What does it mean to hold so many contradictions at once? What does it mean when you’re questioning your moral compass at midnight on a work night while simultaneously judging everyone who doesn’t want the life you so desperately desire? Lately, I’ve been spending a little more time with my shadow than I’d like. I’ve been easily agitated, judgmental, comparing myself to people. Sometimes jealous. Sometimes angry. Sometimes I look at the people around me and wonder why they ar

It started as a regular Friday, and I decided to have lunch with some coworkers. At some point, I started asking people what they were passionate about. Maybe that’s telling in itself. Put me at a table long enough, and eventually I want to know what makes people feel alive. Then I asked another question: What would you do if you didn’t have to work? The answers fascinated me. One person said he would travel. That one I understood immediately. Another said he would do what he

Writing from the middle of an unfinished story. This week, I got to spend a few days with someone who has been an important part of my life. A year had passed since we’d last seen each other, and somewhere in the quiet space between then and now, we’d both become different versions of ourselves. I’ve realized we spend so much of our lives trying to figure out what a moment means that we forget to simply experience it. Normally, I write from the other side of things. After I’v

A man I dated once told me his family thought I was crazy. They had never met me, but apparently they had read my posts and watched my videos long enough to reach a verdict. I laughed when he told me. Not because it didn’t bother me, but because it finally explained something I had been feeling for months. I wasn’t being misunderstood by him. I was being evaluated by people who would never understand me in the first place. For some people, writing about your life is attention

We’ve become so obsessed with aesthetics that we’ve forgotten about soul. Everywhere I look, people are curating beautiful lives. Beautiful homes. Beautiful outfits. Beautiful content. Beautiful brands. But beauty without personality eventually starts to feel hollow. And lately, that’s what I’ve been noticing. Not a lack of creativity. A lack of humanity. As I scroll through Instagram, walk into restaurants, browse furniture stores, or simply observe the world around me, I ke

Since becoming a member of the SCAD FASH Museum, I’ve spent more time thinking about fashion beyond the clothes themselves. Walking through exhibitions, seeing pieces from the closet of André Leon Talley, reading his memoir, and learning more about the history of Christian Dior and the designers who came after him, I keep finding myself returning to the same question: What happened to personal style? Not fashion. Not trends. Not luxury. Style. What struck me most about Talley

Recently, I came across a story about a woman who spent years working toward becoming an attorney only to walk away and become a restaurant server. The internet was confused. Some people thought she was wasting her potential. Others thought she was brave. What struck me wasn’t her decision. It was the realization that many of us spend years chasing lives we inherited rather than lives we intentionally chose. For most of my childhood, there was a clear vision of success: docto

Lately, I’ve been sitting with a familiar feeling. Not heartbreak exactly. More irritation. Confusion. The kind that arrives when someone who told you they weren’t looking for a relationship suddenly appears in one. Not long ago, I spent time with someone who was very clear about who they were and what they wanted. Or at least I thought they were. They described themselves as independent, nontraditional, uninterested in the kind of commitment I was seeking. Eventually, our co

Recently, someone from my past reappeared. Years ago, when we first started dating, I genuinely liked him. He was intentional. He planned dates. He picked me up. He brought flowers. There was effort. Until there wasn’t. Over time, the relationship became increasingly centered around physical attraction and sexual tension. As that happened, something else seemed to decline: his effort. The less interested I was in rushing into something physical, the less interested he seemed

Sometimes leaving has nothing to do with whether you still desire them. That’s the hardest part. Because I wanted the romance. I wanted the good sex, the date nights, the laughter, the intimacy, the feeling of being chosen with intention. I wanted the version of us that existed in potential more than the reality we were actually living in. But eventually I had to ask myself a painful question: Was the little I was getting worth the amount of myself I was losing? I don’t think

There is a certain kind of exhaustion that comes from carrying everything alone for too long. Not just responsibilities. Not just grief. But yourself. Your sadness. Your fears. Your healing. Your loneliness. Your hope. For a long time, I convinced myself that being “good alone” was strength. I wore hyper-independence like armor. I told myself I didn’t need much. I could figure it out. Carry it. Survive it. Hold myself together quietly. But grief has a way of exposing the plac

There is a quiet lie that gets passed around in dating culture, and I used to believe it. I thought being open meant dating people who were not my type. I thought choosing based on attraction made me shallow, and that chemistry could grow if someone was “good enough.” I told myself I was being evolved by giving chances to men who were not fully my type physically, financially, or energetically. I convinced myself I was being fair, mature, and not overly focused on appearance.

I used to think romance would feel like arrival. Like one day, I would meet someone and everything would click into place. The conversations would flow, the energy would be mutual, and the consistency would feel natural. I thought that if something felt good, it meant it was right. What I’ve learned instead is that romance is not what completes you. It is what reveals you. And more importantly, it reveals what you are no longer willing to tolerate. One of the first connection

There was a version of me, not too long ago, who said yes to everything. Yes to the late nights. Yes to the extra drink. Yes to the invite that came in at 10:47 p.m. when I was already showered, moisturized, and halfway in bed. And I had fun. Real fun. The kind where you laugh too loud, dance like no one’s watching, and let yourself be seen without overthinking every little thing. The kind that reminds you you’re still alive in your body after everything it’s been through. Fo

There was something about him I couldn’t ignore. He wasn’t my usual type, but we talked for hours in a club like we had known each other before. We danced the night away, and for a moment, everything felt easy. He was assertive. Clear. Certain. The kind of man who didn’t hesitate. The kind who asked real questions. Would I let my man take care of me? Would I still work? I liked that. I liked his dominance, his edge, the way he moved like he didn’t care what anyone thought. Th

I am not confused about what I want. I want monogamy. I want marriage. I want devotion. I want a man who is steady in his masculinity and secure in his love. I want partnership that feels like legacy. I want children. I want structure. I want a spiritual union that is rooted, not restless. That is my North Star. But I am not rushing toward it. There is a difference between knowing your destination and trying to teleport there. I do not need to fast-forward my life to prove th

There is no shame in non-monogamy. Let me begin there, clearly and without hesitation. For some, it is an intentional, ethical, and deeply honest way of loving. When chosen consciously, it is not confusion. It is clarity. It is spoken early. Named directly. Held with responsibility. And that distinction matters. Because what I have witnessed, both in my own life and in the lives around me, is that confusion is often mislabeled as freedom. Sometimes what looks like openness is

I didn’t come to Lisbon looking for love. I came tired. Tired in the quiet way that doesn’t look dramatic from the outside. The kind of tired you carry in your chest, in your decisions, in the way you keep moving even when you don’t feel moved by anything anymore. I told myself this trip was just a birthday. Just a few days away. Just rest. But Lisbon doesn’t meet you at the surface. It waits. And then, slowly, it begins to soften the places in you that life has hardened. It

To a friend I showed up for fully, until I realized my steadiness made me invisible. There is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from realizing you are not unseen, just unprioritized. It’s not the big betrayals that undo you. It’s the accumulation. The pattern. The way your consistency becomes assumed while chaos is treated like an emergency worth mobilizing for. I watched you show up for everyone who was falling apart. The ones who never stabilize. The ones who take

There is a kind of desire that does not whisper. It announces itself loudly in the body. Heat pooling. Breath shortening. Attention narrowing. It aches. It asks. It presses. A sexual tension so tender it feels sharp. I am here now. Wanting someone so intensely it feels almost urgent. Wanting touch, closeness, release. Wanting in a way that could easily collapse into momentum if I let it. And still, I am here, choosing not to rush. Not because I doubt my desire. But because I