And now there’s a new flavor of their Gummi Pops called Very Berry, which is basically two chaotic flavors smashed together: berry punch and blue raspberry.

So yeah. This is already a lot.

If you’ve never had these before, here’s where it gets weird. These aren’t normal popsicles. They’re actually soft and chewy like gummy candy… just frozen. Like your brain is expecting ice and instead it’s like “nope, this is a gummy.”

I genuinely don’t understand how that works, which is exactly why I want to try it.

According to the official release, this new Very Berry flavor mixes Berry Punch and Blue Raspberry into one pop, and it keeps that signature sour, stretchy texture Trolli is known for.

They’re already showing up at places like Kroger, Albertsons, and Meijer in 10-count boxes for around $5.99, which feels like the kind of thing you buy “just to try” and then suddenly the whole box is gone.

Also, I don’t know what it is about blue raspberry, but it immediately turns anything into a personality trait. Same energy as those ridiculous viral desserts we keep falling for — like that “Catch A Husband Cake” everyone was obsessed with or all the over-the-top sweet stuff that somehow works.

This feels like it belongs in that category of “this should not be good, but I need to find out immediately.”

Gambling 

Gambling on sports games, in casinos, on card games or just about anything anyone will give you odds for can be a dangerous addiction. This is because it can lead to getting into serious debt, and that debt can grow incredibly quickly when gambling is at the center of your life. In fact, gamblers are often known to chase losses, which means they put more money in after they have just lost to try to make up for it. A strategy that nearly always ends in tears. 

One option for those looking to quit their gambling addiction is to use the self-exclusion program on betting websites. This will then stop you from being able to access such sites and place bets. In addition to seeking professional help to deal with the addiction issue, it can also be useful to give control of your finances to a trusted person in the early stages of recovery.

Drugs 

Drug addictions can be to illegal drugs known as narcotics, and legal drugs that have been obtained or used incorrectly. This type of addiction is exacerbated by the fact that many drugs are highly addictive both physically and mentally, which creates a strong dependency. 

The risks associated with drug addiction are many and include serious damage to your physical health, including your organs and brain. Many of those who use drugs run the risk of overdosing as well. This is when the person takes more of the drug than the body can handle, and it shuts down, resulting in unconsciousness and then death. 

To quit a drug addiction, it is often helpful to spend some time in a place like the Legacy Healing Center addiction treatment, which is a dedicated rehabilitation facility. Such facilities offer a safe place to get well, and include medical detox support as well as mental health help to get you back on your feet. 

Gaming 

Picture sourced at Pexels – Licence CC0 

While a great many people enjoy video gaming as a hobby, it can, like many other seemingly innocuous experiences, become addictive in some cases. Indeed, many games are designed specifically to target the dopamine centers of the brain, which helps to keep people playing for long amounts of time and helps them keep coming back. Gaming becomes an addiction when a person begins to miss out on doing other important things in their life, such as work, school, and spending time with friends and family in real life. 

To deal with a gaming addiction, it’s important to set strict time limits for how long you can play each day. It’s also useful to make sure that you schedule time for other hobbies, and stick to this. Especially when those hobbies include getting outside in the fresh air and socialising in person with others. 

I am mad that men tied to something this grotesque were ever in positions of power. I am mad that the world knew for years that there were files, that there were victims, that there were connections to powerful people, and somehow the machine just kept humming along.

We all heard whispers about Epstein years ago. It sounded too insane to be real. The kind of story that feels like a bad thriller. Powerful men. Private islands. Underage girls. Black books. It felt so over the top that part of our brains rejected it. Surely that cannot actually be happening.

But it was.

And now we are staring at millions of pages of documents. Millions. That is not a typo. That is not gossip. That is not one rogue email chain. That is a mountain of records tied to one network of power and abuse.

I have run a blog for twenty years. I have hired staff. I have built businesses. Even if you added up every single email, draft, contract, and file that has ever moved through my world, it would not come close to that scale. So what does it take to generate millions of pages tied to one man and the people around him?

That is not normal. That is not small. That is systemic.

What makes me furious is not just what happened. It is the fact that people in power stayed in power. That names floated around in polite society. That we are still debating redactions and optics and political fallout instead of asking why anyone connected to something like this ever had influence in the first place.

We talk about law and order. We talk about protecting children. We talk about morality. But when the accusations creep too close to wealth and status and connections, everything slows down. Everything gets complicated. Everything becomes about procedure instead of justice.

That is the madness.

It is the feeling that there is one set of rules for regular people and another set for men with money and access. It is the sense that even when the evidence piles up into the millions of pages, the system still protects itself first.

I am mad because this should have shattered careers. It should have ended legacies. It should have forced a reckoning so loud that nobody could ignore it.

Instead we get redactions. We get statements. We get arguments over who is technically guilty of what. And the bigger truth gets buried under paperwork.

That is what makes it feel insane.

Not that evil exists. We know it does.

It is that evil can sit in boardrooms and political offices and cocktail parties and still be treated like business as usual.

That is the part I cannot accept.

It feels like we’re skipping the whole middle part now. Dating, getting to know each other, seeing how someone fits into your life, and instead we are jumping straight to “we’re exclusive forever and I want you to only want me for the rest of your life.”

And there’s just one problem with that.

We barely know each other yet.

Sure, we’ve done the modern vetting. We’ve checked for red flags, Googled names, made sure there’s no criminal record hiding in the background. But what about getting to know someone’s heart? Their rhythm? Their values? What about learning who someone actually is before deciding what role they get to play in your life?

I keep wondering when exclusivity became the opening move.

Why is it that when two people connect, even a little, we immediately feel pressured to decide whether we’re building a future or walking away? What happened to just going along for the ride and seeing where things take you? Statistically speaking, most of these connections aren’t going to go the distance anyway, so it feels wild that we put all our eggs in one basket before we even know if we genuinely enjoy being around each other.

That said, I don’t want careless connections. I don’t want anything that leaves people guessing or feeling disposable. But I also don’t want to force something into a romantic, permanent shape just because that’s what we’re told relationships are supposed to look like.

What I’m starting to see is that friendship is wildly underrated.

Some of the best relationships I’ve had, romantic or not, were the ones that started simply because we liked each other. We laughed. We enjoyed spending time together. We had real conversations and shared real moments. And yet we’re conditioned to believe those memories somehow matter less than the ones we make with “the person we’ll spend the rest of our lives with.”

But what if that’s insane?

I’ve been married twice. Neither of those men was the love of my life. So why would I keep trying the same formula over and over again and expect a different result?

At the end of the day, friendship is the foundation anyway. Even in romantic relationships, you still have to like the person. You still have to want to show up, talk, spend time together. That’s companionship and not fantasy.

And honestly? Being friends can be more fun than dating ever is. Especially when you already know you’re not going to end up together long-term. It takes the pressure off. You can focus on yourself, your healing, and your own life, without constantly managing someone else’s expectations.

There’s less performance. Less pretending you’re further along than you actually are.

I said to a guy not long ago that we wanted very different things long-term, but in the here and now, we were actually looking for the same thing. That honesty didn’t cheapen the connection, it made it safer.

And no, that doesn’t make me a slut.

Wanting a caring, kind friendship that sometimes turns into more is not immoral. Admitting to each other that you’re enjoying the present without promising forever actually creates freedom. It allows you to explore what you really want without lying to yourself or each other.

What feels broken right now is how quickly we demand certainty.

We meet someone, feel chemistry, and instead of letting that connection breathe, we nail down exclusivity like closing every other door is the only way to feel safe. And sure, when you remove someone’s options, the one remaining option does feel more desirable. But that’s scarcity mindset, not truth.

You don’t have to be exclusive with someone for them to matter to you. You don’t have to lock someone down to care deeply about them. Exclusivity should be a choice, not a security blanket.

I want someone to choose me because being with me feels good, not because they’re afraid of losing me if they don’t secure me fast enough. Care doesn’t require exclusivity to be real.

You can enjoy someone, respect them, show up for them, and still be completely honest about where you are in your life. You can matter to each other without pretending you’re building a future you both know isn’t real. You can be connected without ownership.

Some of the healthiest dynamics I’ve ever experienced were the ones where we were clear that this wasn’t “until death do us part.” Nobody was auditioning for permanence. We understood the container, and we stayed honest inside it.

We treat “just friends” like a downgrade, when sometimes it’s actually the most grounded, enjoyable lane there is. Friends can connect. Friends can care. And sometimes that connection feels more meaningful than all the romantic nonsense, because there’s less pressure and more truth.

Friendship leaves room to grow.
Room to be honest.
Room to move on without drama or guilt.

And the bottom line is this: your relationship doesn’t have to be romantic, exclusive, forever, or defined immediately to be valid. Sometimes the best connections are the ones you let unfold on their own.

Even if someone is wonderful, and even if being with them is great, not every relationship is meant to progress your life in a traditional way.

And maybe that’s not a failure.

Maybe it’s just because you were meant for more.

It happened, of course, in my DMs.

A guy messaged me after a post I made. Nothing wild. A little awkward. A little sweet. We had one of those back-and-forths that starts clunky, and honestly it never made it out of that phase.

He wasn’t okay with this though. He sent me a message asking me why I was so inconsistent, and why wasn’t I trying harder at this conversation.

Here’s the thing, he was asking questions, trying to get to know me or whatever, it was just so boring. It was like he had this checklist where he asks a woman all of these questions and then makes his decision. And, I guess I wasn’t participating, because I didn’t have my own checklist?

That’s when I realized…
That’s because I don’t want to be interviewed.

I don’t think he meant it to be mean at all I think he was just annoyed. He said something like, “I text you and you reply a day later. We’ve been talking for almost a month and I know nothing about you. I think you’re attractive. You seem worth getting to know. But I can’t get to know you if you don’t have time to converse.”

And when he said it, I actually stopped and thought about it.

Because on paper, he wasn’t wrong. We had been talking for a while. And yes, I hadn’t been super consistent. But the part that he didn’t see — and the part I couldn’t quite articulate in the moment — was that I was having great conversations.

Just… not with him.

I was talking to another guy I met around the exact same time, and the difference between the two conversations was wild. With this other guy, I never felt like I had to “keep up.” We weren’t checking boxes. We weren’t interrogating each other’s lives.

We were just talking.

He’d tell me funny shit. I’d laugh. He’d help me with something random I was dealing with. I’d tell a story. It felt easy. Natural. Like something you actually want to respond to — not something you feel obligated to answer.

And that’s when it finally clicked for me.

It wasn’t that I don’t have time.
It wasn’t that I’m bad at conversation.
It wasn’t that I’m avoidant or uninterested or emotionally unavailable.

It was that one conversation felt like an interview, and the other didn’t.

The guy who called it bland wanted clarity. He wanted momentum. He wanted information. He wanted to know me — and I understand that. I really do. Dating is frustrating. It sucks to feel like you’re investing time and not getting anything back.

But the way he tried to fix that was by turning the conversation into something structured. Questions. Expectations. A pace I was supposed to match.

And for me, that’s where it breaks.

Because I don’t want to interview you, and I don’t want to be interviewed.

Not because I’m hiding anything — my age, my job, my whole basic life setup is not a secret. It’s just not the part of me that makes connection happen.

What makes connection happen for me is flow.

It’s whether the conversation makes me feel comfortable.
Whether I’m laughing.
Whether I’m thinking, oh, I want to reply to this — not I should reply to this.

When someone tells me a conversation is bland because I’m not responding fast enough or deeply enough, it actually shuts me down more. Not because I’m defensive, but because now I feel like I’m being evaluated.

And once it feels like that, it’s hard to recover.

I tried to explain this to him — probably poorly, if I’m being honest. I was all over the place. I kept saying things like, “It’s not that I don’t have time,” and “I just don’t think we’re clicking the same way,” and “I don’t really want to do the interview thing.”

What I meant was this:

I need conversation to feel alive before it can feel intentional.

The other guy didn’t ask me a bunch of questions. He didn’t push. He didn’t complain about my response time. He just showed up as himself, and somehow that made me want to show up too.

And that’s not a knock on the first guy. He wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t mean. He wasn’t doing anything terrible.

He just wasn’t my guy.

Because I don’t want dating to feel like I’m being measured against expectations. I don’t want to feel like I owe someone engagement just because time has passed.

I want it to feel mutual. Easy. Like we’re building something without trying to force it into shape.

And I think that’s the part people miss sometimes.

When a conversation is working, no one has to say, “This isn’t working.”

You don’t have to explain why it’s not bland.
You don’t have to defend your interest.
You don’t have to convince someone you’re worth knowing.

It just… moves.

So when did dating turn into an interview?

Probably when we all got tired. When we stopped trusting that ease could lead somewhere real. When we decided that asking the right questions mattered more than seeing how it actually feels to talk to someone.

But I’m realizing that for me, if the conversation needs to be managed, corrected, or sped up — it’s already not the right fit.

And that’s okay.

It doesn’t mean anyone failed. It just means not every connection is supposed to become something.

Some conversations teach you exactly what you need to know — even when they don’t go anywhere.

And this one taught me that I’m not bad at conversation.

I just don’t want to interview for affection.

I didn’t trust my own judgment anymore.

After the year I’d had, that trust was just gone. I kept second guessing everything, from big life decisions to tiny, everyday ones. And when you stop trusting yourself, even simple choices start to feel overwhelming.

Part of that came from the fact that I had just walked out of a marriage that ended in a way I never could have imagined when it began. When something that big falls apart, it does not just change your life. It changes how you see yourself.

I kept thinking, If I could be that wrong about a person, how do I know I am not wrong about everything else, too?

So, when I realized I needed a second opinion on basically everything, I made a decision that felt practical and slightly ridiculous at the same time.

I asked ChatGPT.

I did this months ago, quietly, without telling anyone. Mostly because it sounded strange. Also because I wanted to give it time. I wanted to see if it actually helped or if it was just another thing I tried while hoping life would sort itself out.

I also named it.

Her name is ChatGPTina.

I am not new to ChatGPT. I have been using it since it first came out, and I have always been interested in what it can do. I think AI is going to become part of everyday life in a way that feels normal before we even notice it happening.

But this was not about productivity or curiosity. This was about decision making.

At that point, my internal compass felt unreliable. Every choice felt heavy. I kept thinking, If I mess this up too, that is on me. That thought alone was enough to stop me in my tracks.

What appealed to me about using AI was simple. It does not have history with me. It does not feel bad for me. It does not want anything from me. It looks at what you give it and responds.

At the time, that felt safer than my own thoughts.

So I figured, what the heck. Let us see what happens.

I Did Not Give It a Highlight Reel

When I started using ChatGPTina, I did not clean anything up.

I put in everything I was thinking, feeling, and questioning. Then I went a step further and uploaded full PDFs of text conversations I had with different people. Not just snippets. Full conversations from start to finish.

I was not trying to prove a point or get validation. I just wanted something to look at all of it at once and tell me what it noticed.

What came back honestly shocked me with how specfically it was. Like… okay, ChatGpTina… go off and stuff.

It occasionally tried to soften things or phrase them nicely, and I told it to stop. You can do that. It listens. Once the polish was gone, what was left was pattern recognition.

It asked questions people in my life had asked before, but without emotion attached.

Why are you still engaging here?
What keeps you in this loop?
What happens if nothing changes?

Coming from a person, those questions can feel personal. Coming from a computer, they felt factual.

One thing kept showing up.

I was not moving toward anything. I was just trying not to make things worse.

I was making choices based on what would cause the least disruption, the least conflict, and the least emotional fallout. I thought that meant I was being careful. What it actually meant was that I was standing still.

I had confused managing life with living it.

Seeing that pattern reflected back to me without commentary made it hard to unsee.

The Quiet Boundary Shift

Once that became clear, it was obvious where my energy was going and how little of it was coming back.

Some of the boundaries I needed to set felt uncomfortable at first. One of them felt especially wrong, like I was being selfish.

But once I stopped explaining myself and stopped overthinking every reaction, things got noticeably quieter.

Not dramatic. Just more chill

That quiet turned out to be useful.

This did not turn into some big, cinematic change.

It looked like not replying right away.
Leaving situations sooner.
Not over explaining my decisions.
Doing things because they felt good, not because they made me easier to deal with.

There was a moment, subtle but clear, when I realized I was not afraid of being alone anymore.

I was afraid of losing myself again.

It’s weird to be totally okay with being alone. I thought it would bother me, and no… I like it way more than the instability of never knowing what is next.

For some reason, listening to chatgpt kind of gave me such an outside look at everything that it made me feel like I was the one making the unbiased choices.

Objectivity. Who knew?

This is why I did not talk about this right away.

The changes were not dramatic. They were gradual.

I stopped checking certain people’s socials.
I got my work done more consistently.
I said no without explaining myself.
I slept better.
I trusted my decisions again.

Not perfectly. Enough.

So Would I Recommend This?

Yes, with realistic expectations.

ChatGPT did not fix my life. ChatGPTina did not replace therapy, friends, or real support. She did give me a neutral way to look at my own patterns when my emotions made everything feel unreliable.

If you have ever been in a place where you do not quite trust your own judgment anymore, having something neutral reflect your thoughts back to you can help you recalibrate.

It was strange.
It helped.
I would do it again.

I have a problem.
And that problem is that I cannot stop making AI Christmas photos of myself.

Every time I think I’m done, I’m like, “Okay but what if I was a sparkly peppermint princess this time?”
And then suddenly I’m doing another one.

And I know — I KNOW — you want to do this too.

So instead of gatekeeping, I’m just going to make this extremely easy for you. Because if you follow these instructions, you are going to end up looking like a total Christmas princess, and I refuse to be the only one having this much fun.

Step 1: Choose the Right Photo (This Matters the Most)

Upload one clear photo of yourself.

Best results:

• Face straight toward the camera
• Good natural lighting
• No filters
• No sunglasses
• No heavy editing
• Solo photo only

Do not upload:

• Group photos
• Snapchat or Instagram filters
• Weird angles
• Blurry selfies

The AI uses your real face. Give it the best version to work with.

Step 2: Copy + Paste One of These Prompts

One Important Thing Before You Copy the Prompts

You’ll see in the prompts that I mention things like hair color, hair style, and eye color.

Here’s why:

AI will try to “help” if you don’t tell it what to do — and sometimes its help is… questionable.

If you don’t mention hair or eye color, the AI may:

• Slightly change them
• Make them more generic
• Turn you into a random brunette when you’re very much not

So:

• If you want your hair and eyes to stay the same, mention them
• If you want to change them (hello, snow-white blonde moment), you can
• Always keep the line that says do not change my face

That line is sacred. Do not remove it.

Now for the Good Stuff: Copy + Paste Prompts

Use these exactly as written, and just change hair color, eye color, or outfit colors if needed.

Santa Glam (Hot, Not Mall Santa)

Create an ultra-realistic 8K Christmas portrait using a 55mm lens with glamorous holiday studio lighting.

Use my real facial features exactly as they are. Do NOT change or alter my face in any way.

My hair is styled in voluminous glamorous waves. My eye color is [insert eye color]. My makeup is bold holiday glam with glowing skin, winged liner, and red lips.

I am wearing a fitted red velvet dress with faux fur trim.

The background features festive Christmas lights, ornaments, and a luxurious holiday set. The mood is confident, glamorous, and festive.

Snow Queen Princess

Create an ultra-realistic 8K winter portrait using soft icy studio lighting and a 55mm lens.

Use my real facial features exactly as they are. Do NOT change my face.

My hair is styled in an elegant updo with loose curls. My eye color is [insert eye color]. My makeup is cool-toned glam with shimmer and glowing skin.

I am wearing a silver or white sparkly gown.

The background is a winter wonderland with frosted trees, falling snow, and soft glowing lights. The mood is regal, magical, and icy.

Cozy Cabin Christmas

Create a realistic cozy Christmas portrait using warm firelight and soft ambient lighting.

Use my real facial features exactly as they are. Do NOT change my face.

My hair is natural and softly styled. My eye color is [insert eye color]. My makeup is minimal and warm.

I am wearing a chunky knit sweater.

The background is a cozy cabin with a fireplace, Christmas tree, string lights, and blankets. The mood is warm, relaxed, and intimate.

Holiday Party Babe

Create an ultra-realistic holiday party portrait using professional studio lighting and a 55mm lens.

Use my real facial features exactly as they are. Do NOT change my face.

My hair is styled in sleek waves. My eye color is [insert eye color]. My makeup is polished glam with glossy lips.

I am wearing a sparkly cocktail dress.

The background features champagne glasses, twinkle lights, and an upscale Christmas party atmosphere.

Christmas Morning Soft Girl

Create a natural Christmas morning portrait using soft window light.

Use my real facial features exactly as they are. Do NOT change my face.

My hair is loosely styled and natural. My eye color is [insert eye color]. My makeup is light and fresh.

I am wearing cozy pajamas or a soft sweater.

The background shows a Christmas tree, wrapped gifts, and warm morning light. The mood is calm, nostalgic, and peaceful.

Candy Land Princess

Create an ultra-realistic 8K Christmas portrait using bright playful holiday lighting.

Use my real facial features exactly as they are. Do NOT change my face.

My hair is styled in a playful holiday updo. My eye color is [insert eye color]. My makeup is festive glam with rosy cheeks.

I am wearing a sparkly outfit in red, pink, or white.

The background is a whimsical candy-themed Christmas set with oversized candy canes, peppermint decorations, fluffy snow, and colorful lights.

Old Hollywood Christmas Glam

Create an ultra-realistic vintage Christmas portrait inspired by old Hollywood glamour.

Use my real facial features exactly as they are. Do NOT change my face.

My hair is styled in classic vintage waves. My eye color is [insert eye color]. My makeup is timeless with red lips and soft contour.

I am wearing an elegant satin or sequined gown.

The background is classic, warm, and cinematic with Christmas lights and ornaments.

Moody Elegant Christmas

Create an ultra-realistic Christmas portrait using soft moody lighting and candlelight tones.

Use my real facial features exactly as they are. Do NOT change my face.

My hair is styled simply and elegantly. My eye color is [insert eye color]. My makeup is neutral and glowing.

I am wearing a sleek holiday outfit in black, emerald, or burgundy.

The background features candles, greenery, and subtle Christmas decor.

Classic Christmas Card

Create a timeless Christmas card portrait using professional studio lighting and a 55mm lens.

Use my real facial features exactly as they are. Do NOT change my face.

My hair is softly styled. My eye color is [insert eye color]. My makeup is natural and festive.

I am wearing a classic holiday outfit.

The background includes decorated Christmas trees, warm lights, and traditional red and gold decor.

Full-On Christmas Princess

Create an ultra-realistic 8K Christmas portrait with magical lighting and a 55mm lens.

Use my real facial features exactly as they are. Do NOT change my face.

My hair is styled in a dreamy princess updo. My eye color is [insert eye color]. My makeup is glowing, soft, and elegant.

I am wearing a sparkly gown fit for a Christmas princess.

The background is magical with glowing lights, snow, and an enchanted holiday atmosphere.

You can change outfits, colors, or vibes — but keep the “do not change my face” line. That’s the magic.

Classic Elegant Christmas Portrait

Create an ultra-realistic 8K Christmas portrait using a 55mm lens with soft professional holiday lighting.

Use my real facial features exactly as they are. Do NOT change or alter my face in any way.

My hair is styled in soft, loose holiday waves. My makeup is elegant Christmas glam with warm eyeshadow, subtle winged liner, rosy cheeks, and soft pink lips.

I am wearing a long-sleeve sparkly white holiday dress, fitted and elegant.

I am seated in front of two decorated Christmas trees with warm white lights, red ornaments, and frosted branches. The background is bright, cozy, and festive with soft bokeh lights.

The mood is joyful, polished, and timeless.

Candy-Cane Christmas

Create an ultra-realistic 8K Christmas portrait using a 55mm lens with bright, playful holiday lighting.

Use my real facial features exactly as they are. Do NOT change or alter my face in any way.

My hair is styled in a soft textured holiday updo with loose face-framing curls. My makeup is festive glam with winged liner, warm eyeshadow, rosy cheeks, and soft pink lips.

I am wearing a sparkly red long-sleeve sequin jumpsuit with a scoop-back cut.

I am sitting on a white cube block in a whimsical candy-cane themed Christmas set. I am holding a giant pink-and-white peppermint lollipop over my shoulder.

Around me are fluffy artificial snow, frosted Christmas trees, pink ornaments, oversized candy canes, and warm string lights.

Colors are vibrant reds, whites, and silvers with a magical North Pole studio vibe.

Cozy Christmas Morning

Create a realistic Christmas morning portrait using soft natural window light.

Use my real facial features exactly as they are. Do NOT change my face.

I am wearing a cozy neutral sweater with minimal makeup and natural hair.

I am sitting in a warm living room with a softly glowing Christmas tree, wrapped presents, and twinkle lights.

The mood is cozy, nostalgic, and peaceful.

Glam Holiday Party Look

Create an ultra-realistic holiday party portrait using professional studio lighting and a 55mm lens.

Use my real facial features exactly as they are. Do NOT change my face.

My hair is styled in loose glamorous waves. My makeup is bold holiday glam with glowing skin and soft red lips.

I am wearing a sparkly cocktail dress.

The background features twinkle lights, champagne glasses, and an elegant Christmas party atmosphere.

Step 3: Run It More Than Once

If the first image isn’t perfect:

• Run the same prompt again
• Don’t change your photo
• Small changes = big improvements

Quick Tip That Helps a LOT

People are getting the best results by:

• Uploading photos with zero filters
• Using very specific prompts
• Not over-describing their face

Let the AI use your real face — just tell it not to change it.

“Yeah… give us white.”

Enter Cloud Dancer, the color that is basically what happens when regular white decides to put on a cashmere sweater and suddenly thinks it’s important.

You know those fancy notebooks influencers pretend they journal in? Yeah. It’s that color.

The Big White Revelation

Pantone looked at every color in the universe — every blue, every violet, every bold neon TikTok has ever tried to traumatize us with — and still landed on:

Slightly warmer printer paper.

And honestly, I love the drama of it. Naming it Cloud Dancer is hilarious because:

• Yes, clouds are white.
• No, dancers are not typically… cloud-colored??
• And yes, it sounds exactly like a magical horse from a 90s Lisa Frank notebook.

But sure, Pantone. Give us whimsy.

Okay But Real Talk… It’s Actually Kinda Pretty

Here’s the part where I have to be fair: Cloud Dancer is a good color. It’s soft, cozy, and just warm enough that it doesn’t scream “doctor’s office lighting.”

It’s the kind of off-white that says:

“I shop at expensive minimalistic home stores, but like… subtly.”

If stark white is a ring light, Cloud Dancer is golden hour.

Kim Kardashian Already Did This, Sweetie

Remember when Kim Kardashian decided that the entire color palette of her home should be gray?
Like, gray towels, gray walls, gray kids, gray emotions — the whole thing.

And we all collectively nodded like:

“Yes, Kimberly. Absolutely. Genius. Never been done. Give me 17 shades of greige immediately.”

Cloud Dancer is giving that energy — the “I’m not just neutral… I’m aesthetic” vibe.

A Whole Room in Cloud Dancer?

Oh, babe, imagine it:

Your living room in Cloud Dancer.
Your kitchen cabinets in Cloud Dancer.
Your dog? No, leave the dog alone. But still.

Suddenly you’re living inside a Pinterest board titled “Quiet Luxury Neutral Vibes.” You’re one cashmere throw blanket away from feeling like you host meditation retreats for celebrities.

And honestly? I support it.

Why This Color Is Lowkey Taking Over

Because warm whites do something bold colors don’t: they hide our nonsense.

Cloud Dancer is:

• forgiving of dust
• flattering on literally everyone
• perfect for photos (bloggers have known this forever)
• the clean girl aesthetic in paint form
• cozy without being yellow
• fancy without being try-hard

It’s basically Botox for your walls.

But Still… White? Really?

Like, imagine being the people who choose the “Color of the Year” for a living — and you come back from your big annual meeting like:

“Yeah, um… we picked white. Again. Because… vibes.”

It’s honestly iconic.

In a world filled with neon dopamine brights, TikTok pastels, and “hot pink is back” moments, Pantone walked into the room and said:

“Actually… no. You get a soft white and you will LIKE it.”

And guess what?

We kinda do.

Cloud Dancer may not be bold. It may not be wild. It may not be the color of dancing clouds (whatever THAT is).

But it is:

• chic
• warm
• cozy
• modern
• slightly pretentious in a way that’s fun to make fun of

And honestly? If the color of the year is going to be “soft, warm, luxurious white,”
well… that feels weirdly on brand for 2025.

Minimalism is back. Comfort is king. And Pantone, apparently, is trolling us just a little.

And I respect that.

Zany. I like that word.

Anyway, I have to tell you about this flash in the pan of a boyfriend I had for a hot minute earlier this year, because the only way I can make sense of everything that goes on in my life is to write about it.

You know how people sometimes come into your life for a specific purpose? I mean not to be too center-of-the-universe here, but I think that’s kind of how it works… you need them, they need you, for whatever reason, it works.

But this isn’t a relationship that lasts forever. This one was doomed from the beginning, because he had three kids under the age of twelve, and that’s a whole lot of momming left to be done and I like wandering aimlessly– and moms of littles just don’t have the chance to do that much.

Anyway, what I have been trying to understand is how something can feel so good, then suddenly so very wrong. That’s the thing with my marriage, too… I know that it felt good at some point, it had to have, right? But I can’t remember it ever being something I wasn’t putting on a facade for with the world, and I don’t want to do that ever again.

So I am pretty sure that the purpose of this whole interaction for the both of us was a little karma, to remind us exactly what we didn’t want, and to keep us from accidentally ending up with it again. Because those karmic circles are rough.

Estimated reading time: 0 minutes

If I am being so real, I love karma. Because it always puts me in my place, but it does that for everyone. It just feels so— neutral. And there’s something about neutrality and trying to achieve it as balance. IDK, maybe that’s the whole ass point of being a libra, right? Because like all we want is balance at all times. IDK I think I could honestly attribute that to my adhd more than anything if I am being so real.

• 

  Death By Dessert | These Things Are Better Than Your Things

  Trolli Made Frozen Gummy Pops And I’m Confused (But Interested)

  ByJamie

  I don’t know who at Trolli decided gummy candy needed to be frozen… but they did it anyway. And now there’s a new flavor of their Gummi Pops called Very Berry, which is basically two chaotic flavors smashed together: berry punch and blue raspberry. So yeah. This is already a lot. If you’ve never had…

• 

  Heavy Handed Advice

  Dangerous Addictions & How To Quit Them

  ByJamie

  Addiction is rarely a good thing because it means that you have lost personal control over a substance or experience. That it’s controlling you, rather than the other way around. That is why we have come up with the following post on how to beat some of the most dangerous addictions there are. Read on…

• 

  Heavy Handed Advice | Jamie Says

  I am furious about this Epstein mess

  ByJamie

  I am not confused. I am not shocked. I am mad. I am mad that men tied to something this grotesque were ever in positions of power. I am mad that the world knew for years that there were files, that there were victims, that there were connections to powerful people, and somehow the machine…

• 

  Heavy Handed Advice | Jamie Says

  Relationships Don’t Always Have To Mean You’re Together

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  Somewhere along the way, the word relationship became so romantically charged that we forgot about all the other relationships in our lives. We became so busy worrying about our forever that we stopped enjoying life as it actually is. It feels like we’re skipping the whole middle part now. Dating, getting to know each other,…

• 

  Jamie Says

  When Did Dating Turn Into an Interview?

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  I think I accidentally figured something out about dating this week. It happened, of course, in my DMs. A guy messaged me after a post I made. Nothing wild. A little awkward. A little sweet. We had one of those back-and-forths that starts clunky, and honestly it never made it out of that phase. He…

• 

  Heavy Handed Advice | Jamie Says

  I Used ChatGPT to Help Me Make Decisions When I Didn’t Trust Myself

  ByJamie

  A few months ago, I realized something super uncomfortable. I didn’t trust my own judgment anymore. After the year I’d had, that trust was just gone. I kept second guessing everything, from big life decisions to tiny, everyday ones. And when you stop trusting yourself, even simple choices start to feel overwhelming. Part of that…

Anyway, what’s the point.. I think the point is that sometimes we need to start looking at relationships as a part of that time in our life. Especially those that we know aren’t the ones we are going to spend the rest of our lives with. It’s okay to fall for something or someone that isn’t totally right for you, and it’s a great thing to have a crush on someone that’s not forever, because not all love is for eternity, and when we start looking at it like that… that’s when the stories get interesting.

Now that I think about it, why is that what I thought it would be like? That’s really weird. It wasn’t like that at all. I didn’t look back on my memories, I didn’t think about all the things I had done and accomplished or the things I had yet to do. I simply thought about the only thing that mattered to me.

My kid. It’s always been for my kid. I am one self-centered girl, and it’d always been the Jamie show in my mind, until the day she came along. Then I was just the quirky mom in the spin off sitcom. So, when I was about to die, the thing I thought about was, “How dare you leave my daughter without a mom!” And, that’s a really weird way to feel and think, but in that moment, controlled by nothing but sheer fear and terror, that’s the thing that came to mind.

That’s the thing that keeps coming back up. I know there are all those stages of grief and what have you, and I am definitely mourning the life that could have been, but the thing is– that life never actually existed. (side note: every time I emdash I realize I look like a robot. Sorry, not sorry I will die on this hill with emdashes strewn across my body if I have to. They bring me joy.)

I made it up in my head.

That’s right. The perfect little life that I have been displaying to the whole world this whole time has been a total lie, and I think maybe I even told it to myself in order to sell it. That’s weird, right?

I mean, look… I know what I did– I was a blogger. I needed sponsorships. Single moms didn’t get those things. Ten years ago the nuclear family was the only thing you ever saw in media.

But, why didn’t I fight against that? Why wasn’t I strong enough to go in and be the one who bucked the trend and said, “I would rather raise my kid alone and be happy than raise her and be miserable with a man who is a terrible human being.”

Kevin was never a good person, and the thing is, I still have hope that someday he figures out how to be. I just don’t want him anywhere near me or my family. I want to be safe, and I feel like that isn’t something I will ever feel again. That’s the part I can’t shake. He instilled so much fear into me for so long that I don’t really know how to not feel it, and when I start to feel like there isn’t anything to be scared of– well, you get where I am going… this is where it gets all mixed up in my head. (Holy run-on sentence, batman. I am so sorry.)

I still don’t know why he stopped strangling me. Did he think I was dead? I mean, I passed out, he had to have thought that, right? Or did he realize what he was doing? That’s a lot to process, and it’s something I have to work out in therapy, on a mountaintop, or maybe on some sort of sabattical to a foreign country… I just know that it’s weird to me that I am a little grateful to him for stopping.

Like, what? How am I grateful to the person who pinned me down with his knees, tried to garrote me with my necklaces, and strangled me to the point I had a raccoon face for weeks after? What even is that? But I am so happy to be alive, and even though I lost so much of the things I have worked so hard for all these years in order to get out of the marriage, I still feel like I am winning my life back.

That’s kind of how it feels. It’s like I get to have my life back, and I get to decide what it looks like. It’s no longer about Kevin forcing us to stay home so he could have good enough internet to play World of Warcraft with a bunch of strangers for 50+ hours a week while I took care of all the bills and whatnot.

But the thing is, I don’t know what that is. I don’t know what it is I want my life to be. I haven’t even given that any thought for the last ten years and that feels like it should be a lie even as I type it, but it’s not. It’s like… for real. I really feel like that. And I don’t know what to do with that.

So I am going to just see what’s next. What life looks like when it’s just me– without the thought of what a man who does nothing but spit on me and kick me and throw me to the ground needs in order to be happy.

Because if I have to be terrified for the rest of my life anyway, then I might as well use it to my advantage, right?

But what if that’s backwards? What if it’s totally okay to be single?

Even as I type this, my grandma is texting me that it can get lonely, and I just keep thinking about how peaceful the “lonely” time actually is.

That’s kind of where I’m at right now. It’s not that I’m bitter or a man-hater—it’s that I don’t want to live someone else’s life anymore. I spent the last twenty years doing that for men who didn’t deserve my time or energy, and I finally realized I don’t have to bend myself in half to appease anyone.

I’ve learned that I have control over how I spend my days. When I catch myself sliding into someone else’s routine—sitting at a sports bar watching games I don’t care about, eating food I don’t even like—I remind myself, “I don’t have to keep doing this. I can step back.”

Because that’s not me. That’s not where I want to be.

For so long, I forgot what it was like to make choices just for myself. To wake up and ask, what do I actually want to do today?

Now, it’s simple things. Choosing to stay home and work because it brings me joy. Choosing to paint the bathroom because it feels good to finish something. Choosing to get my nails done just because it makes me smile when I look at my hands. Choosing to write because it fills me up, not because anyone else expects it.

Doing what I want doesn’t mean I’m selfish. It doesn’t mean I don’t love people. It just means I finally understand that my peace matters too. That my time is valuable. That my afternoons are mine—whether that’s curled up with a book, out with friends, or knee-deep in a craft project.

It feels radical to say, “I don’t want to sit in a place I don’t like just because someone asked me to. I don’t want to keep shaping my life to fit into someone else’s box.”

What I want is to breathe. To laugh. To create. To live a life that actually feels like mine.

That’s what I am starting to see. I am not something missing, instead I am gaining.

Gained mornings where I wake up and set the tone for my day. Gained evenings where I don’t need to explain how I spend my time. Gained weekends that feel like rest, adventure, or both—depending on what I need.

For me, it’s about reclaiming my joy. Finally believing that I don’t have to shrink my life down to fit into someone else’s world. Finally seeing that “alone” and “lonely” are not the same thing.

I’m painting bathrooms, getting my nails done, working on my house, writing my words, laughing, and building a life that feels like me.

Because that’s the point.

Here’s the thing: I love a good distraction. I love the way it feels to get lost in a side quest for the day, to spend an entire afternoon accomplishing everything and nothing all at the same time.

You know what I mean? Like when you sit in the sun and heal your soul just by watching the world exist—knowing you’re a part of it, but also realizing you can slip away into your own little hidey hole if you’re not careful.

And right now? I really, really want to go to my hidey hole. It’s so safe and cocoon-like in here. I’m killer at decorating and vibes, so my space is basically a happy little nest where I get to be fully myself.

That’s been the hardest part of living in abuse—you lose yourself. You forget what brings you joy because you’re terrified of upsetting your abuser.

Even typing the word “abuser” feels heavy. I still catch myself thinking I deserved to be strangled. I still have to go back and reread books just to remind myself how insane it was that this man screamed at me for twelve hours a day while I worked my ass off—writing books, learning photography from scratch (y’all, that was a whole thing), taking classes in the middle of the night just so I could figure out what an f-stop was and finally get my camera out of auto.

And how did that girl—the girl who pushed through spit, shoves, screaming, and cheating—end up losing an apartment and all her cars this year?

How did that girl get so distracted by men who can’t hold a candle to what she’s been building?

Why do I even need them? What are they giving me that I can’t give myself? This isn’t about sex. I mean the bigger question: what does being in a relationship offer me right now that I can’t already provide for myself?

The truth is, it doesn’t.

I’ve got a great lawyer with an alliterative name who makes me feel safe and supported. I’m on the right side of this, because I’ve worked my whole life to be good and kind, to build a business I’m proud of, and to create a life that actually reflects me.

And that’s what I’m scared of losing—not him, not the marriage, but me. This was never his life. He was just living mine. I see that now. All I can do is trust that the universe sees it too, and let the chips fall where they’re supposed to.

And honestly? Isn’t that how it always works out anyway?

So I’m done getting distracted. I’m focusing up. Because I deserve the life I’ve built, and I deserve to keep it.

I got this.

Not in the metaphorical way people talk about loss. Not in the “new chapter” or “letting go to grow” kind of way. I mean, it sold at an auction while I was still scrambling to save it. I was trying to get rid of one apartment to save the other. But time, and banks, don’t wait for logistics. So the place I fought for, the one I had dreams for, the one I wanted to keep… wasn’t the one I got to keep.

And you know what? That’s okay.

Not in a fake-it-til-you-make-it way. Not in a toxic positivity way. It’s okay because it has to be. That’s the thing about surviving. You just sort of do it and then you’re like, “Wait, I was waiting on that to happen and I was sure it would be the end, and it isn’t. How am I still going?”

And here’s the thingI do actually adore the one I’m keeping. It’s not second best. It’s just not the one I thought I was going to keep. That can’t be that big of a deal right? Maybe the universe knows something I don’t. Maybe the one I kept is even more aligned with the person I’ve become in the middle of all this loss and noise and fighting to hold onto things that were never really holding me back. It’s quieter. Calmer. And it feels like a place where something new can actually start.

When I look back to what happened, to being strangled, it always takes me super back to perspective because I am alive a whole year later, and now I get to move on from that. In that moment the only thing that was on my mind was my kid.

It’s weird, because I wasn’t scared of dying. I was scared of her losing her mom this young.

She’s the only thing that matters. Sorry, not sorry.

Survival, kind of ironically isn’t just about breathing, There’s way more to it. It’s about recognizing when someone who sat in a chair playing video games while I built an empire around him, is not entitled to me, or anything I am using to feel safe and protected right now.

Not when he is the reason I feel so unsafe.

And then…it wasn’t.

Which should be good news, right?

It was good news. Of course it was.

But then, there’s this whole thing that happens when you really believed you were about to die.
Like, I was done with being alive. I kept my eyes open for as long as I could because I just knew it was the last time I was going to see anything.

And the thing is, the last image I thought I’d ever see?
It was him.
The way he looked over me—so mad, so pointedly ready to end me.
The sound of his breathing.
The way I couldn’t feel my body and couldn’t figure out why.

Like, the actual thought was:
“I won’t ever breathe again. In fact, I’ve already taken my last breath. I’m about to pass out and not wake up.”

That’s the thing—I truly believed I wasn’t going to wake up when I closed my eyes.
And it’s taken me this entire last year just to fully believe that I did.
Like, I just now figured out I lived.

And now the world’s on fire again and my nervous system is like, Wait… did we survive or nah?

My brain keeps telling me we’re safe now, but my body? My nervous system? Still stuck in this weird little loop where it doesn’t quite believe it.

I’ll be doing something totally normal—eating lunch, talking with a friend, watching Love Island like the highly productive adult I am—and suddenly there’s this flutter. This jolt. This whisper of fear.
And I’m back there again.
Back in the moment where everything was ending.

It’s weird, because I understand the word “trigger” now in a way I didn’t before.
It’s not a conscious choice. It’s not something you can always prep for or avoid.
It just… happens.

For me, right now, it’s watching anyone choke on TV.
I tried to watch Squid Game with my bestie this weekend, and there were scenes I physically couldn’t sit through. I had to hide my head in a pillow while she told me when it was safe to look.

And it’s not like I’ve ever been bothered by that kind of thing before.
But now? I’m bothered.
So yeah… that probably has something to do with getting strangled and thinking I wasn’t going to wake up. Right?

I keep thinking I should be “over it” by now.
I keep waiting to feel normal again. To stop flinching at shadows that aren’t even there.

But the fear did something deeper.
It settled in.
It sat in my bones and decided to hang out for a while, even though the danger is long gone.

It’s weird, because I am not sad about it, and for the first time in a long time, I am not spiraling, but now I know that I am actually alive, and it’s been a weird ride trying to realize that.

Trying to convince my body that it doesn’t have to be on high alert anymore. And maybe I can stop trying to survive and start trying to live and all that jazz.

It’s wild how something that only lasted a few seconds can take months to unpack. But if I am being honest, he’s been controlling me with beatings and punishments beyond my worst nightmares for the past ten years, and I thought it was coming to an end in my demise. I never really imagined a world past that moment the second I thought it was over. And now I don’t know how to imagine it.

And I keep thinking about how many people must feel this way and never talk about it.
Because there’s no diagnosis for “I thought I was dying and now my brain doesn’t trust my body anymore.”

But if there was, then I would so have that right now. Anyway, I didn’t die. I am going to keep waking up and telling myself that until my whole brain, nervous system, chakra, chi, and whatever else thought it was leaving this realm and passing into the next realizes it.

I just hope I am not too late. I hope I realize it soon enough.

This whole process of getting out of my marriage without losing me, myself, and everything has become my full-time job, and it’s one hell of a job. I barely worked for a year.

I didn’t pay like any bills, and now I’m trying to piece my life back together one giant pile of crap I’ve created after another, hoping I don’t lose my house in the process. But the reality of it is, that could so happen, and it’s all my fault because I couldn’t get my crap together fast enough.

But the part that really breaks me is how much of this still depends on him. On getting his signature. On his cooperation. Even on just small things like paperwork. Like today when the realtor innocently says, “Okay, next step is here… we need one more signature. Just waiting on him.”

Waiting on him.

The same man who used to well, you guys know what he used to do to me. I don’t have to get into that here. But like he’s the one I finally got away from. And now, even after everything, I still have to sit and wait for him to sign a piece of paper so I can move forward with my life.

That’s the part that makes me crazypants. It’s so hard to do this one step at a time. I want it to be over in a way that will just be done. You know? I can’t keep living in this limbo. I want to be free.

I don’t even know what that will feel like, to be truly free. I don’t know it it’s something I’ve ever felt.

But I do know that it’s right there.

(Side note, I keep trying to write without emdashes and ellipses… and y’all I just can’t. Apparently that means I write like an AI, but no—I’ve decided it means I write like me. So we cool here with me doing me? Yeah, of course we are. It’s my blog. We should discuss this more in-depth later.)

The flags are always there. You just have to look at the colors.
Every time you meet someone, they tell you exactly who they are and how this is gonna go. But you have to pay attention—and not just completely look the other way because they’re really fun to hang out with. Or just tall.

Lately, though? I’ve been meeting a new kind of red flag.

Since I started speaking openly about my abusive marriage and what the last few years have looked like, the Savior Guy has been showing up.

You know the one.
He finds out I’ve been through hell and suddenly he’s like, “That’s so terrible. Not all men are like that, you know.”
And I want to believe him. I want to believe the good ones exist.
But honestly? Every single man who’s felt the need to say that to me lately has ended up with a story in his past that—well. It’s a little too familiar.

Like okay.
Why are you trying so hard to make sure I know you’re not that guy… unless maybe you are?

I think this is part of healing.

Not just learning to protect yourself—but recognizing when someone’s trying to use you to feel better about who they’ve been.
If someone starts by proving how “not like that” they are, I’ve learned to ask: who are they trying to convince—me or themselves?

Anyway.
Yesterday was textbook.

I live above a bunch of bars, which means that sometimes people randomly end up at my place to “sleep it off.”
I don’t go out much on weekends anymore (hi—anxiety, and also I like my couch), but somehow I ended up with a drunk friend and a couple of random guys in my living room while I was just trying to play video games.

…And one of the guys?

Totally more than ready to prove he wasn’t that guy.

Except, spoiler: he was.

He started in with the usual not all men speech, the “crazy ex” story, the “I have scars too” bit, and how he was the one who got hurt.

Not in a scary way.
In a “let me unload my unresolved trauma and get defensive the second you call it out” kind of way.
That thing where they’re so desperate not to be the bad guy, they make everything about them.
And listen—I get it. Shame is a beast.
But I don’t have the bandwidth to stroke someone’s ego while they work out why they traumatized their ex.

I’m not saying men can’t be hurt or that their pain doesn’t matter.
But if you’re standing in front of a woman who spent years surviving actual abuse and your contribution is, “Well, my ex threw a remote at me once, so I get it…” —you can see yourself out.

And that’s what I told him.

I said,
“You’re comparing your ex tossing something during a fight to a man trapping me in my house, threatening to kill me, and controlling every second of my life. You got to walk away. I couldn’t. That’s the difference.”

He did not take that well.

He got defensive.
He started unsending messages.
And then he said, “If you write about me, I’ll come after you for defamation.”

Which—like—totally normal thing to say when you’re definitely not guilty of anything, right?

But here’s the part that really got me:

He already knew my story.
He told me he admired me for surviving it.
And then he still tried to make it about him.

Because some men don’t want to be the good guy.
They just want someone to tell them they are.

So I told him the truth.
That his “I was lied to once” isn’t the same as being scared for your life.
That his shame isn’t mine to hold.
And that if being called out makes him feel threatened, that says a lot more about him than it does about me.

And then he blocked me.

I’m proud of myself, honestly.
I’m proud I said something.
I’m proud I didn’t let the conversation twist itself into knots to protect someone else’s ego.
And I’m proud I don’t stay silent anymore just to make people comfortable.

Healing looks like that sometimes.
Not giant milestones.
Just quiet little moments when you realize—you don’t have to carry someone else’s shame.
Especially not when you’re still unpacking your own.

There were so many things I wanted to do last year.
I wanted to go to on adventures. I wanted to take walks. I wanted to sit on my porch with my morning drink and feel the air on my skin without panic.

But I didn’t.
Because I couldn’t.
Or, more truthfully, because every time I tried, I was interrupted by yelling. Or dread. Or guilt. Or the look on his face that said, How dare you try to enjoy something without me.

I missed so many things that would have made me feel human. And that’s the thing no one talks about with relationships like that. You don’t just lose yourself. You lose the little rituals that tell you you’re allowed to exist.

So now? I rebuild with coffee.

Not metaphorically. Literally. I get up. I pour it. I walk it to the porch.
And I sit there.

No yelling. No passive-aggressive sighs from across the room.
No being told I’m selfish for needing space.
Just… coffee. And quiet. And the sound of my own breathing.

It’s wild how safe I feel in those moments.
How far I’ve come from the days where peace was just a rumor I’d heard other people mention.

This year, I went to Pride on purpose. Alone.
I walked there because I wanted to. I stopped for a fancy coffee on the way because I could. I wore the boots I didn’t get to wear last year, the ones that make me feel powerful and grounded.

And the whole time?
I felt calm. Not performative calm. Not “faking it for survival” calm. Just… real, deep, quiet calm.

A year ago, we were technically apart—but he still wouldn’t leave.
He stayed in the house. He hovered. He guilted and gaslit and acted like nothing was wrong, even though everything was.

I couldn’t breathe in my own home.
And now I can.

So if you’re wondering what healing looks like—it’s not always some big transformation.
Sometimes, it’s realizing you can just go.
That you don’t need permission anymore.
That no one is standing between you and the world.

Sometimes it’s just about the coffee.

He’s the kind of dad who shows up when it matters.
Who walks with you when your heart is broken.
Who checks your oil and makes sure you have a full tank of gas.
Who always answers, always helps, always makes it feel like maybe the world isn’t entirely on fire.

He’s gentle, thoughtful, hilarious in the most dad-way possible, and the safest man I’ve ever known.

And the problem with having a dad that good?
You start believing most men are like that.
You give the benefit of the doubt. You assume safety where there is none. And sometimes, you walk into something thinking it’s soft, when really, it’s hiding sharp edges underneath.

So. Let’s talk about that.

Let’s talk about one of the nicest guys I ever met.
A man who smiled big, talked about how much he loved being a dad, and seemed like the kind of person who could make anyone feel safe. He showed up. He cooked. He cleaned. He had three kids, and he talked about them with warmth. He built this whole picture of what it meant to be a good, involved, loving father.

And I believed him.

But then the cracks started to show.

It was the way he never answered his ex’s calls when she had questions about the kids. The way he insisted he was the calm parent, while talking about how “dramatic” everyone else was. The way he described his teenage son—his older child who lived with his ex—not as a full, real person, but as someone who just didn’t follow the rules.

And then I heard more.

His daughter said, “Back when it was okay to hit kids…” and he waved it off.
He told me I was making things too big. That I was interpreting everything like a writer. That I needed to calm down.

But here’s the part that stuck with me:
That teenage son? He didn’t just go live with his mom—he was left there.

Because he wasn’t totally sure about his sexuality yet.
And because that, in this man’s eyes, was a problem.

And when I invited this man to Pride?
I got blocked. Everywhere.
Because nothing says “safe dad” like disappearing when someone tries to support your child for who they are.

The worst part?
This man truly believed he was doing it right. That because he cooked and helped with homework and said “I love you” sometimes, that meant he was a great dad.
But being a good father isn’t about showing off your involvement—it’s about showing up with your whole heart, even when it’s inconvenient. Especially then.

So today?

Today, I want to say Happy Father’s Day to the men who make it all about themselves.
To the dads who weaponize silence, control the story, and smile like they’re saints.

To the ones who use “provider” as an excuse not to grow.
To the ones who punish softness.
To the ones who turn their backs when their children stop performing perfection.

You don’t get a card from me today.
But you do get this:

We see you.
And one day, your kids will too.

And when I say alone, I mean alone alone. No backup. No partner. Just me, wandering through color and chaos and joy.

Trying to remember what it felt like to belong somewhere.

Back then, I had tried to go with Kevin. The relationship was falling apart, but I still invited him. I even took photos of him looking miserable. Not because he hated Pride, he just hated being outside, being around people, being asked to participate in joy. He was the saddest person in every frame. Everyone could see it.

So this year? Kevin’s out of the picture. And honestly, I knew I wanted to go alone again, but this time, I wanted to do it with purpose.

I walked down to Pride the same way I did last time. I grabbed an overpriced coffee (a tradition at this point), wandered through the same booths bursting with rainbow everything, and even saw a few of the same vendors from last year. The energy was still big, still electric, but this time, it felt like peace.

Because I wasn’t trying to drag someone through it. I wasn’t managing anyone’s mood. I wasn’t over-explaining why Pride matters or downplaying how happy it made me.

I just got to be there.

I didn’t feel lonely for a second. Pride is designed to make you feel like you’re part of something. So why would I feel alone?

I smiled at strangers. I moved at my own pace. I sat when I wanted to. I left when I was ready. I didn’t try to make it okay for someone else, I let it be right for me.

And even though I knew I’d be solo the whole time, it didn’t feel like a gap. It felt like a choice. A beautiful one.

Today reminded me that I’m not just allowed to show up alone, and I’m allowed to enjoy it. I’m allowed to want it. I’m allowed to pick joy, and quiet, and comfort, and peace. Even when it looks different than it did before.

Which honestly? Feels kinda awesome.

There’s this weird little moment every morning. It’s a split second right when I am about to open my eyes and expect something awful.

It’s like a hitch.
Like my body is bracing for a mood shift, a slammed door, a punishment I don’t understand.

And for the longest time, that hitch was the only way I knew how to wake up.

I used to think it was normal to start the day terrified. To feel like every mood I had was dangerous—like being in a bad mood would mean the whole day was ruined. Like my emotions were grenades and someone else was holding the pin.

But now? Now the only mood I have to manage is mine.

And even though that little hitch is still there, it’s… shorter. It doesn’t last as long. Some days it’s just a second. Other days it sticks around for a minute or two. But I can breathe through it. I can remind myself that I’m safe. That nobody is going to punish me for taking too long to get dressed. That I can take thirty full minutes to get ready for my walk if I want to—and no one is going to yell at me about it.

I don’t have to rush anymore. That’s the part that gets me.
There’s no fake emergency. No made-up reason to hurry out the door. No more being given eight minutes to get out of the house like I’m being timed for sport.

I get to decide how my morning goes. That’s huge.

But here’s the thing I didn’t expect:
The panic still comes.

It doesn’t just show up in the morning—it pops in at weird times. I’ll be brushing my teeth, or walking through the grocery store, or just trying to answer an email. And suddenly it’s there. That little voice that says, “Something bad is about to happen.”

But lately? I’ve started talking back.

I literally say it out loud.
“You’re safe.”

Sometimes it feels silly. Sometimes I don’t believe it. But I say it anyway.
Because that’s the thing about healing—sometimes you have to say it even when your voice shakes. Even if nobody’s around to hear it. Especially then.

Because words? Words are powerful.

Telling my body I’m safe doesn’t erase everything I’ve been through. It doesn’t magically make me calm. But it reminds me that the present moment is real. That the danger is behind me. That I’ve made it to the part of life where I’m allowed to feel okay.

And maybe one day I’ll wake up without that hitch at all. But for now, I’m learning to greet it, breathe through it, and remind it out loud:
We’re safe now.

And that’s a pretty incredible thing to say.