I secretly roll my eyes at the excessive mention of their partners. If I wanted to know their thoughts I would’ve asked them myself.

The truth is, I just miss them.

I long for the days where we only talked to each other about each other. The chats we shared over dinner, tipsy off margaritas, acting as each other’s unqualified therapists. I miss the long car drives where we took turns playing music, showing each other songs we thought the other would like. I miss being their first priority like they were mine.

I fear that one day all my relationships will turn into surface level chats about nothing. That we will become the type of people who only talk about their wives, husbands, and children, with all sense of self-identity wrapped up in who we are to others.

Understanding that I sound selfish and bitter, I will also admit that I am a hypocrite. Like everyone else around me, my life has also changed. I am also the friend that moved away. I too have a partner that I likely talk too much about. I have shifting priorities that occupy my mental space and attention. There are people that I should call, text, and visit more. I am not innocent in this.

Yet, despite this self-awareness, I still romanticize the teenage nostalgia and feel wistful for my college years. Not because I want to go back, but because I miss what I had.

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In my attempt to accept that things will never be the same, not like they used to, I remind myself of the silver lining. If change takes something, it also gives.

Because in my friend moving abroad, I see her begin to build a beautiful life of her own in a foreign country. She found a partner that she’s smitten with and who makes her happy. She currently lives the life that we fantasized about in college.

In seeing my brother start his own business and get a girlfriend of his own, I feel proud of him. His busy schedule and limited time reflect his strong work ethic and ambition. I see the older brother that drove me to school turn into a responsible and accomplished adult. I see his potential to flourish into a future loving husband and father.

For my friends that are engaged, married, or with kids on the way, I admire the start of a new chapter of adulting for them. And for my friends pursuing higher education or furthering their careers, I congratulate them for turning into such remarkable members of society.

In learning to accept that things are changing and will continue to, I remind myself that closeness isn’t the only measure of love. That connection doesn’t always demand emotional labor or constant contact. That even with time apart, real friendships will always pick up from where you left off.

Growing up means that you will need to say goodbye eventually, even to the most committed and enduring friendships. While you all will promise that things will never change, you silently accept that they will. And the love will always remain.

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Between the ages of 16-19, I found myself in two romantic relationships with drastically different dynamics and outcomes. Each occurred during a pivotal stage of my adolescence–high school and college–and I experienced a massive shift in power going from one relationship to the next. I found that the relational power dynamic in male/female relationships often shifts with age.

To put it simply: girls do boys dirty in high school and boys do girls dirty in college.

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If for some reason my high school boyfriend reads this, T**** I’m sorry. When we fought I would go days, even weeks, without speaking to him. I almost broke up with him countless times, getting 99% of the way through a breakup before changing my mind at the last minute. Even post-breakup, I would flirt with him at one party and kiss someone else at the next. Between the two of us, I got away with bad behavior, yet I never worried about facing any repercussions.

In college I got played like a fiddle. In my only college relationship, the power dynamic flipped. I didn’t even hold the illusion of control. We stayed in his dorm, hung out with his friends, and went by his schedule. During times of conflict, he would decide when to break the silence. I would anxiously check my phone for days, ready to apologize or fix what needed fixing so we could go back to our regularly scheduled programming of him calling the shots.

In those three years and two relationships, I found myself both with leverage and at the mercy of someone else’s.

I’ve seen this relational power dynamic in high school and college play out outside of my own life. In high school I watched girls wrap boys around their fingers, leading them on for their own selfish antics. In college, I witnessed my girlfriends experience their biggest heartbreaks, falling for boys who threw them to the side.

How does this power dynamic come into play? And why?

Enter my theory.

In the high school environment, girls tend to hold more leverage in romantic dynamics.

Girls mature faster than boys: physically, mentally, and socially. Until the age of seventeen, I found myself at eye level or taller than my male classmates (I’m 5’7”). With physical maturation comes extra, often unwanted, attention. Coming into freshman year, girls have a higher chance of getting attention for their looks. You’ll often see underclassmen girls getting noticed by upper classmen, attending prom, and dating the older boys. This dynamic comes with its own set of pros and cons, but this early experience brings confidence in using your looks to your advantage.

Entering high school, I experienced boys two to three years older than me flirting, following me on Instagram, or asking for my number. This quickly taught me I was pretty and desirable. Knowing this information made me the so-called gatekeeper of romantic escalation. Rather than competing for attention, I held the power to choose who to give it to.

This increased confidence early on allows girls the opportunity to date frequently, lead on, and emotionally distance compared to their male counterparts without facing severe negative social consequences.

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The Shift

In college the playbook shifts and the dynamic begins to go in favor of the boys.

Going into freshman year, the boys no longer look so baby-faced and may even have experience from high school. With their age, higher confidence, and new environment, their desirability increases.

College fosters an environment with an increased dating pool, high sexual access, and less pressure to commit.

Women tend to outnumber men on college campuses which creates a skewed dating market. College also has its own social politics which put men on pedestals and makes them more desirable. Is he in a top frat? Is he on the football team? Did his dad donate the library? With an influx of options and attention, the boys begin to hold the power of romantic escalation.

This type of socialization teaches them to prioritize casual over commitment. Instead of competing for the attention of one girl, they realize their options and pursue as many as they like.

This creates a dynamic where they get away with keeping things vague, avoiding labels, and stringing girls along.

A lot of the biggest heartbreaks my friends went through happened in college. I saw them crying over their boyfriends from their on-again, off-again relationships. Or from the boys who only reached out to them drunk or high at 2 a.m. Or the boys that slept with them in private and ignored them in public.

Adulthood

Exiting college, where does this leave us in adulthood? Who holds the power?

Here the playing field levels a bit and the gendered tug-of-war fades. With time, maturity, and experience, relationships should be relatively equal. Realistically, there are too many types of relationships and dynamics to make a generalized call in favor of one gender.

In adulthood, the power comes from the person with autonomy. The one that respects themselves enough to know that they can and will walk away if they feel disrespected or that their needs aren’t being met.

In high school I used my power unconsciously. In college I gave it away. In adulthood I choose it deliberately. From someone who’s been the player and been played, the real winners are the ones who hold true to themselves.

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We’ve completed the year of the snake. The year that symbolized transformation, wisdom, intuition, and renewal. Did you shed your old skin for new beginnings? Did you nurture your creativity or cultivate your inner peace? Are you simply happy that you made it to the new year in one piece?

I always loved the start of a new year. I found it satisfying to bookend time in this way, bringing a ceremonial aspect to the end of one year and the commencement of a new one.

Looking back at 2025, I tried to piece together my year and what it brought me. I looked back at the high highs and the low lows in search of the common through line that tied everything together. I discovered that the underlying theme followed discomfort and risk: some self-inflicted, others from external forces.

I find that the two go hand in hand, one serving as the catalyst for the other.

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We tend to avoid subjecting ourselves to discomfort. Human nature prefers familiarity because it signals safety. We favor our old and familiar activities over more novel and exciting ones. Why try the new restaurant with great reviews downtown when we can go to the one we love down the street? I see this in myself when I choose to watch Friends for the 500th time instead of finding something new.

Familiarity breeds comfort, but comfort can breed complacency.

In January of 2025 I took my first risk of the year by moving to New York City, fulfilling a dream I’d been chasing since childhood. I felt myself completing an intergenerational echo in this move; mirroring my mother from decades prior. Both of us at twenty-four years old arrived in the Big Apple with two suitcases and a dream.

By taking this risk, discomfort followed. The realization quickly settled in that I needed to rebuild my life from scratch: new job, new friends, new places. These all symbolize a fresh start but require significant effort.

When romanticizing the life you want, you daydream about the great changes it will bring. In order to reap those benefits, you must first put in the work; work that feels uncomfortable. This meant going on awkward friends dates, spending weekends alone, taking the wrong subway lines, and starting over.

With time, the pieces slowly began to come together. I found a handful of friends that energized me. I discovered my favorite pockets of the city. I created a routine that felt intuitive.

By actively embracing the discomfort, I found my way.

When discomfort comes unexpectedly, navigating it becomes more complex. In the first six months of the year I focused on finding my footing in the new life I created for myself. During the summer a wrench came into my plan and demolished parts of my hard work, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

I lost my job and, with it, confidence within myself. I sat fighting conflicting feelings: relief and freedom versus unhappiness and fear.

Released from my corporate chains, I felt lost navigating newfound freedom. I refused to repeat the same mistakes or act from a place of fear and desperation. Yet, I had no clue where to begin.

At seventeen years old, I followed the mantra that things will always work out. Even when the walls cave in and the floor crumbles beneath me, I follow the blind faith that everything will inevitably work itself out. Some people believe in a higher power. I believe in myself.

The happiest people in life take risks. These people live outside of their comfort zones, put themselves out there, and pursue the unknown despite uncertainty. By living in a state of action, they trust in themselves and the world around them.

By leaning into taking a risk, we put ourselves in a much more expansive mindset. We open up our world just a little bit more. By surviving each risk, we become a bit more desensitized to the fear of acting.

Taking risks doesn’t mean taking your life’s savings to the casino and putting it all on black. Sometimes it means moving somewhere new, pivoting your career, or taking a chance on yourself. Surrendering control of an outcome is a risk of its own.

People often forget that most risks come with an exit strategy or eject button. Things are rarely permanent. In taking a risk, feel the security of knowing that you can always go back, but have the courage to continue moving forward.

In July of 2025, I found myself sitting in a coffee shop on a sweltering, summer day talking to my computer. In a desperate attempt to figure out my next steps, I hired ChatGPT to act like my career counselor. I made it ask a series of questions to help guide me.

By doing so I discovered I already knew all the answers. Answers that I previously suppressed and turned away because they seemed unattainable. In the past I told myself no, before anyone else could.

With nothing to lose I decided to put myself up to the test. What would happen if I decided to write? What would happen if I made an active change in my career? What would happen if I followed intuition rather than logic?

Rather than telling myself no, I decided to see what would happen. In doing so, my life started changing in small incremental shifts. I began this very Substack which re-ignited my passion for writing. I found a job outside of my previous industry that excites me. I started building a future that actually feels like mine.

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I recently stumbled upon a TikTok that talks about getting five no’s every week. The creator encourages putting yourself in a position where someone can tell you no. This includes asking to get upgraded on a flight, pitching yourself for an opportunity, asking someone for a coffee chat, etc. By putting yourself in this position, you increase your audacity calibration and get comfortable in asking for what you want.

Audacity Calibration: intentionally putting yourself in situations where rejection is likely so your nervous system learns that you can survive a bold action

@ankitatej5 nos a week or you failed #audacitycalibration #highperformancecoach

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Discomfort breeds change by forcing you to sink or swim. Taking risks propels you forward.

2025 was the most uncomfortable year of my life, but it also liberated me. It taught me that sometimes things need to be completely dismantled to make more room for what is meant for you.

This year, the year of the horse, symbolizes courage, passion, and freedom. I challenge you to find this by embracing discomfort, taking more risks, and asking for more. You may be pleased with what’s waiting for you on the other side.

Happy New Year! Thank you for being here :)

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We’ve all heard of the birds and the bees; the age-old sex talk often given by parents to their kids where they explain the concept of sex and how it happens. I can imagine that the conversation feels painfully awkward for everyone involved. Personally, I wouldn’t know because I never received the sex talk. While I wasn’t raised in a religious household, my immigrant parents weren’t necessarily sex positive either.

I learned about sex through the internet, television, and movies. At ten years old, I saw sex on screen for the first time in the opening scene to Bridesmaids. After watching a handful of PG-13 and rated R movies, I slowly began to better understand the concept.

In high school my education came from overheard stories and second hand experiences. On a bus ride to a soccer game one of the upperclassmen shared how she got lockjaw from blowjobs. One of my friends told me how she did it in a Forever 21 dressing room. By the time I became sexually active I felt both overconfident and confidently lost.

In college, I learned a lot from morning-after debriefs with my friends. These would take place at the dining hall, sorority house, or living room couch. We would chat in a Sex and the City–esque manner about the events that unfolded the night prior in meticulous detail.

The majority of my education came from practice. With time and experience I acquired my own list of learnings, some of which I wish I knew beforehand, others I wish to shed more light on. I come to you today at twenty-five years old to provide a new and improved sex talk I wish someone gave me.

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1. Sometimes Sex Is Just… Fine

Honestly, the Bridesmaids opening scene perfectly captures the depiction of lackluster, performative sex. Nobody talks about how a lot of times you can classify a session as awkward, mediocre, or simply meh.

With the right person you can experience the kind of sex where your eyes roll to the back of your head while you enter a god-like state of euphoria. But a lack of sexual chemistry will leave you thinking about what errands you need to run later and wondering why he’s sweating so much.

2. Casual Sex Isn’t Always Casual

In the past I found myself in casual hookups secretly longing for something to arise between us. While my mind would feel one way, my body would feel another. By engaging in one of the most vulnerable acts you can do with someone, your body will assign meaning itself.

During a session the brain releases a large amount of oxytocin which acts like a hormone and neurotransmitter. When oxytocin is released, it enhances trust, promotes bonding, and strengthens affection and closeness after sex. Even in casual encounters, your body will promote the feeling of long-term connection. Don’t blame yourself, blame biology.

3. Sex Hits Different With Feelings

When you share mutual feelings with someone, sex combines physical pleasure with connection, trust, and vulnerability.

The intimacy takes it to another level. Partner that with oxytocin and great communication you create an environment that allows you to relax and explore with each other. They don’t call it making love for nothing.

4. Aftercare Is Non-Negotiable

People do not talk about aftercare enough. We focus so much on the before and during part of sex that the after often gets overlooked.

Aftercare refers to the practice of caring for your partner after sex. This includes cuddling, showering together, or even just talking. This helps solidify a sense of security and regulate how your body feels once all the sexual chemicals dissipate.

At 22 years old I found myself in a mutually unfulfilling situationship, where we slept together regularly. Immediately upon finishing he would turn over and go to bed, leaving me feeling vulnerable and unsatisfied.

If you are sleeping with someone who doesn’t take the time to make you feel safe after the spicy part ends, they do not respect you and you should stop sleeping with them.

5. Avoid Drunk Sex

I won’t play innocent, but I highly advise against it. Drunk sex is messy, sloppy, and risky.

When your inhibitions and sense of judgment are impaired, the line for consent gets fuzzy. On top of that you likely won’t even finish.

While people advocate for high or tipsy sex, I still advise that sober should be your MO. You can always enhance, but that shouldn’t be your baseline.

If you don’t want someone in your most sober state, you probably shouldn’t have sex with them.

6. Toys are Enhancements, Not Necessities

Speaking of enhancements, toys are a wonderful addition to the bedroom. They allow you to spice things up and explore different sensations within the body.

However, they won’t change the act itself. Think of toys like ice cream toppings, adding them makes it more fun but it doesn’t change the flavor.

7. Bring Back the Dance Floor Makeout

The dance floor makeout is a lost art that’s dying. At 21 years old my friend and I stood on the back patio of a club drunkenly dissecting why a dance floor makeout will always be more satisfying than a one night stand.

We agreed that a dance floor makeout gives you your fix right then and there. It’s hot, it’s steamy, it’s sexy.

You get all the passion that comes from a one night stand with the added benefit of no morning after scaries or risk of STDs. You smooch, you dance, you have a good time. What’s not to love?

8. Not Every Session Needs To End in Penetration

Lest we forget that there are in fact four bases and unlike the game of baseball you don’t need to get to fourth to hit a home run.

The act of hooking up before that point brings about a vast number of sensations and there’s something playful about leaving your partner wanting more. Rather than focusing on going all the way you can take turns focusing on each other’s pleasure with intention.

9. Sex Gets Better With Age

Just like wine, sex gets better with age. With time comes experience and that goes for your partners as well. Getting older you become much more comfortable and in tune with your body. You feel more confident in asking for what you want, exploring different sides of your sexuality, and saying no.

You stop focusing on performing and start prioritizing pleasure.

10. Never fake an orgasm!

I’m going to repeat myself. Never ever ever ever ever ever ever EVER fake an orgasm. You are not doing anyone any favors by pretending.

Communicate what you like, instruct them to do something else, or tell them to stop. Do not give someone the satisfaction if you don’t feel satisfied.

BONUS: Know Yourself First

I’ve said this once and I’ll say it again, do not leave the responsibility of your pleasure in someone else’s hands! This all starts with you. I explored this more deeply in a previous piece of mine if you’re curious. How can you expect other people to bring you pleasure when you don’t know yourself?

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Let me know what learnings you’ve gathered that you think everyone should know.

Happy humping!

xoxo

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At a very young age, I knew that I was destined for greatness. I never doubted it for a single second. This didn’t result from a light bulb moment or a core memory that completely changed the trajectory of my life. For as long as I can remember, I felt a deep, internal knowledge that one day I would live a big and beautiful life.

When adults used to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up I confidently answered with one of three options: actress, model, or both. As a young girl I would runway walk in the living room in my mom’s high heels that fit three sizes too big. I made my family watch while I imitated the walks of the beloved Victoria’s Secret Angels that I saw on the TV. I made my mom take headshots of me on our family camera while I posed in front of the roses in our front yard. I studied America’s Next Top Model like pro athletes watch game film.

Once I got a little older, my interests broadened but the passion remained. I wrote half-baked stories in my notebooks with the energy of a New York Times bestseller. I begged for new notebooks even if my current one had plenty of pages left because I never wanted my genius stifled by a lack of resources. I aspired to write columns, short stories, and novels. It didn’t stop there. I recorded videos doing my makeup in my bedroom after school with dreams of becoming the next big YouTube beauty guru. I sat in front of the mirror practicing and perfecting makeup looks with my Ulta brand eyeshadow palettes. I begged my mother to let me post my videos online. I wanted to be seen.

In high school I talked about my dream of being a late-night talk show host. I planned on taking that predominantly male role by storm to provide entertainment to the masses. I saw myself just as capable if not more, and nobody seemed to disagree.

In my quest to achieve my big and beautiful life, I ensured to set myself up for success. In school, I busted my ass to graduate with a 4.2 GPA to get into a great college. In college I worked tirelessly to beef up my resume to land a great job post-grad. Once I worked my first job and bopped around to a couple after, I realized I strayed far from the path of the big, beautiful life I was seeking.

At twenty-two years old I walked across the stage in a cap and gown to receive my diploma, achieving another great milestone that led me into proper adulthood. Two weeks later, I found myself sitting in a frigid, corporate office with forty other graduates. That summer I worked from 9am-6pm with the same thought playing in the back of my head, “Is this it now?” The harsh realization settled in that all the hard work and stress I put myself through for all those years resulted in a $55,000 salary to put ads on the internet. This did not line up with the life I imagined for myself all those years back.

I felt betrayed at first. I followed all the rules, put in the hours, and played the game, only to end up disappointed by the result.

Growing up, I saw adulthood like a fantasy world–a choose your own adventure gamebook with limitless possibilities. While college allowed for mid-day naps and summer break, adulthood brought the opportunity to live a thousand lives in one existence.

At twenty-three years old I read Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar for the first time and, like many, became haunted by the fig tree analogy. It consumed me, leaving its permanent mark at the forefront of my mind. At that time I felt eager, desperate even, to change my reality. The fig tree analogy challenged my childhood notion of adulthood, however, it highlighted one crucial element: the importance of decision.

I saw my life branching out before me with my own figs beckoning toward a brighter future, and I refused to starve to death in the crotch of the fig tree.

• Fig Number One: Move to Australia for a year

• Fig Number Two: Move to New York

• Fig Number Three: Become a nomad and live everywhere

  

I chose fig number two, but occasionally wonder what life would’ve looked like had I chosen differently. Each fig represented a different dream of a big and beautiful life. Some people long for a simple life, that was never the case for me.

Every year I find myself grappling with the innate dullness that comes with adulthood–laundry, cooking, cleaning, bill-paying, etc. I spiral until I find a new shiny goal to aspire for. I froth at the mouth to reach a higher level of self-actualization and bring myself closer to my greatest potential.

My desire for greatness doesn’t necessarily lie in the desire for fame, but rather success. Not to say I oppose fame. Some may argue that the two are synonymous but I see it more like a square and rectangle situation. I do not want to be a cog in the machine; I want to be the machine.

In order to achieve this, I realized that this path doesn’t come with a playbook. For a dream of this magnitude, there is no one-size-fits-all approach. It involves tenacity, consistency, and high levels of delusion. At least others will see it as delusion. In reality, it’s understanding that feeling and using your intuition and ambition to guide yourself.

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A few years back I stumbled across an interview with Donna Summer where she famously says,

“I always knew that I would be successful. It was never a question of whether or not I would be successful. It was just a matter of time.”

Watching that video for the first time I witnessed someone put into words how I always felt. Despite feeling lost in my teens and early twenties, I knew in my heart and soul that everything would come to fruition and work out. I just needed to be patient, curious, and learn everything I could until my time came.

At times I run into the obstacles of fear, self-doubt, and envy. Beware that green-eyed monster. I worry that in my pursuit of greatness, I’ll find out that I’m simply average and that my ambition was fueled by ego rather than talent. Working towards achieving greatness often feels like climbing cringe mountain and they don’t call it an uphill battle for nothing.

The thing about self-doubt is that it’s a weed. You don’t need to water it; it spreads on its own, and if you try to cut it, it will just grow back. If you want it gone, you must yank it by the root.

At twenty-five, I came to terms with the fact that despite the fear of looking like the town fool in my attempt to create a big and beautiful life, stopping seems far more embarrassing. Frankly, I won’t stop until my name becomes a household name. One said in full, due to its weight and the respect that it holds. And although the path often feels foggy, I trust my intuition to guide me. After all, Jenna Semenova does have a nice ring to it.

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Come here often?

November flashed before my eyes leaving me grappling with accepting that we’ve entered the final month of the year. With the holidays in full swing, I’m bracing for December to go just as quickly as it came.

Winter and I share a complicated, love/hate relationship. On one hand, I absolutely adore the holidays: the Christmas movies, decorations, and time with family. Yes, I will watch Home Alone, Home Alone 2, and Elf. And yes, there will be hot cocoa involved. On the other hand, the harsh weather and sun setting at 4pm leave me cold, pale, and hermit-like.

To avoid becoming a cranky recluse, I plan on challenging myself this winter to embrace the season rather than resenting it. To avoid hibernation, I intend on using these dark, frosty months to create a routine, find new hobbies, and focus on achieving my goals. I believe they call this a winter arc?

I spent November completely outside my usual routine, which resulted in feeling refreshed and gaining a new perspective. I plan to use this newfound energy to finish the year off strong. Before we dive too deep into December, let’s take a look back at November.

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Life Update:

During the month, I took advantage of free will and my passport, spending my time everywhere but home. Most of the people I love live far from me, scattered all across the country and internationally. I attribute a solid 60% of my screen time to phone calls with friends, family, and loved ones. On the bright side, they live in exciting places to visit.

I traveled to Barcelona, Madrid, Paris, and Los Angeles in the span of four weeks to visit people I love. While I love my city and my routine, I take every opportunity to get away. It makes returning home that much more exciting.

If I could do one thing for the rest of my life, it would be to travel. Every time I leave my city to travel to another, I find myself in a much more expansive mindset. Changing your context is the best medicine for the soul, and it doesn’t have to be far.

Spain reminded me that life is for living and not solely for working. Paris reignited my joie de vivre. Los Angeles warded off any seasonal depression that began creeping up.

During my time away, I stepped away from my normal routine. For the past few months I developed a regular cadence of morning journaling sessions, taking myself on weekly dates, and writing consistently. From the time I took off on my first flight to four weeks later when I unlocked the door to my apartment, those habits went on hold.

I worried I would regret this, fearing that all my efforts towards cultivating these mindful habits went down the drain. Instead, this change in routine refreshed me, providing a sense of recovery I didn’t know I needed. While I traveled across time zones, flipping my schedule right side up and upside down, I found myself truly present.

While I plan on incorporating these habits back into my routine in December, the time away from them brought me a new perspective. I can now implement these habits more intentionally moving forward. This brings me to what November truly centered around…

Theme of the Month:

November prioritized quality time with others. While bouncing from city to city, I made sure to give my undivided attention to the people I was with. Growing into adulthood, I find myself overly protective, territorial even, of the time I spend with those I love.

I embrace adulthood in its entirety, but struggle to accept the infrequency of time with friends and family. What used to be a shared home, a walk across campus, or a 20 minute car ride turns into a three hour train, a six hour flight, or a scheduled vacation. At times I find myself feeling nostalgic to my younger years, realizing how much I took for granted.

But life changes, people move around, form new relationships, and become preoccupied with the general busyness of life. Rather than resenting this shift, I focus on cherishing the moments that do exist instead of longing for time that doesn’t.

Quality time doesn’t rely on convenience, rather it prioritizes presence, engagement, and connection. For November my screen time dropped to less than three hours a day, compared to my usual average of eight hours. By pouring into the people I’m with, the time together feels richer and it lessens the pain of time apart. The hardest goodbyes are always the sweetest hellos.

Current Product Favorites

• Saie Beauty Glowy Super™ Gel: Keeps my skin glowing and adds a little je ne sais quoi to every makeup look.

• Westman Atelier Vital Skincare Complexion Drops Dewy Skin Tint: The perfect skin care drops for a no makeup makeup look.

• Surya Calming Lip Therapy: This is the only lip balm that truly saves my lips from the harsh, winter weather.

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Eats & Drinks

• Nandaka: My favorite drink to start off my morning.

• Lesser Evil Sweet and Salty Popcorn: A guilt free holiday treat that satisfies your savory and sweet tooth.

What I’ve Been Watching

• Stranger Things 5

• There’s Something About Mary

• Son in Law

Songs That Scratched an Itch in My Brain

What I’ve Written This Month

Earlier that day, my partner and I walked to the bus stop to say goodbye before I headed to the airport for my weekend trip to Paris. We share the love language of physical touch. Around friends and family, we tone it down, but when it’s just us we definitely put the A in PDA.

We stood at the crosswalk that cloudy afternoon, showering each other in hugs and kisses while we waited for the red hand to turn green. A young woman, no older than me, approached us asking to take our picture. She found our affection for each other romantic.

After airdropping us the photos, she left us with the final words, “Thank you for the emotions.”

Throughout the day and into the weekend, those five words played in my head. Nobody had ever thanked me for my emotions. Her response shocked me because most of the time, we praise people for keeping their emotions at bay. It got me thinking about how we portray ourselves to the world around us.

We tend to suppress strong emotions. We go about our days only tapping into a well of convenient emotions, publicly accepted emotions. We prefer to remain mysterious and aloof in our self-presentation to the world, finding it cooler to appear unbothered.

We weren’t born this way. As children, we wear our hearts on our sleeves, expressing every emotion no matter how big or small. We cried over spilled milk, threw tantrums over toys, got ecstatic for Christmas, and squeezed our parents tight. We gleamed with pride after winning a game of tag or getting a gold star in class. Our youthful innocence allowed us to access our emotions with ease.

A shift occurs around middle and high school. We pull away, become distant, and hide our true feelings, creating a facade of ourselves.

In seventh-grade science class, I sat next to one of the “popular boys” in our grade. Our teacher passed back the grades from a test most of the class bombed. I asked him how he did. “Not so good,” he said while he covered his 95%. “Yeah, me neither,” I told him while sliding my 98% in my folder.

In high school I pretended that I didn’t want the roses on Valentine’s Day or the incredibly unique and thoughtful promposal. I studied for the ACTs obsessively behind the scenes while trying to hide my care for them to my friends. My performative non-chalance played a part in the collective unspoken agreement to act cooler, smaller, and more detached than how we actually felt.

This bleeds into adulthood. We worship non-chalance, using it as a form of self-protection.

In conversations, we use humor as a defense mechanism to avoid showing an ounce of care. We appear detached from outcomes we secretly desire. We downplay achievements that we should celebrate.

In the dating scene, we text back slowly, play games, and go months without asking what their intentions are. We wear our hearts on our cheeks rather than on our sleeves. This costs us any chance of true connection and vulnerability with those around us.

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Some of life’s most beautiful moments happen when we’re tapped into our full range of emotions.

How beautiful is it to laugh so hard with your friends that you’re wheezing, stomach hurting, and tears streaming down your face?

This year I attended the Madrid and New York City marathons as a spectator. I found myself teary-eyed watching the runners while their friends, family, and loved ones screamed and cheered for them on the sidelines. The sense of community and witnessing people show up loudly for each other moved me.

I find that the richest human experiences are often the messy ones. The ones filled with passion and excitement.

In a recent Subway Takes interview, Austin Butler said, “Embarrassment is an underexplored emotion, go out there and make a fool of yourself.” I think about that often. How so many people hold themselves back for fear of being seen. We would rather mute ourselves than let our true selves shine.

Getting older I find myself experiencing a broader range of emotions both positive and negative. For years I felt stunted, unable to properly emote. My emotions were locked away with no spare key accessible. I found it difficult to cry and my range of emotions felt limited to happy, annoyed, and pissed off.

I layered witty banter and sarcasm into everything, never allowing anyone to catch a glimpse of care behind my words. I carefully curated a version of myself to appear as the chill girl: the girl who didn’t take shit from anyone, the girl who never pried men she was seeing for their intentions, the girl who accomplished things without needing to advertise it.

This led to a once-a-year, messy crashout of every emotion that I suppressed.

I grew tired of this. My ambivalence toward the life around me brought few to no benefits. I realized that if I wanted others to care, I needed to show them something to care about.

I took baby steps. Instead of using humor and banter in conversations, I told people what I actually thought. I told my friends and coworkers my goal of moving out of Dallas. In doing so, they became invested in my journey.

One morning, I burst into tears while my friend and I ate bagels. In response my friend met me with comfort, support, and softness. By letting myself unravel, I created a space of vulnerability that invited empathy and care.

I stopped downplaying my accomplishments and let people celebrate them. I let myself feel proud, disappointed, hopeful, furious, affectionate, and honest.

By embracing the emotions when they came, I stopped them from piling up and drowning me.

I say death to non-chalance! Acting like you don’t care is no longer sexy.

Being intentional is sexy.

Being emotional is sexy.

Being honest is sexy.

Being big in your emotional expression is sexy.

Looking at my relationship, I poke fun at our lovey dovey nature. But, honestly, I love our overly affectionate behavior. I turn into a school girl with a crush every time we’re together. I don’t want to hide my feelings, in fact I want to yell them from the rooftops. Allowing myself to act childish, silly, loving, and smitten has freed me because I’m allowing myself to express how I feel.

The truth is, people only love non-chalant in theory. We may romanticize the cool, calm, and collected character. But we remember the movies where the man shows up at the door with the boombox.

We fall in love with perfectly imperfect characters: the unapologetic lovers, the chaotic feelers, the dreamers, the achievers.

Think Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society.

Think Sebastian and Mia in La La Land.

Think Ted Lasso, Elle Woods, or Penelope Featherington.

So let’s stop pretending that we don’t care. Let’s fall in love with expressing and feeling. Let’s become the unapologetic lovers, chaotic feelers, dreamers, and achievers in our own lives.

Death to non-chalance! And thank you for the emotions.