I give a lot of unsolicited advice. It’s one of my many demented ways of showing love and support and, to be quite honest, the framework for most of my writing.
I’ve pretty much always been this way. I share my thoughts no one asked for on various life dilemmas hoping something I say might stick, saving another from the rubble of whatever self-inflicted or general “shit happens” chaos happening in their life.
Until recently, I figured this was just an annoying personality quirk I’d grow out of, much to the relief of my friends, my mother, strangers on the…
When you love someone with depression, you must understand that depression is not sadness. It is not feeling blue, or simply having an off day or week. It is not something they can simply snap out of. They cannot “choose” happiness instead, despite what Pinterest may tell you.
The thing you must understand when you love someone with depression is that it is an illness and one that can be absolutely debilitating.
It is a weight that can keep them from leaving their bed, crashing waves that keep them from reaching out when they are drowning. Depression is the leech…
“Oh, you make me laugh,” said the boy who would later break my heart.
We were out at a local dive bar with a group of our friends, and I don’t recall what crack I was making at that given time, but I do remember my heart feeling light, when it usually felt so heavy, and looking down to hide the smile that was swimming across my face.
I was a funny girl finally feeling seen.
We all know a funny girl. She’s the one whose wit can cut through concrete, whose laugh can be heard from the other room…
There’s no delicate way to phrase it: Comparison really sucks. As Theodore Roosevelt once said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” And in an ever-connected world, it’s easier now than ever to do.
In a few taps and swipes, we can find people we don’t really even know and decide they’re better than us. Or that they’re ahead of us. Or that they’re prettier, smarter, richer, or more successful.
You get the idea.
As someone who has been utterly caged in by comparison for most of my life, I’ve found some ways to cope when I start deciding someone is…
It takes me a long time to fall asleep.
Just like clockwork, as soon as the light switches off, my mind goes into overdrive: Unfinished tasks for work. That stupid thing I wish I hadn’t said to my mom. All the writing that there has to be done and no ideas to fill the page.
Now, I know that it isn’t uncommon for someone to overthink before they drift into sleep. We all have our worries, our fears. Being a person isn’t easy, and that’s a fact ingrained in our humanness. …
When I was younger, a friend told me that paper cuts sting so much because our fingers are made up of many nerve endings, making them more vulnerable and ripe for pain.
For some of us, I think our hearts function in a similar way.
I am one of them. A deep feeler.
I was the sensitive kid that grew up to be an empath. I experience life intensely. I don’t color in the lines. Instead, I bleed out. I cross over the boundaries of rational thought into a deeper, more significant kind of grace, the one that allows me…
Old souls also tend to be empaths. They are incredibly in tune with the emotions and feelings of others, especially of those they hold close. Often, they will be able to sense (sometimes even before you can) when you need space, or when you simply need a hand to hold. Their high awareness of what your needs are at any given moment makes them a wonderful partner.
Old souls are not interested in playing hard to get or partaking in the chase. In fact, they find the rules of modern dating to be absolutely exhausting. To them, it doesn’t make…
He’s just so nice to me, I sputtered as I sobbed into my pillow after another romantic endeavor had come to a screeching halt. This time felt extra painful, though. The person in question was also my dear friend, one who treated me with tender kindness and patience I had not experienced with men I had been involved with before him. He gave me space to be open with my feelings, never judging me for whatever tumbled out of my mouth. He laughed with me, not at me. He treated me with respect.
In short, he was just fucking nice.
“So, do you have a boyfriend?”
It’s a chilly Wednesday night in mid-December and I’m getting my hair cut by a beautiful, petite woman with perfectly brown hair and a newly placed ring on her left hand.
“No, no,” I replied.
“How old are you?”
“23, about to turn 24.”
There’s a brief silence, the kind of quick quietness that follows after someone has said something sad and you’re scrambling for the right words of solace.
“Oh, don’t worry. You have time! I met my fiance…” says my hairdresser, going off on an inspirational speech about how the right guy…
Writer covering mental health, wellness, personal growth and everything in between. Golden retriever in a past life. She/her.